Although it is still the dog days of summer, The Labor Day will be one more time coming to visit us, and some schools are even getting ready to start next week awreddy!! Regardless, I have some very important suggestions that are enumerated below (see the BIG words I am using?? This must be important!!); and I will now use my bestest English sentence structure and grandma to present whatever it was I was trying to mention. Since nobody requested any guidance from the likes of me, I will hereby place it in front of your eyes anyway, regardless of your willingness to enjoy and / or utilize what I consider to be the very best methods of succeeding at school; and if you don’t agree with me please just remember that this needlessly long run-on sentence is my proud rendition of very important tips that everyone had just better embrace with great enthusiasm so I don’t have to get Gornok, my very large pet monster, involved for enforcement. You get what I’m sayin’???
This is irreverent to the need for some residual guidelines of good, down-home, school amplification tips. I have decomposed a few of these grid lines, as shown below, which have never helped me use a mirror to look myself in the eye and exclaim, “YOU! You again!! Quit following me!!” Of course, these days I am pretty good friends with me so it’s OK if I follow myself around now.
So, as you approach the school days of your present hello, please remember these simple things, which I’m sure will help you or perhaps your offspring greatly on a daily basis:
1) Wear your socks on your hands and bark at the teachers. This will keep their attention in a very luxurious manner.
2) Sell used insects during and after class. You can increase your earnings by autographing the exoskeletons of these nice little creatures. Very collectible and easy to store.
3) Carry 7 1/2 foot lengths of rusty pipe between classes. People will leave you alone and let you have all the room you need in the halls.
4) Give me lots of money. I like money. This is good, to give it to me. You may hand it to me, or e-mail it to: noway@nuh-uh.com.
5) Trade your pens and pencils for very large crayons and chalk. Use these to do your homework, especially that which MUST be typed. If confronted about your workmanship, tell the teachers that these are the only things your pet hyena will not eat.
6) GET THAT CHICKEN OFF MY SHOULDER!! Huh? It’s a fly? Oh, OK!! Whew!! Sorry…
7) .backwards sentences your all write ,it of fun the for Just .order reverse in words the put just is mean I What .correctly do to difficult very be can This .sometime it Try
8) Mix occasionally in a sentence up the words. English teachers can tested be way this, to see attention if they are paying. Surprised you might be, find to out many how not really teachers reading homework are carefully very.
9) Lern two spel and dew it korrekly at awl thymes. Yoo mossed bee eggstreamly cairfull abowt chekking yor werk.
10) Punctuation! Is very? Important in proper, sentence, structure use it correctly don’t you hate it when people don’t.
Very well then. I’m happy to excrete that you are now prepared for anything that may fall into your potato salad. Enjoy the weekend, and always remember that it’s better to be you than for you to be me; and although you can count to it, eight is a word, not a number.
OK fine,
Klern Forkstabber
Imitation Education Expert
Bribley Lamp Cord Museum
Room 421
Viffleburp, New Honkney 1020103
And now please to enjoy these two videos of the amazing foot tapping bippity bops of Gracie, George, and Fred.
I had a blast from the past clunk me in the eyeballs the other day. I saw a woman at the grocery store wearing a Hooters t-shirt. Maybe I’m a prude, but I am not the kind of guy who thinks Hooters is in any way complimentary to women.
For those of you who live in a cave with no contact to the outside world, Hooters is a franchise-type bar that serves food. Like Chucky Cheese, the Hard Rock Cafe, Planet Hollywood, and other places; Hooters has a “theme.” The “theme” is, to put it bluntly, breast meat. And we ain’t talkin’ chicken here. Even if chicken WAS what Kathy (a.k.a. Mrs. Wifeyperson), our Brother From Another Mother, Mike, and I had to eat there several years ago.
Sure, they try to hide the fact that they are marketing the female anatomy by using an owl as a logo. But unless you’re blind, one step inside and it’s pretty obvious what the deal is. Now, before you call me Mr. Prevert or Kenny Krumbum, let me say this about that: IT WASN’T MY IDEA.
Ya, right…
No, really!! My wife was the lovely person who thought up the whole cockamamie scheme. She paid the bill and everything! Tip and all!! She was strangely curious about the place, but I suspect her curiosity was primarily focused on how she assumed Mike and I would react. I think Kathy wanted to snicker at us when our lower jaws hit the table and the tongues rolled out three feet. Her favorite quip weeks before we went was, “I wanna watch you guys drool.”
I can’t speak for Mikey, but I distinctly remember that the ladies didn’t have much effect on my salivary output. Neither did the food. Nor did the drunks sitting a few tables down, who were obviously shared a different paradigm than Mike and I. Sure, the gals were pretty, and were dressed in little Hooter suits which might be nice for fancy pajamas, but weren’t really practical for much more. Didn’t even show any cleavage! The sad reality was that the food wasn’t very good, and the atmosphere was blatantly exploitative.
I’ll never go to another Hooters, thank you very much.
And then there’s the REALLY sad part: the owners are getting filthy rich!! But so are the folks who own Chucky Cheese and Planet Hollywood. Of course, my warped brain just HAD to come up with some franchise names of my own. So here they are, first the names, then the description…
HEATERS: Trained personnel cook your food at your table on a hot plate while climate control sales staff try to sell you a new furnace.
HONKERS: A prerequisite for staff members is that they have very large noses. Also, horns of all types are sounded when you arrive; as well as on the half hour.
HOOKERS: You pay enormous prices for very small, poorly cooked portions. However, for an extra large tip the waitress or waiter will go home with you.
HITTERS: Flies are raised in great numbers because the kitchen waste is kept in a large wooden vat in the back room. Guests are issued flyswatters at the door, and whoever hits over 50 flies in 30 minutes gets dinner for free.
HECKLERS: Known for excellent food, but this restaurant chain is not for those with low self-esteem. Specially trained staff yell insults at you from across the room while you dine.
HOOPERS: This is for the basketball fans. Your food is pleasantly slam-dunked through strategically placed nets at each table. If the servers miss, you may try to take the rebound and get free dessert.
HOPPERS: Guests are required to adopt bunnies and other abandoned or injured wildlife. Sit back and enjoy the fun while the extra large screens display Bugs Bunny, Roger Rabbit, and Energizer Bunny videos.
HAMMERS: Don’t put your hands on that counter! HA HA! Too late!! Free icebags to go.
HINTERS: Can you guess what’s on the menu tonight?? Sly and sneaky staff play 20 questions with you to see if you can guess what’s for dinner: “Ok, settle down Mr. Krumplemeyer… now let’s start from the beginning. Smaller than a breadbox… yes, it’s animal…”
HELPERS: Excessively helpful staff swarm about you as soon as you’re in the parking lot. Comments like, “No, sir! I insist you allow me to feed you!” are all too common. Guests often ask to stay overnight, but are “helped” out by muscular hunks with names like Vinnie, Rocco, and Lars.
HOWLERS: Home of the famous “Canine Chorus.” Dogs are trained to sit at your table and yodel during your meal. Forget about “doggie bags.” Simply place your plates on the floor when you’re finished, or earlier if you get tired of the dog noise.
HAMPERS: The only food available is chips and dip, fruit plates, and other appetizers; but regular patrons acquire the privilege to dump dirty clothes in personalized hampers. Laundry is done on Tuesdays.
Well, I could continue, but that’s probably more than enough. If any of you want to invest in one of these truly interesting ventures, send me lots of money and I’ll make sure it is put to good use as a supplement to my retirement.
Thank you.
Now for the video hooting cartoon…
I had a blast from the past clunk me in the eyeballs the other day. I saw a woman at the grocery store wearing a Hooters t-shirt. Maybe I’m a prude, but I am not the kind of guy who thinks Hooters is in any way complimentary to women.
For those of you who live in a cave with no contact to the outside world, Hooters is a franchise-type bar that serves food. Like Chucky Cheese, the Hard Rock Cafe, Planet Hollywood, and other places; Hooters has a “theme.” The “theme” is, to put it bluntly, breast meat. And we ain’t talkin’ chicken here. Even if chicken WAS what Kathy (a.k.a. Mrs. Wifeyperson), our Brother From Another Mother, Mike, and I had to eat there several years ago.
Sure, they try to hide the fact that they are marketing the female anatomy by using an owl as a logo. But unless you’re blind, one step inside and it’s pretty obvious what the deal is. Now, before you call me Mr. Prevert or Kenny Krumbum, let me say this about that: IT WASN’T MY IDEA.
Ya, right…
No, really!! My wife was the lovely person who thought up the whole cockamamie scheme. She paid the bill and everything! Tip and all!! She was strangely curious
about the place, but I suspect her curiosity was primarily focused on how she assumed Mike and I would react. I think Kathy wanted to snicker at us when our lower jaws hit the table and the tongues rolled out three feet. Her favorite quip weeks before we went was, “I wanna watch you guys drool.”
I can’t speak for Mikey, but the ladies didn’t have much effect on my salivary output. Neither did the food. Nor did the drunks sitting a few tables down, who were obviously shared a different paradigm than Mike and I. Sure, the gals were pretty, and were dressed in little Hooter suits which might be nice for fancy pajamas, but weren’t really practical for much more. Didn’t even show any cleavage! The sad reality was that the food wasn’t very good, and the atmosphere was blatanly exploitative.
I’ll never go to another Hooters, thank you very much.
And then there’s the REALLY sad part: the owners are getting filthy rich!! But so are the folks who own Chucky Cheese and Planet Hollywood. Of course, my warped brain just HAD to come up with some franchise names of my own. So here
HEATERS: Trained personnel cook your food at your table on a hot plate while climate control sales staff try to sell you a new furnace.
HONKERS: A prerequisite for staff members is that they have very large noses. Also, horns of all types are sounded when you arrive; as well as on the half hour.
HOOKERS: You pay enormous prices for very small, poorly cooked portions. However, for an extra large tip the waitress or waiter will go home with you.
HITTERS: Flies are raised in great numbers because the kitchen waste is kept in a large wooden vat in the back room. Guests are issued flyswatters at the door, and whoever hits over 50 flies in 30 minutes gets dinner for free.
HECKLERS: Known for excellent food, but this restaurant chain is not for those with low self-esteem. Specially trained staff yell insults at you from across the room while you dine.
HOOPERS: This is for the basketball fans. Your food is pleasantly slam-dunked through strategically placed nets at each table. If the servers miss, you may try to take the rebound and get free dessert.
HOPPERS: Guests are required to adopt bunnies and other abandoned or injured wildlife. Sit back and enjoy the fun while the extra large screens display Bugs Bunny, Roger Rabbit, and Energizer Bunny videos.
HAMMERS: Don’t put your hands on that counter! HA HA! Too late!! Free icebags to go.
HINTERS: Can you guess what’s on the menu tonight?? Sly and sneaky staff play 20 questions with you to see if you can guess what’s for dinner: “Ok, settle down Mr. Krumplemeyer… now let’s start from the beginning. Smaller than a breadbox… yes, it’s animal…”
HELPERS: Excessively helpful staff swarm about you as soon as you’re in the parking lot. Comments like, “No, sir! I insist you allow me to feed you!” are all too common. Guests often ask to stay overnight, but are “helped” out by muscular hunks with names like Vinnie, Rocco, and Lars.
HOWLERS: Home of the famous “Canine Chorus.” Dogs are trained to sit at your table and yodel during your meal. Forget about “doggie bags.” Simply place your plates on the floor when you’re finished, or earlier if you get tired of the dog noise.
HAMPERS: The only food available is chips and dip, fruit plates, and other appetizers; but regular patrons acquire the privilege to dump dirty clothes in personalized hampers. Laundry is done on Tuesdays.
Well, I could continue, but that’s probably more than enough. If any of you want to invest in one of these truly interesting ventures, send me lots of money and I’ll make sure it is put to good use as a supplement to my retirement.
Thank you.
Here’s an oldie but a goodie… we ALL should really give a hoot.
Upon first glance, the title of this week’s blog entry might seem a bit naughty. Well please allow me to reassure you: words like sexagenarianism and mastication are just as natural as a deep fried cabbage omelette hovering over a frolicking herd of buffalo wings during the Great Snorkeling Festival..
Reminds me of a time when I was still working. We had a pot luck; and one nice man said he was bringing “a cabbage salad.” Although there is probably no such thing as a vegetable will not eat, I took the smart alec approach and blurted out, “I can’t eat that, I’m a sexagenarian!!” I went on to explain that my Beautiful Wife (God rest her soul) and I did a stint of several years as vegetarians (we excluded meats but ate dairy and eggs). We’ve eaten pretty much every vegetable you can think of, and I’ve also grown quite a few. At first, Mr. Cabbage Salad gave a confused grin, then he said, “Wait a minute… isn’t that a person who’s in their sixties??”
Yes, by golly that’s right. A sexagenarian is a person whose age is from 60 to 69 years old. Ha ha on you if you thought otherwise!! Of course, I no longer fit in that category because I’m 71 now; but see how naughty I am?? Maybe I fooled you!! And maybe I didn’t!! And if I didn’t, ha ha on me!! And also, I’m using way too many exclamation points again!! Ha ha!!!
Anyway, back to the fun at the potluck. I got a nice helping of the guy’s cabbage salad, then I sat there and masticated right in front of God and everybody!! Again with the exclamation points!! And again I am using words that are in no way naughty, but kinda sound like they might be!! I mean, if I’m masticating in front of God and everybody, doesn’t that make me a public masticator?? Oh Holy Mackerel and pickled foghorns!! That guy is masticating!! In front of God and everybody!! Wait, what?? To masticate means to chew? As in chewing food?? So a public masticator is a person who chews his or her food in front of God and everybody??
Yes. Please don’t clunk me for being so almost naughty with you.
So… I didn’t forget; there’s still this business about the underwear test. Well I read about it in the Old Farmers Almanac a while back. I’m sure all of you have heard of soiled underwear; and maybe you’ve even soiled a pair or two of undies in your lifetime. One thing I was neveraware of: according to one gardener who wrote in to the Almanac, you can actually test your garden soil with a pair of white cotton undies!!
Yes!! All you need to do is bury the briefs 6 or 8 inches in the soil; then dig them back up again a couple months later. Supposedly, if the underwear decompose (with the exception of the elastic), then your soil is rich with microorganisms and such. In other words, your soil is healthy.
Ummm… well that’s all well and good, but I don’t think I’ll be burying my undies any time soon. With my luck (and partly because I’m now a septuagenarian), I’ll forget where they were buried. Then I’ll plant potatoes on top of them and have a very interesting masticastion experience when some of the elastic gets lodged inside one of my potatoes.
No thanks. I’ll keep my undies on my hiney and out of the soil, thank you very much.
Well this week’s video has nothing to do with the story, but since I’m now a septuagenarian I’ve had the privilege of growing up watching some of the masters of comedy. And this, in my professional opinion, is one of their funniest short films. Without any further ado…
Meteors will be zooming about in large numbers toward the end of July and into August. Please, if you go out between midnight and during a meteor shower, wear a heat resistant head bone protector. A nice metal bucket will work well, or of course you could go for better coverage and just carry a large hunk of sheet metal over head as you walk outside. If you’re adventurous, you could also wear a pair of steel reinforced oven mitts and try to catch some as they come zooming toward you. And of course there’s the old silly trick of deflecting some of them with a specially made tennis racquet.
That’s right friends, we’re gonna get some free fireworks this summer. The Delta Aquarids meteor shower will peak on July 29 and 30. Best time to watch the Delta Aquarids is late evening until dawn, with peak viewing around 2 AM. The Perseids meteor shower brings peak viewing on August 12 and 13, beginning at 11 PM until dawn. Both meteor showers are already in progress, and will last until about August 24.
Hopefully The Weather Peoples will cooperate and keep the sky free of clouds so we can all enjoy this summer spectacular. If you plan to stay up late enough to enjoy the show, try to situate yourself in an area where there are few city lights. If you can see all 7 stars in the Big Dipper then you should be able to see lots of meteors. Those who can’t escape the lights of the city will probably still see some shooting stars, but not nearly as many as those who enjoy a dark night sky.
All these meteors are from debris scattered about from a couple of comets. This year, Earth began passing through the comets’ debris fields beginning around July 12 and will finish up around August 24; so you may see shooting stars well before the peak time; which varies a bit each year.
So, get a nice lawn chair; sit somewhere dark; look into the northeast sky, and enjoy the show. And again, don’t forget to have some fun with it all… have your Heat-Away Meteor Resistant Oven Mitts ready to catch one as it plummets to Earth. Wear your Captain Zognord Protective Meteor Helmet. And of course be ready with your Deluxe Vector Brand Cosmic Comet Dust Bonking Racquet.
And above all, don’t listen to any of my silliness about protective gear and racquets and such. Just enjoy the cool show please.
I’m not afraid admit it: I’m an antique. When we were kids, Mom would literally tell us “go watch television” to get us out of her hair. Mind you this was mostly when it was too crummy to go outside; but we grew up spending some time in front of the TV.
When family life got stressful, I found myself clinging to the relief provided by good old black and white TV programs and movies. I mostly enjoyed black and white programs because, well, that’s all we had at our house until well into the ‘70s.
Abbott and Costello, The Three Stooges, Laurel and Hardy, the Marx Brothers, oh and of course there was Our Gang, the Bowery Boys, Bug Bunny, Felix the Cat, Betty Boop…
I could go on for a very long time.
I count myself as one of a privileged generation who were blessed to be wowed by the old time greats, yet also blessed by newer talents of today.
But when life gets really icky, I find myself reaching for the Three Stooges or Marx Brothers DVDs. Or maybe Monty Python. OK, Monty Python episodes were not filmed in glorious black and white, but you get the idea.
So there I was, 10,000 feet in the air, no plane, no parachute… oh wait… different story.
So there I was, whining about the woes of the world, being grumpy, not being very grateful. Silly me, a spoiled American, being grumpy because the world leaders are not behaving exactly the way I know they ought to. Many, MANY people in this world would be very happy to have the high-class problems I have. However, I’m human and therefore I get grumpy from time to time.
For me, one of the best remedies for stress is laughter.
Therefore, I’m going to treat you to one of my favorite black and white stress relievers.
Please remember that it’s always better to be you than for you to be me; and although you can count to it, “eight” is a word.
Rather weird title to a story, right?? I mean, nobody has ever asked whether my car was a professional wrestler. Come to think of it, nobody has ever asked whether my cordless drill is a veterinarian; nor has anyone wondered if my antique radio is related to the Queen of England. And I have absolutely no idea what any of that is all about, but it was fun to write those silly things with my typing fingers.
OK… so one might (or might not) ask, why would I tell all of you that my car is not a professional wrestler? Well you see it’s like this: my car is a minivan named Sienna. I only recently learned that she is female; but when I went to the Google to look up her name, the photo of a woman from Detroit popped up on the side of the screen. Apparently, Sienna the wrestler is quite accomplished in the professional wrestling field. I never met her, but I’m thinking I’d never want to make her angry.
No, my Sienna is from a factory in Princeton, Indiana. A few years ago we found her sitting in a lot in Holland, Michigan. Her appearance was very timely; because at the time my brand new 2001 Chrysler Town and Country was starting to behave rather badly. I don’t know if the Chrysler was a boy or a girl, but I dubbed it “Old Rattle-Bonken” because of the strange noises the suspension made when going over even the smallest bumps. I was hoping to drive it a couple more years, so we got the transmission rebuilt. Then the speedometer started dancing strangely and my brain started worrying about what was next. Therefore, Old Rattle-Bonken was traded in for Sienna.
When we first got the Town and Country, we thought we had something really special. Heated seats, leather interior, electric sliders, no rust… very clean. But then came this crazy Toyota thing in 2016 (I think). All kinds of bells and whistles, many of which I still don’t know how to use. It even warns me when cars are coming if I’m backing up!! Warns me if somebody is next to me in my blind spot!! Has a navigation system!! Moon roof!! VERY QUIET!! One of the quietest cars we’ve ever owned. It’s been serving me well as both an 8 passenger minivan and “truck.”. Its towing capacity is rated at 2500 pounds, so it pulls my utility trailer nicely. I’ve given it a few booboos over the years but it still runs great.
Just like the Chrysler, Sienna has steering wheel controls for the radio. Also has even more… I can connect my smellphone to her brain with bluetooth. Such a marvelous thing to be able to talk on the phone to Uncle Waffleheimer while trying to avoid being killed on the expressway!! Then one day I noticed this strange picture of a face with its mouth open on one of the little buttons on the steering wheel. I pressed it… a menu came up on the dashboard, and a woman started talking to me!!
“Blah blah blah… voice recognition… blah blah commands blah blah help.” I was so amazed I only comprehended bits and pieces of what she was saying. Then she went silent and the menu disappeared from the display screen. My experience with computers started to kick in, and I pressed the button again. More voice command stuff… but this time after she quit talking I said, “Play the CD please.” She replied “disk,” and I answered, “Yes.” Then she said “Yes;” and VOILA!! the CD started to play. Then I said, “FM radio,” and she echoed my command, and I said “yes” and she said “yes” and the FM radio started to play.
Was this cool or what??
Then I got more adventurous: “Tune to 720 AM.” She replied, “Pardon?” Hmm… ok let’s try FM… “Tune to 90.3 FM.” “Pardon?” she responded. I guess some commands just don’t register. Tried to go to the Google again and look for a list of voice commands that work but came up dry. Oh well, I’ll just keep trying. Maybe I’ll scour the interwebs some more to see what I can find. I’ve often wondered how safe some of this high tech car stuff might be, but looks like it might actually be helpful.
OK, my father didn’t really smell of elderberries. But he was the one who first told me about these lovely fruits of Nature when I was very young. I remember when I first tasted them I found them a little less than wonderful. However if you catch them at just the right time they are palatable. Trouble is, the “right time” can slip away very quickly. They ripen slowly over many weeks and then kaboom!! they explode on you as you walk along the trail. Well OK maybe there’s no kaboom!! Seriously, they are only in their prime for a few days and then they become bitter.
Beautiful West Michigan is blessed with lots of water, and elderberries really like living near water. You can see them along the roadsides (and elsewhere of course); large bushes with big white flower clusters that mature into the beautiful dark purple fruits. They should be ready in a few weeks, and they are ready to pick when the stems that support the cluster of berries also turns purple. The trick is to get them before the birds do… but I always leave some for the birds.
Elderberries have been used for eons, both for medicinal and culinary purposes. Personally I’m trying to start a “revival” of the use of elderberries. I say “revival,” because for many moons I would mention to people, “I picked a mess of elderberries over the weekend.” They would smile politely and then ask, “What are elderberries??” Many have heard about them in songs and whatnot, but it seems that the vast majority of people have not noticed them at all, much less picked them.
If you ever get the notion to pick them, DO NOT be silly and try to pick them one at a time. You’ll go crazy I tell you!! You’ll be working for hours and get maybe a few cups of berries. The best way I’ve found is to cut the berry clusters from the plant and drop them in your shopping bag. Those plastic grocery bags from the store are perfect for this, but make sure you take some that don’t have any holes in the bottom. Bring a pair of scissors or maybe a sharp pocket knife and cut the berry cluster at the stem that connects it to the plant. Oh, and as I mentioned earlier, please follow this very important rule: always leave some for the birds.
Thank you.
Then take them home when you get your quota and prepare to spend at least an hour processing about a gallon of berries off the stems and into a container. I find it good meditation to pick up the clusters one at a time and roll the berries off the stem gently with my fingers. Fingers get a bit purple from this, but it’s not permanent. Processing the berries is easy… after I’m done, I put them in a freezer bag and just chuck them in the freezer. When I want to use them, I just bonk them a little to loosen them up and then scoop what’s needed.
So why go through all this hassle? Well folks, there’s simply nothing quite like elderberry pie with a glob of Breyer’s vanilla ice cream on top. Making the pie is at least 197% easy. First of all, I’m not ashamed to admit that I cheat on the crust. I buy the Pilsbury crusts at the store from the dairy case.
Hey if you want to make your own crust, knock yourself out. I mean that figuratively of course. Wouldn’t be very pleasant if you really knocked yourself out. Lots of people have told me that “crust is easy!!” Looks to messy to me. When it comes to making crust from scratch, I’m a lazy wuss, OK??
Other than that, I follow the same recipe for elderberry pie as I do for blueberry:
3 to 4 cups of elderberries
1/2 cup of dark brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon of cinnamon
1 1/2 tablespoon of flour
1 drizzling of honey
Mix everything except the honey in a bowl and pour them into a 9 inch deep dish pie pan with crust. Take a spoon and fill the rest of the pie with more berries until you’ve filled the pie pan. Then drizzle the top with just a bit of honey, and this is because elderberries are quite tart and just a little more sweetening is a good touch but certainly not necessary. Cover the pie with the other cheating crust and poke some holes in it so the steam will vent out. Cook in the oven at about 350 or 400 till the crust is nice and brown, or about 45 minutes.
I’ve also been known to make what I call “bluederberry pie,” in which I mix 1 part elderberries to 3 parts blueberries. Oh my, that’s good!
Then the fun part: STUFF YOUR FACE!! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!
So enjoy your elderberries, but when they start to come, don’t delay, they’ll be gone before you know it. And if you don’t want any of such silly treats, that’s just fine.
That’s more for me!!
Now, regarding my father.. he was a full blooded Norwegian, so he probably smelt more of lingonberries, or perhaps even cod. However, one of my favorite “insults” that I occasionally repeat aloud comes from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. One of my favorite movies of all time contains a boisterous proclamation from John Cleese: “Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries!!”
This story is a reminiscence of before times when grandsons were children and didn’t yet think cellphones were important. Well there we were, snarfing some homemade assorted fried rice with green beans and garlic from the garden and lots of other veggies from the grocery store and some dead crustaceans (a.k.a. shrimp), dead chicken muscles (a.k.a. chicken meat) and also dead pig muscles (a.k.a. mork peat); when My Beautiful Girlfriend announced, “It’s time to give your Papa some ideas for Happy Friday!!!” so they began hurling (not food) sentences at me in the form of interview questions and now it’s time to switch to that idea rather than allow this run-on sentence to continue any farther.
When asked what the title of this silly story should be, Gabe quickly blurted, “Monkeys On Their Bus Ride to England!!” This quickly ushered in a mock interview session in which his older brother Oliver assumed the role of interviewer.
Oliver: “Where are they in the world when they get on the bus?”
Gabe: “They are not in the world they’re on Jupiter.”
Oliver: “Is the bus that the monkeys are on going so fast on Jupiter that it somehow broke through the atmosphere and landed on earth?”
Gabe: “Well no, they did not go fast in the bus to get out of the atmosphere. They built a ginormous ramp, and it took them one day to get to earth. They landed in a field 5000 million miles away from England. The field was floating on a ginormous balloon on the water. A balloon was there to keep the field from sinking in the water.”
Oliver: “What country were they closest to one they landed?”
Gabe: “They were closest to China and four different countries.”
Oliver: “Are there any cows on this island?”
Gabe: “No but there are a crap ton of pigs!”
Oliver: “These aliens are confused.”
Gabe: “These aren’t aliens, they are just regular monkeys.”
At this time my Lovely Bride interjected that she was wondering if these monkeys were going to do any sightseeing. Perhaps they would see Big Ben or perhaps the Queen?
Gabe: “They thought maybe they would go see big Ben and the Queen but instead they chose to go to the Eiffel tower to see the other crap ton of pigs.”
Oliver started to resume the “interview,” but Gabe quickly took over. “I’ll question myself,” he said. “Where did they go after they went to the Eiffel tower and saw the other crap ton of pigs? They went back to the balloon to see the first crap ton of pigs! The End.”
We all had a chuckle while I e-mailed the results of the interview to myself so I could more easily transcribe the notes I dictated to my phone along the way. Afterward we all sat down to crunch on some delicious remote controls dipped in chocolate flavored motor oil and watched “Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship Of The Ring” until it was too late to keep our eyes open. So now I am sending this to all of YOU and that’s just all you get for this week, with the exception of course of the silly video I like to put at the end.
Note: This notice has been circulated to everyone who has pockets, pocket books, mailboxes, or ants in their driveway. Please read carefully and follow the instructions.
My Fellow Colleagues,
In these uncertain economic times we must strive to defeat the competition both before and after they are finished watching their favorite movies and / or cooking programs. Therefore, it is with great implosion that I urge all of you to apply an exorbitant amount of effort toward our long discontinued standard of excellence.
In striving toward the spirit of this year’s successful yet spiritually degrading development plan, we are rolling out what we believe is an innovative approach to corporate indecency with our new motto: Strength Through Costly Mistakes, or STCM.
To facilitate Phase 1 of this plan, Zelden Bilgehammer of Quality Infusions, Inc. will be arriving soon to inspect the cambernackles. Please ensure that all edible Click Wrapper standards are well concealed and thoroughly hyphenated before Zelden’s infestation. As a reminder, the entire Click Line will be down for maintenance during this inspection; since all the Snooglebockers are on their vacation to Jupiter to see the flying cows. I hope they have a great time!! I can smell the rancid cows from here!! Let’s just hope they don’t bring back any rottage cheese. That stuff is nasty, am I right??
But I digress…
During this exercise, please note that cambernackles will heretofore be inspected on the 3rd Tuesday of each week, twice monthly, with liberty and justice for all. This information may be shared freely with herds of wild businessmen, or any and all individuals whose names rhyme with “lumberjack,” as they would appear when divided by the pertinent day of the month.
For example: on the 1st Tuesday of 2026, the week begins with the letter R. It follows then, that you may share this with people who have names like:
Rudence Cumberjack
Rumby Cambersnorck
Royven Snanderjunk
And of course Roopy Wofflenick.
Note that the inverse modification standard never applies. None of these stick flingers are employed at this time, so sharing the inflammation can only enhance our deprivation protocol.
If you have any questions regarding this modulation, please insert two nickles and eleven dimes. I’d very much like you to tell me about the case you’re working on. After all, your toaster is probably orange with chrome crumb fenders. The chicken tenders have escaped the restaurant and are now stealing cars.
Thank you in advance for your cooperation in this urgent flea popping contest.
In the before times, when our grandsons were visiting, it was customary to beckon their assistance with writing the given week’s Happy Friday!!! installment. This process often produced rather interesting cabbage filters. So, as I’ve done before, I put their contributions in bold italics to differentiate them from the silliness that jumped out of my brain.
**WARNING!!** This story may be a bit silly. OK, here we go…
Smiley Face Headphones And A Balloon Ride To Mars
During a recent snowstorm, Sir Bobbington was found sleeping on the bathroom floor with the electric toothbrush jammed up his left nostril. Of course, such a traumatic event would at the very least cause strange dreams. For Sir Bobbington, this was no exception. And when he woke up he said, “I don’t know! I didn’t know my foot was bleeding this much! I didn’t feel it!” Then he went on to say some really strange things, apparently inspired by his dream. He bribbled and florped, then said, “This coming Sagnerday I will illegally change my name to Frapzak Mizzlepop, which of course was never a Native American name meaning ‘Slumbers With Chowder.’ Used donuts and apple chowder vinegar will be served in celebration.”
We used our garden tractor to get the toothbrush out of Sir Bobbington’s nose hole. It worked pretty well, but now there is a trail of gooey stuff all over the driveway. That should not be a problem because it will be radio season soon and the antennas will cover it up. Besides, it sealed some the cracks in our concrete quite nicely.
I asked him if he was OK after this ordeal. I mean, there was no blood or anything, and his nose was still functioning normally as far as I could determine. He assured me he was fine, but when I asked how in the hibbledy-boo he got that thing lodged inside his nostril, he said, “Well that’s even harder than making a story. Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!” I gave him a funny look and he quit talking. Both of us just figured the horrible event caused him to talk a bit squirrely.
Well it didn’t end there. Next thing I knew I was also affected by all the excitement and began reminiscing about all the green dust I found in my shoe bottles during last year’s amplified crust removal incidents. I told Sir Bobbington, “I would like to take this opportunity to urge you to please have a Happy Merry and a Joyful Wonderful. Personally, I’m very much looking forward to the Cream of Mustard celery toppings and the Dead Snake Surprise desserts!!” Then of course it was his turn to give me a weird look!
We decided to maybe try to change to some more intelligent conversation; so we took a walk over to Peach Pit Park to enjoy a relaxing walk. There we noticed Sir Frinklefoot; who was often seen in the park doing some “interesting” things. You see, every time Sir Frinklefoot went to a park or other public place where there were benches he would feel underneath to see if there was any gum. This time we got brave enough to ask him why he always collected used gum; and he said he wanted to make it into a hot air balloon and fly that to Mars.
Sir Bobbington and I just didn’t know what to make of all that… so as a measure of desperation, we kind of quickly looked around for a way to steer the conversation elsewhere. I spied a pair of headphones lying on the bench next to Sir Frinklefoot… and my imagination kicked in as I pointed at them and blurted out, “Look at the headphones, it’s a smiley face !!” Sir Frinklefoot gave us a puzzled look and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “OK, whatever.”
We said goodbye to Sir Frinklefoot; and started briskly walking away. As we made our way down the sidewalk, I remembered an experience I never had that I just knew would impress Sir Bobbington. I told him, “Many of my enjoyments have wriggled right out of Mars and other parts of the Aurora Borealis. I hope my cat learns to speak German soon.” Both of us stopped walking, shook our heads and roared with laughter.
