Who Cares About Whom?

There are times when Happy Friday!!! jumps out of my fingers and into the keyboard; and there are other timing fingers not have word jump out. It’s almost as if they are fighting for something to breathe in a sea of oxygenated bread molecules that have never seen the blight of clay. In other words, they’re are sum thymes when I gist can’t stick an idea on the end of my nose thing and launch it into a narrative of weekly infestation.

Four egg sample:  tonight I was very late in the garden removing pesky weeds from one of my beds (not the kind I sleep on, I have only one of those).  So when the darkness arrived and I noticed how late it was outside, I knew I’d probably better dig up something out of the archives, massage it a little, and present it to your eyeballs to enjoy; hopefully without greatly flammable pencil warts.  Yes friends, there are times when I look back at the Holy Cow I Have A Lot Of Stories (HCIHALOS) and “recycle” one; so tonight I cheated and dug up one from 5 years before the day we’re having now.

So to continue with the “I have no eye deer what to write” crackle sauce:  when trying to discover a topic or idea for a Happy Friday!!! thing, sometimes a friend will tell me something that jars my cookies like no other fried banana milkshake could ever induce a nice warm cranberry casserole with fuzzy coconut thimbles mounted atop a psychedelically decorated Mambo Contest. This is a moment of inspiration from which I become most eviscerated with a nice piece of antimony topped with a small dollop of crème brulee.

Therefore in the spirit of my Grandma who never gave me any Grammar lessons, I hereby renounce this run-on introductory somnambulism; which was precipitated in a conservation in witch, once upon a time, approximately 5 years ago, in a land very near to my home, while riding in an automobile very near to my hiney, in a smell phone very near to my ear, my dear friend Dave Gordon, whose first name and last name are really both First Names; this Dave Guy he said unto me, “I think you should write something about whom. You know, like everybody says ‘who do you love,’ when it really should be ‘whom do you love?’ “

“So!” I said to myself while listening to this Grampa talk Grammar; “so now I must look this up, as I am ashamed to admit that although I try to indemnify my audible colonoscopy with good usage; there are times when I fall short, much like many U.S. citizens who seam to have difficulty with both spelling; usage; punctuation!, and the correct contextual use of the word “both.”

Its time’s like these when a much younger me would get all bent out of shape when a person would use an apostrophe to write plural’s rather than showing possession and / or when used in a contraction. Of course, many women who have given birth would probably rather not remember the contractions. However this is no excuse to vary from the rules of Grammar, or Grandma either for that matter. Ignorance of the Grammar rules may sabotage your chances of getting a job, while disobedience of Grandma rules may sabotage your chances of getting more cookies. Nay, I say unto you, I no longer flatulate over the lack of knowledge of “proper English grammar.” I do shake my head at times when I see it on billboards or in sentences written by college students; but it is not for me to judge. Mine is but to sing songs loudly and belch boastfully when my belly is full of delicious rock salt pudding.

Our son once pointed out a well documented fact that “who” was a word that was invented by owls. That of course is obvious to anyone who may have listened to owls asking that question over and over and over and over again. We may not know to whom they are posing this age-old question. That does not matter; because, of course, they know. And since they only use “who,” and never have I heard them use “whom;” well that just illustrates to me that they understand (and probably invented) the following rules that I just stole from www.grammarly.com:

Whom is an objective pronoun; it should be used to refer to the object of a sentence. If you’re stuck, you can try this formula: if the pronoun can be replaced by he or she, then use who. if the pronoun can be replaced by him or her, then use whom (you can also look for the preposition).”

OK… so let’s have some “reverse fun” with that rule and substitute bass-ackwardly:

“Who are you?” could be switched to “He (or she) are you?” and…

“Whom do you love?” could be noogled to “Her (or him) do you love?” and perhaps one of my brand new, just now favorites…

“To whom it may concern,” could be flinkled to “To him (or her) it may concern,”

So in the case of a preposition like “to,” then whom is to be used, and please, try to remember that a preposition is a word one should never end a sentence with. You may wonder why anyone would object to such usage, but the object is missing so don’t go there with me you silly baroopy noise making person you!!

Oh I could go on and on with this, don’tcha know. None of those examples in the “reverse fun” substitution calamity are correct usage, but guess what? I don’t care!! Ha ha!! I laugh to this!! I am now chortling! Chortle chortle!! Guffaw guffaw!! Or if Popeye were laughing, “OCK ock ock ock ock ock!!” Weird laugh…

Anyway, although I used to be very persnickety about such things, I try hard not to snip and gribble about someone’s grammar, nor their Grandma. One thing I’ve learned during my sojourn in this plane of sentience is, to quote Ebenezer in my favorite Scrooge movie, “I don’t know anything. I never did know anything. But now I know I don’t know anything.”

Sew their.

And now for something completely different…

Is Anyone Out There?

Seems like some Earthlings have been obsessed with a very old question: is there life on Mars? I pondered this myself for what seemed like hours, just before hitting my head on the pillow last night.

Well, DUH! Bet those science folks spent some big bucks researching this no-brainer. Of COURSE there’s life on Mars!! Lots of other places, too. Folks in Hollywood have known this for years. My good friend Vexor the Sarganian laughed openly about the stupidity of Earthling scientists, and has often helped movie makers get the real picture. “Lobster Men from Mars,” for example. Lots of diffent kinds of folks out there on the other planets. Earthlings are just too arrogant to embrace that idea. Or maybe we’re just chicken!

Vexor is, of course, from Sargan: the 5th planet of Sector 23vx in the Skoldern Galaxy. A pretty cool dude, and he’s been around, if you know what I mean. Got that 479 Megazip Crambo-Leaper a couple yargons ago, and he’s been tearing up the Interstellar Speedway ever since. He took me for a ride once, but I get starsick; and, well, I’ll just be staying on Earth for a while (I barfed on his crystal- regulated zoomophone).

Anyhower, he’s known about life “out there” for years. When I asked him about Mars, I think it upset him, though at first he just got this blank look on his face. Then he scrunched up his eyes, and blurted out, “Where the heck ya think all those chocolate candies come from?? Says `Mars’ on the back, don’t it?? Jeez, man, don’t you pay attention?” I sat there, dumbfounded, as he continued to illustrate my cosmic ignorance.

“You can even smell them making the chocolate from here,” he ranted. “All you have to do is go to Hershey, Pennsylvania and look through a telescope at the beautiful Red Planet. Before you know it, you’ll smell chocolate.”

“What’s so special about Hershey… hey, wait a minute,” I said, grinning. “That’s where the Hershey bar factories are, you Moogle Framer! Ha, you got me there. Ha ha.” Vexor laughed too, and slapped me on the back playfully with his dretzel. Then he put me in my place again by noting that he hadn’t been called a Moogel Framer in over 43 durns. I guess I used an obsolete expression. “Nice try, though, you silly Zoff Pinkler!” he chortled. He thought that was pretty darned funny, but I was getting a bit impatient. Vexor picked up on my frustration pretty quickly, and being the sensitive Sarganian that he is, he returned to Mars as the focus of the conversation.

“Yep, you may remember reading in the National Globe Star Enquirer that Elvis is alive. He’s making records on Mars, and doing quite well, thank you. His favorite candy is his own creation, the Hunka-Hunka bar. Some kind of cross between chocolate and a peanut butter sandwich.”

“What, no Snickers??” I asked this of him with a pretty strong tone. I was a bit shocked that Vexor hadn’t mentioned what I considered to be one of the best chocolate bars in the universe. “Of course,” I continued, “they are becoming the amazing shrinking candy bar. Something happened with the size lately, and they’re not quite as big as they used to be. Still cost just as much, though. Perhaps they should be renamed `Sneakers’.”

Vexor started tapping his pedplarbs and fidgeting with a small piece of croob. When I quit rambling, he started anew. “You wanna gab about junk food or you wanna hear about Mars??” He was almost shouting at me, so I shut up. “OK. Now, where was I?” he continued. “O yeah. Elvis. He bought one of those fancy belts from Leroy, too. Helped him bring a lot more folks into his concerts at the Martian Mosh Pit there in New Kramia.”

I was puzzled. “Leroy??” I queried. “Who’s this Leroy?”

“Duh,” Vexor chided. “Don’t you Earthrats know anything? Leroy Aster! You know, the inventor of the Asteroid Belt! All those shiny things on his custom made belts really bring in the crowds. Gotta have good technicians to train the lights on them just the right way, of course. Those Gleebnoogles from Jupiter really go nuts for that stuff. Spend thousands of smoglards just to get a peek!”

He had a great time reminiscing. He paused and tilted his head back, rolled his eyes and shook with laughter as he recalled some of the fun he and his girlfriend Vosk had at some of those Elvis concerts last month. Wasn’t long before I was being treated to his best bag of dehydrated skunyon and a tall glass of brak-ma-gar.

Then the alarm clock went off…

But wait!! Perhaps it wasn’t a dream!! I forgot about Marvin!!!

An Ounce Of Prevention

I am SO MUCH looking forward to Monday!! Why? Well I’m retired, so it’s not work… actually while working I don’t believe I was ever happy about Mondays. Unless I was on vacation.

So Sunday I begin the prep for a most wonderfully enjoyable procedure known as a colonoscopy. I think it’s pronounced co-LON-o-scope-eeee. Maybe not, but doesn’t that sound like fun? I can hardly wait to drink 430 times the normal dose of laxatives to clean my guts out. I had to do this before… and I “fondly” remember the happy intestinal volcanic rumbling that ensued during The Big Cleanout. I’ve always loved Intestinal Volcano. Has a way of letting you know you’re alive.

All this wonderful fun was prescribed as preparation for some happy probing of my southern torso by aliens on Monday. My exciting dining regimen for Sunday will include clear liquids and PKP (Poop Kaboom Powder). Around noon Monday they will clunk me with the anesthetic sledge hammer and have their way with my colon. Those medical people think they have me fooled… they think I am not aware of their little game. This is all an excuse for them to do pole vaulting experiments with my hiney hole. You see, when we are zonked out, they play funny games with our bodies and we just lie there with that anesthetized look on our faces. Perhaps while I’m there, they could take some of the hair from my back and plant it back on my head where it used to be. Or possibly they could do a little liposuction while they’re in there with the garden hose thingy that has the video camera on the end of it. I’m unreasonably sure the hose is what they use for the Happy Colon Scoping.

Perhaps they have a trained snake or eel that they use to climb inside and look around for clingons, or whatever else they hope to find in there. I’ve heard about polyps being removed during the procedure, and I figure that snakes and / or eels would be very good at biting those off from the inside. Of course, a snake would need some sort of breathing apparatus during all this. Maybe a snorkel or some kind of miniature aqualung. Eels probably would need something too, because although they can breathe in water with their gills, I would never send a trained eel into a poopy environment and expect it to try to breathe the kaka water. That would be cruel and inhumane treatment, even for an alien-trained poopy probing eel.

Or maybe this “procedure” is actually a ploy to extract methane from unsuspecting visitors. With all the tooting I’ll be blasting during the prep, I’m betting the gas could power a generator for the day. That would certainly help those medical folks curtail their energy bills. That’s probably it… they need the gas! I’m sure they don’t want the fertilizer from all the trips I’ll be making to the potty, because otherwise they would have specified that I collect it as I go. I believe enough fertilizer will be made to cover several acres.

While I’m sedated I’m sure they will have fun drawing cartoons on my belly with magic markers, or maybe they’ll be taking provocative photos of me posing with food and non-clear liquids. Pretty sure I’ll be craving a nice burger and a shake afterward!! All this in the name of prevention. Ya, right. Whatever. If nothing is wrong, I get to stay clear of this happy time for ten years. By then, technological advances will make a big difference. They’ll probably be able to zonk me out with a little zapper the size of a pencil. No prep, they’ll just use a machine to purge all the goodies out of my booty. Finally, rather than trained snakes or eels, they’ll be sending in the robot snakes and eels.

OK, maybe what I described about the Happy Colonoscopy Day is not what really happens. But I’ll never really know for sure now will I??

And now for something completely different…

Nitrite Ni-Nights

COVID has provided ample excuses for sitting on the TV while watching the couch (or something like that) and eating deliciously fattening foods.   But since we’ve both been vaccinated and spring is here, my Beautiful Girlfriend and I have decided we need yet another adventure in food control. Again. For the 123rd time. I think. We’re trying to make our hineys smaller; that’s the bottom line. Get it? Bottom line!! I make joking!! Ha ha!! Butt seriously folks, in order to make that happen, it means eating differently: low fat, high veggies, less carbs, more protein and fiber. You know, rocks and sticks and stuff.

Well guess what?? During a recent grocery store excursion, I was determined to find some low fat stuff that was fun to eat. Like maybe liverwurst or hot dogs or something. What??  Those are not low fat??  Well don’t ask me why, but about every six months or so I get a craving for that stuff. Yes, I know there are lips and noses and all sorts of weird stuff in hot dogs. And God only knows what all they put in liverwurst. Sure, they both have ingredient lists on the package, but you just can’t help but think they put something in there that they aren’t talking about. Although both can have sodium nitrite in them (not a good thing for your body), I don’t eat them often enough to get any nitrite nastiness. I hope… Anyway, I figured once in awhile won’t hurt. On our latest munchies mission we were looking around for some foods that wouldn’t put the lard in our booties, and guess what we found? Low fat liverwurst (known in these parts as braunschweiger) and fat free hot dogs! I grabbed a package of each, and very soon enjoyed the decadent pleasure of processed meat. A liverwurst sandwich with low fat mayo and a dab of mustard for lunch, and a couple fat free hot dogs with my stir steamed veggies for dinner. I was in hog heaven. Pun intended (there’s really no such thing as “low fat liverwurst”).

I suffered no ill effect, and got my processed meat craving out of the way for awhile. Well, OK, there was one effect, but I don’t really consider it a bad one. I got a free “movie” out of the deal. It’s like this, you see: I don’t eat processed meat very often. When I get that urge I mentioned earlier, I usually go in like gangbusters and have lots of yummies with chemicals that are not normally in my body. And I’ve noticed that whenever I stuff my face with things that have sodium nitrite in them, well, I have very interesting dreams…

There I was, minding my own business, on a pontoon boat with no side rails or canopy. I was one of several people on a fishing trip, and we had just sighted some huge bluegills when the guide started complaining aloud, “well, we can’t fish here. The grocery store doesn’t want us fishing in their parking lot.” I was pretty disappointed, but when I looked over the side and saw the parking lot markers on the asphalt (about 6 feet underwater) I knew that this was just the way things had to be. We motored off into the middle of the lake (or whatever it was) and slowed down while we passed a strange wooden dwelling that jutted out of the water. The structure was not painted, and had obviously been there for a very long time. Inside, people with very long noses were speaking a strange language and drawing pictographs on each other’s backs. Then suddenly, the scene changed…

I found myself in a college lecture hall, and my sixth grade teacher was having everyone stand up and do recitals that were due that morning. I got the sudden sense that my turn was quite awhile off, so I decided to take Bishop the Wonderdog (who lives in Heaven now) for a walk. We walked through a nearby neighborhood which was bordered by some woods, and stumbled upon a very large cat. My first instinct was that we had met up with a mountain lion, but the coloring was that of a domestic feline. However, this kitty was very large, probably in the neighborhood of eighty pounds or so. I expected the cat to get all poofy at the sight of my doggie, but quite the opposite happened. I heard a thrashing noise, and turned to see Bishop’s fur getting all poofed up. He was visibly trembling and excited, and his ears were flapping about and looked like small horse tails flying every which way. At this point I went back into the lecture hall, only to learn that my turn to recite had long since passed and everyone had gone home.

Now how does one analyze that dream?!? It was just plain fun!! That’s my analysis. Recreational dreaming. I’ve told stories of hot dog dreams to friends at work, and I remember a guy was envious a few days later, because he had eaten several hot dogs and had no dreams. He thought maybe he might shoot up some hot dogs before bed time, but I am pretty sure that HOT DOGS MUST NEVER BE TAKEN INTRAVENOUSLY. And really, with all the chemicals and whatnot; I wouldn’t even advise eating them at all, except for the fact that sometimes they just plain taste good. So the next time I go to the store, I’ll try to help my non-dreaming friends out and see what kind of cool dream foods they have…

Probably start in the frozen camera section. I’ve heard that deep-fried watch batteries are very delirious and full of norg oxides, which strengthen your screaming bones. While urging the ceiling tiles to quit sniffing crayons, Clamp Store Managers often shout at squid as they have cart races through the small table mazes. Ink-flavored baggage has been found to prevent shoe decay, so when the Amazing Puckered Jelly Mixer begins to twinkle in the closets, all the new employees will be happy to learn of their celery. As we move now to the chain-operated video spray, thick woolen camouflage breadsticks push other bagels out of the paper fudge racks. Now, we are sure, no foods in this whole universe are better than freeze dried pajamas.

I think I should maybe stop eating braunhotschweigerdogs for a while now…

Maybe a place like this could help me lose some weight…

The Smeckle Smabbajoos And Other Cribbulous Wigfloppen

Here I am again attempting to retrieve silly inspirational announcements from our grandsons for the purpose of overcooking a new “Happy Friday:” but this time it came at some cost, as they were unable to flagellate any wrought iron waffle cones unless I bribbled and houted first and in the beginning. I hovered under their small socks and urged them to spill forth silly things; and found myself being again the Leader Of The Weird Hello.

Therefore, it is with great indecency that I send these words to your eyes. Some of the text may have been the result of speaking gibberish into the Texting Microphone Thing (TMT) on my phone, and the result was (of course) bleeding aquamarine crayon sauce. So without any further doodley-doo, here are the silly exclamations that were harvested from the Nonsensical Neon Lantern Salad this very evening.

The smeckle smabbajoos are hunting the wild kielbasa for dinner. While they hunted they snacked on rancid chicken nuggets and drank jars of mayonnaise. Grasshopper grinned while eating drywall. The drywall tasted like rancid Snargonian Strawberries with bug Jell-O. Some of my favorite warm sauce was made of oatmeal that slept in the sewer for 14 days.

“But where did you sleep in the sewers?” they asked.

Well everybody knows that oatmeal sleeps in the light fixtures that are broken in the sewers, and when the sewer elves come to repair the damage, they go into the closest dollar store to buy delicious stink free nibblings. They especially like the stink free nibble snacks because whenever they strike a match to light a candle to fix the oatmeal lights if the nibble snacks smell bad they might cause an explosion.

Sometimes the smeckle smabbajoos sneak up on the sewer elves and throw bug Jell-O at them. When the elves turn their heads they get an earful. And then all they can hear is the munch munch munch of the grinning grasshopper as he mistakes the elves’ hats for drywall.

“Do you still happen to have those donuts?” they asked.

“Why yes I do, and I ran them through the toilet tank earlier this morning specially for you.” I screamed. “Oh you can have them then.” they barked. “But I don’t want any, because I haven’t stopped eating toilet snacks long ago,” I sneered. Suddenly, I began to speak without tongues and splashed pure gibberish into my Texting Microphone Thing (TMT).

Smurfs minigame button world will propel eggnog opposite now, and will call number again I must not.

Shambo equity past month slumber Chromeo many eggs are in the book.

That snake worm fastening ears don’t change my name I’ll kick my horse today unless I get caught in which case I will hide behind this large peppermint stick.

Fambo Namaque as probing Elmar will caption a body ache fun Zombo cowboy boots could you make money pouring in Meijer.

Next, a horribly familiar question was stretched out of the frozen toaster and into the known universe.

“But seriously do we still have those donuts?” they honked.

“Yes. They are covered with ashes because I was trying to heat treat them this morning with small pieces of pine to make them fragrant and delicious,” I shrieked. Shortly after the pine heat treatment infusion we stuffed our faces with the remaining donuts.

I commenced one last time with the TMT, but this time with a mouth full of donut molecules.

The result was:

Well from my phone from our horrible with warm mouth for our programmer.

Who/blue marsh replacement working woman Who/blue marsh group lemon working woman.

This caused all 3 both of us to make saturated laughter with great animosity.

The End.

So… how about some TV bloopers??

Time’s Fun When You’re Having Flies

Some things in life are very wonderful, but some are very strange indeed. Take time for example. Go ahead, take some. Have you had enough time to enjoy the time you took? Well I certainly hope so. I know I have, at least most of the time. One thing I’ve noticed, though, is that the older I get, the faster time seems to fly. I am not sure why; but I’m pretty sure that it’s not really fair. I mean, I am finally a retired person, but that also means I’m an older person. And for an older person, it seems a bit weird when time whizzes past your nostrils during an ice cream storm, because just a couple years ago it was 1972 when I just met my Beautiful Girlfriend and now we’ve been married almost 48 years and the kids are grown and the grandkids are growing fast and I think maybe tomorrow they’ll be asking their Mom and Dad if they can use the car and HOLY COW this run-on sentence could get REALLY BIG with all this time stuff but I think maybe it’s time to stop already!!

With the run-on sentence I mean.

Tomorrow is the 1st of May. Then we can all go outside and shout at the top of our lungs (or the entire lung region): “Hurray!! Hurray!! It’s the 1st of May!! Outdoor fun begins today!!” This was uttered by a friend of mine many moons ago; and it’s fun to say, but here in Beautiful West Michigan we’ve been playing outdoors for a while now. But again I say the HOLY COW thing because as of tomorrow, I will celebrate an entire year of being a retired person!! How is this possible?? I mean, I just handed in my badge and computer to the HR lady at work like a few months ago. Yeah, a few months right?? Like twelve months!! So how does one celebrate their first year of retirement?? I know, I think I’ll celebrate by not going to work… again. Ha ha, I laugh to you who are not retired yet.


I remember the many moons leading up to retirement… I even tortured myself (and all my coworkers) with a countdown timer I installed on my computer. “What’s the count, Ken?” my friends would ask me. “Two years, 142 days, and 12 hours,” I’d reply. And yes I think I really did go back that far. Can you tell I was eager to retire? “Whatchya gonna do with all your free time?” they’d inquire. “I dunno, maybe try to sell some of my writing, hopefully grow a nice garden, maybe do some dabbling with solar energy…” and I’d trail off with some other ideas that were floating around inside my noggin.

So now it’s time to look back over the past year and list my accomplishments. Let’s see… I cooked a lot of meals. Oh and I cleaned up after a lot of meals too. Did a little laundry (not much, my Honey Pie hates when I mix stuff that’s not supposed to be washed together). Oh, and I took care of most of the household chores during the recovery time my Lovely Bride had to endure after she fell and broke her arm exactly one week after I retired. I did get some stuff planted in the garden but other chores kept me busy so the garden became a bit of a mess. “We always get food,” my sweet Honey Pie reminded me. And we did get plenty of food.

No solar projects, no selling of writing, no nothing new.

But you know what?? I wouldn’t trade this for anything. We are very fortunate people at our house. We have no debt, and have some extra cash in the bank. My wants have always remained simple. I’ve told folks numerous times that I only had three wants in life: the love of a beautiful woman, a house on enough land to grow some food, and a kick-ass stereo. I’ve been blessed with all those and much, much more. Time continues to zoom along much more quickly than I’d like; but I’m doing my best to stay grateful and actually enjoy every moment, one day at a time. And of course, I also enjoy having some fun describing that strange time-zooming aspect of the universe. I love reciting little ditties like, “Time flies like an arrow, but fruit flies like a banana.” And my favorite came from one of my bosses from long ago. He’d smirk and say, “Hey you know what the frogs say, right? Time’s fun when you’re having flies!!” Pretty sure my old boss guy was right. We live in a swamp, and there are many frogs.

As far as I can tell, they’re having a really good time.

Wanna Buy Some Weeds?

Spring is springing here in Beautiful West Michigan, and I even got some radish seeds (already up!!) and parsnip seeds in the ground.  Got my beds tilled, just waiting for a little warmth and rain to get cracking with the planting.

Friends and family know that organic gardening is permanently embedded in my soul.  Some of them think I’m a bit off when they learn that oak leaves are one of my primary soil building materials.  I also put all our coffee grounds, egg shells, veggie and fruit waste in a compost pile along with more leaves and garden waste.  Compost has become a very valuable fertilizer.  Gardening is a lot of work, but it’s a labor of love you see.  And there’s absolutely nothing more yummy than home grown food.

I simply love all of it to pieces.

I’m a bed planter.  No, that does not mean that I dig really large holes and put bedroom furniture in them.  What it actually means is that, because I like to make the most of my miniature farm, I plant in beds about 3 feet wide rather than many single rows.  Walkways between the beds are usually 2 feet wide.  I do a lot of companion planting; which involves a little “reminder research” each year; during which time I read up on what plants like to live with each other.

Rows are nice and tidy, and relatively easy to maintain.  However, I can get much more production from beds once they get established.  Of course, bed planting also invites weeds, and for the first several weeks of the garden season it can be a challenge to keep the “uninvited guest” plants out.

Most of you call these uninvited plants weeds.  No, I’m not talking about “weed,” although I’ve grown some of that in my time too (hey, I’m a child of the sixties) (and no, we don’t grow it anymore!!) (and yes I know it’s legal, but I guess I’ve “outgrown” weed) (anyway, enough of the parentheses awreddy!!).  I guess a weed, by at least one definition, is a nuisance plant.  Many weeds are useful and even edible, however.  My Dad introduced us kids to “sour grass” when we were very small.  It’s actually called sheep sorrel, and is sometimes used sparingly in salads to perk them up a bit.  I still munch on sheep sorrel occasionally, but one mustn’t eat too much because of its high oxalic acid content.

After my Beautiful Girlfriend let me marry her, my interest in natural foods grew and I started gathering books on native plants and such.  Friends still think I’m a little off when I stop in my tracks and pick some wild greens for munching.  One of my personal favorites is lambs quarters, which is actually quite nutritious.  Actually tastes pretty darn good too.  Then our friend Pam introduced me to purslane, another common “weed” that is packed with nutrients including omega 3 fatty acids.  And yes, we harvest it for food.

I know now that many weeds can be yummy and useful, but I have to admit that for many years I focused on keeping “weeds” like lambs quarters and purslane OUT of the garden.  Hey, I figured if I really want to eat them, all I have to do is do a little weeding, or else venture outside the garden a bit and find all I want.

A couple years ago however, our lovely, tree-hugging daughter (the nuts don’t fall far from the tree, so to speak) informed us that she spent $4.50 on a one gallon bag of lamb’s quarters at a local organic produce market.  Upon hearing this, I had to chuckle a bit.

“You bought lamb’s quarters?!?!?” I snickered.  “I’ll have a bunch soon… how much can I get for them?” I wondered aloud.  “Yeah,” she said a bit sheepishly.  “It’s the only fresh greens they had.”

Couple days later, I called her while I was weeding out in the garden.

“Hi, this is K&K Hansen Farm calling.  I have lamb’s quarters coming, I can sell you them for $2.50 a pound.  That’s a bargain  you know.  I have a produce scale in the shed… just weigh up what you want and leave your money in the jar.”

After the joking  and poking, I asked seriously if she wanted them (for free of course).

“I’m weeding right now… if you want some of these I’ll forget to pull them out of the ground and save them for you.”

So I did.  And I did something historic:  I ACTUALLY MULCHED AROUND THE LAMB’S QUARTERS TO HELP THEM GROW BETTER.  Never in my living life would I have guessed that I’d be mulching “weeds.”

Here’s a photo to prove it!! Lamb's quarters

Then to make things even more interesting, we brought some rhubarb to one of our favorite local restaurants, Mia and Grace, and were talking to our server.  A nice gent, probably around the same age as our lovely daughter.  He mentioned that he enjoys eating both lambs quarters and purslane.  So, I approached the owners, and by golly they actually welcomed my lambsquarters and purslane.  “Yeah, nobody else is doing that around here,” Chef Jeremy remarked. The restaurant closed down a couple years ago… we really miss their food and the staff.

To this day I cultivate these “weeds.”  I already showed you the lambs quarters, but here’s a picture of some of my purslane:PurslaneMaybe I’m on the cutting edge of a burgeoning market!!  Planting could be pretty simple next year.  Just make my planting beds and water, then watch the food sprout!  Actually if you go looking about on the interwebs, you’ll find gobs of recipes for both plants.  We eat both lamb’s quarters and purslane raw as well as cooked.  They both make great additions to things like green salads, soups or stir fry dishes.

OK, maybe I’ll also plant some beans, corn, and squash and such too just for the halibut (we also love fish) (but we don’t plant fish in the garden) (they don’t grow well in the dirt) (there he goes with the parentheses again).

We have a nice sized garden that provides lots of good food; but we have no livestock.  But if we did, I’m sure they’d all behave exactly like this…

The Banana Blobs On Vacation To India

Well here we are again, snacking on yet another “Happy Friday!!!” episode for which I solicited creative input from my grandsons. However, their contributions were notably smaller this week due to a condition my Beautiful Honey Pie has diagnosed as “Video Game Brain.” Her diagnosis is based on the fact that when they are at Nini (pronounced NEE-nee) (and she’s also my Beautiful Girlfriend) (and she let me marry her) (and enough with the parentheses awreddy!!) and Papa’s house, they get an extra helping of screen time with their handheld face blasters. I’m sure her amputation has gotta be very correct. I know that this is true, because when asked for silly ideas to help me write a silly story, both of them struggled to provide any hilarious shopping cart infections. In reaction to their lackadaisical scorch water infusions, my Lovely Bride asked them both, “what, do you both have Video Game Brain???” Since she is a nurse (and a very good one at that), I must defer to her reprehensible punctuality.

That being said, I’m largely on my own with the writing and keyboard bopping this week. Hopefully all of you will be defended; and of course if that is the case I shall broop and geschnibble until the Lower Moon sinks into the toilet tank. Besides, if you’ve ever slept inside a small spare tire, you’d be absolutely certain that molecules smell better outside than they do inside.

So there I was, writhing in great joy on the floor, and screaming at the bottom of my lunges for any suggestions they could provide. Gabe said, “Well, I have a title. How about ‘The Banana Blobs On Vacation To India’.” “OK,” I replied. “Any other silly sentences to go with that?” “Nope,” said Gabe. After a pause, Ollie tinkled his wifflets and said, “what’s that thing… the prime meridian?” “I think that’s 0 degrees longitude,” I answered in a scholarly cabbage surprise. “Yeah!!” said Ollie. And he continued, “Pomeranians eating pickles at the prime meridian.”

Perhaps noticing that my dendrites were choking on less than fashionable pajamas, Nini brashly but randomly chimed in with a poem:

Strawberries like horse meat to eat.
Strawberries think horse meat is sweet.

Ollie followed up with a shocking revulsion: “I’d rather eat a moose!!” This caused me to pose as if I was being sculpted with a large egg beater, then I flung out a very serious question to all involved: “Does a Heffalump have a whole lump or a half a lump?” Questions such as these could of course cause a run-on sentence unless they are kept in a well lit pantry for at least 12; but when crickets finally resign from their duties as auto mechanics, only the most critical crayon rashes can prevent a hummingbird moth from knocking on xylophone bones during The Great Pine Cone Races which are held annually each year with a spacing of 12 months at a time on the order of 1/10th of a decade and like, you know, sometimes but not really.


Yes, have some.

Alrighty then. I suppose I’ll just resume washing the television shows I very much enjoy while all the silly, battery operated concrete blocks jump wildly from lane to lane on the interstate railroads. Is any of this making sense to you? I hope not!! If you are having difficulty looking for a “hidden meaning” or some sort of “symbolic embolism” or perhaps are seeking a “rational radiator” in all of this, please mail $12.73 and 17 box tops to:

Yodel Screechers Anonymous
24-7 Wildebeest Way
Honkingtown, Indibraskalania 49001-5

Ask for Mr. Rumpkin.

I leave you now with some very undergrown words that I never but always am urging with complete indigestion:

It is always better to be you than for you to be me, and although you can count to it, “eight” is a word.

Peace, Love, and Fuzzy Earlobes,

Hyram C. Gilmore
Professor of Turnip Juice
Gutcramp University

And now for something completely different. Well, maybe not completely…

Bloop Is The Word

Some people need a word for the day to make the radio sauces slide briskly from under the toilet canopy. Well in my professional opinion, “bird” is not the word. No, rather the word for today (or any other day) is “bloop.” Sometimes it’s used as an exclamation, as in the case of dropping something in the water. An example: remember that one time I was with Uncle Bribblet on the dock at Zooper’s Pond? He handed me this awesome looking smellphone he just bought and went up to the house to get seconds on Aunt Meebee’s refried cabbage sticks. When he came back, I had some bad news for him: “Sorry… I had your new iPhone 27 held tightly in my grubby little mitts, but as I was leaning over the dock I was distracted by the freshwater hexagonal stickfish and BLOOP!! into the brackish water it went. I was able to get it out and I tried to dry it off in the fire, but it started to fizz and make weird popping noises.”

Uncle Bribblet was not amused.

Because I enjoy learning more about words and other household temperature measuring cups, I decided to scan the interwebs for any additional applications of the word “bloop.” Lo and behold, there was one I had never heard of before. According to Wikipedia, “Bloop was an ultra-low-frequency, high amplitude underwater sound detected by the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) in 1997.” Initially it was thought to have originated from a marine animal, but it was later determined to be sounds from glacial movement or by “seabed gouging by ice.” Well now that’s just plain fascinating!! If only I was there to enjoy the bloopening!! Perhaps I could have gotten an autograph from one of the underwater sound detection technician people persons!! Or not!!

Bloop also appears in baseball, when a batter smacks a ball just beyond the infield. And then there are bloopers in film or other video media in which mistakes are made and are presented to audiences for the humor of it all. And then there’s the use of bloop to describe a noise made by an electronic device. So yes, goys and birls, I’m stealing all these inflammable regressions from the webbernet dictionary website definition place things.

Being the drebnerflooted person I am, I have sometimes been known to utter a short, high-pitched, low volume “bloop!!” for no apparent reason. This serves no other purpose than sheer amusement for me and anyone nearby who happens to hear it. I’ve also been known to utter other inconomulous strebulations like “flarf!!” or “mozzbop!!” and perhaps even “hookonk!!” just to perplex my grandsons and any other young or otherwise height-challenged lifeforms that happen to be within earshot. Of course, few of the “words” you just read are real; but hey, if you can’t have fun langling manguage, I mean, why squish the Twinkies on the sidewalk? Right??

Of course it is!!

Lastly, but not in the least indivisible, is the (not very) famous poem that includes the bloop as a sound made from mergling.

Well there you go. These days, there are many things we could cry about, but sometimes it’s important to laugh with very big harroo while you have a big mouthful of macaroni and cheese. I hope you find a word for your day, whether it is “bird,” or “bloop,” or even something highly technical like “wozzpoffle.” In the meantime, may your nostrils be free of burrowing insects, and may your garments be forever stain resistant.

Peace, Love, and Blissful Antigens,

Hyram C. Gilmore

On the other hand, you have Betty Boop and Grampy…


Words can be funny. Four egg sample, eye in joy you sing words that sound like they should bee OK to gather, butt their really knot. And then you have words that people make up; which can be really funny. However, it’s probably not polite to laugh at folks when they do it; especially if it’s unintentional.

I enjoyed just such a scenario some years ago. A friend and I were talking at work… I remember work!  Work is the opposite of retirement!!  Anyway, we were commiserating about work and then we thought that instead we should be trying to help each other stay grateful and not allow negative things to rot our souls and Holy Moly are we fortunate or what and although I didn’t talk to him with a run-on sentence you can bet your bippy I’m doing it now to illustrate this event; and anyway he says that we both need to stay positive and push the negative garbage away and I said,

“Yes, it’s poison.” And he replied, “YES!! You know, I just love the way you terminologize things!”

So!! I just kind of brooped and houted and said “aw shucks,” and off we went to our jobfulness. Then, when I was looking for something to write about for “Happy Friday!!!,” I thought this would be fun. Just to be sure I did a search on a dictionary site for “terminologize,” and the result was “Word not found in the Dictionary and Encyclopedia. Did you mean: terminology. And I yelled with great varnashification at the screen, “NO!! DIDN’T YOU SEE WHAT I TYPED IN THE SEARCH FIELD? I WANTED TO KNOW IF TERMINOLOGIZE IS A WORD!! SHEESH!!

And of course the screen just sat there with that silly screenified look on its face.

Now in olden days, when I was much younger and much more crelbified with “Mr. Know It All” disease, I would have told my friend, “umm, I don’t think ‘terminologize’ is a word.” No, I’ve learned that kind of correctification only serves to demean my fellow humans. I’m trying to be a recovering Know It All, in addition to some other recovery stuff I try to practice.

Conversely (that’s a real word…), I enjoy making up nonsense words to make people laugh. Sometimes they don’t get and say, “huh??” but most times folks chuckle a bit and repeat the word back to me while smiling.

Had that very thing happen a couple weeks ago. I was at the gas station, and came in to pay for my fuel. Then I spied some of those yummy 2 for a dollar sausage thingies in the little dispenser. I went to get the little paper sleeve they provide to put your links in, and had a heck of a time getting my fingers to do my brain’s bidding. “I’m a bit clumsy this morning for some reason,” I chuckled. Then I added, “I think I need to declumsify. Don’t think that’s a word, but maybe it is now!” The nice cashier lady laughed and said, “hmmm… declumsify!! I like it!! Sounds good to me!” Then we bantered more pleasantries back and forth as I paid my bill. “My puppy loves these things,” I said, pointing to the sausages. “Thanks, have a nice day.” She smiled and answered, “thank YOU. And thanks for the new word!!”

One word that I didn’t make up, is doable. What a stupid word!! It’s pronounced as if it were three words: “do a bull.” Well that can be construed as being a bit naughty if you’re, say, 14 years old or above. When I look at it and apply pronunciation rules, I think it should be pronounced “doh – bull;” because when I see “o” and “a” together in other words, it’s pronounced with the long “o” sound. Four egg sample: coat, or boat, or foal.

Anyway, pleas enjoy your words, whether imaginary oar knot. Eye no eye dew!! I try to make at least one incroflabious word every day.

I think…

These two guys mastered the silliness that can be found with words that sound the same but take much different meanings…