Two Years, 5 Months, 1 Day

Well Boys and Girls, it’s been awhile since I announced My Retirement Countdown In Superfluous Capital Letters and Expensive, Imported Clarified Butter Catapults that not Only Fling Large Amounts Of Butter in ALL directions, but also find New Meaning in Donated Capillary Floss Finding Missions which of course have never been discovered yet so please let’s not talk about those.

Thank You.

Yes, it’s that time again which happens pretty much every day I’m at work: I reflect upon the number of years, months and days I shall have to wait before the Great Retirement Lever is pulled with glee, sending balloons filled with sand over the rails of highway bridges that traverse the El Flampo River in the southeastern corners of Northern New Mashpottle.

In fact, today at the movies we saw the preview for a flick that will be released on March 2; the day after my belly button was built. As the release date was announced, I leaned toward my Beautiful Girlfriend’s Beautiful Ear and whispered unto her, “when that movie comes out I’ll have 1 year, 11 months, and 29 days till I retire!!” She nodded about 723 times in the course of twelve seconds, which caused her cranium to fly about with great speed and camouflage. In other words, she kinda grunted as if to say, “ya, OK… awright awreddy!!”

She may have heard the countdown a few thousand times.

It’s getting closer… and the more I announce the years, months, and days, the more the years, months, and days are announced by me. This is the way of my talking face parts. At work, I’ve found myself saying things like, “yes, these computers are leased, and everything needs to be returned when the lease expires. The lease is for 4 years. However, in 2 years, 5 months, and 1 day, I will not care about such things. But hey, who’s counting??” “Sounds like maybe YOU are…” my friends say with a smirk. Then they show their happiness for me by throwing expired pudding on my shoes and writing funny sayings on top of my eyebrows with markers.

Feels like it did when I was halfway through my tour in the Air Force. I am a “Vietnam Era Veteran,” which means I received much of the benefits of having served during that time; such as the GI Bill which paid for my college. Also got a VA loan that enabled us to buy our home. I served stateside for my entire tour, so the sacrifices I made for our country were minimal indeed compared to many who lost life and / or limb. But when in the Air Force, your life belongs to your Uncle (Sam), and most of us knew our “getting out” countdown by heart.

These days, I cheat because I have an app that plops the countdown on the screen of my work computer when it boots up every morning. Sometimes it gives me hope, other times it makes me want to smear jellyfish on my sandwich at 2:37 AM just to relieve the stress of working all the time; and I work on computers and all the people in our department who know what they’re doing are either leaving the company for another job or retiring; and that leaves the rest of us holding the bag full of slimy technological marshmallow residue that will break at a moment’s notice and then people like me have to figure out who’s still here and can fix this crap and HOLY COW everybody is freaking out because they can’t print their reports and their screens are oozing melted cheese while internally there is purple smoke and Oh Jeez this is no fun anymore.

HOWEVER… in 2 years, 5 months, and 1 day, I won’t care AT ALL about slimy marshmallow residual technology.

I’m really glad it’s Friday.

How’s this for a diversion?

Absolutely No Complaints

Quite a journey, all this life stuff. Very easy to get frustrated, maybe even angry, and certainly sad about the crazy things people say or do; especially when you’re directly affected. For example, I’m in the midst of a giant “learning experience” right now; the result of being a bit too trusting and kind. I just can’t help it, that’s the type of person I am. However, there are people in this world who take advantage of trust or kindness; and the result is often not very pretty.

My Beautiful Girlfriend was on a camping trip with her friends, so I was a bachelor for the past few days. Normally I’m very OK with being alone, but I felt vulnerable, ignorant, insulted, hurt, and sad when I realized how far things can go before the brakes are applied on a situation that I thought was based on trust and mutual respect. And of course work has been a big mess lately. Then I made the mistake of watching the news. Too much bad juju going on right now with all the Global Storming and War Talk. Oh, and to top it all off my cat didn’t come home when I expected; so my magnifying mind projected that he’d been eaten by a coyote or some such nastiness.

I’m not too proud to say it, I had a good cry.

Thankfully, all was not lost. Not in the least bit. The cat came home (I hugged him and called him a stinky monkey). I reached out to friends, a couple of whom had experienced the exact same thing I’m enjoying. Very helpful. Then I contacted the person in question and let them know it was time to part ways. That went pretty amicably. Then I hung out with some friends again some more, and things got even better. Now, my Honey Pie is home; we picked up our grandsons for the weekend; and I’m right as rain.

Bottom line of all this venting is this: I have absolutely no problems in this world. After all that spewing of sadness, one might say, “ya right!! Doesn’t sound like it Kenny boy!!” Well, even though I was in the throes of despair, with a little help from my friends (oh, and especially those God People) (whoever they are) I was able to come out the other side with much gratitude and peace. Took some work to get there, but I’ve acquired some coping tools along the way of this marvelous journey we call Life.

Wasn’t always so. Not by a long shot. In the Before Times, I would run for intoxicants and poison my surroundings with angry utterances and breaking of things. I’m very VERY grateful that those times are long gone. And I’m especially grateful that no matter what the universe plops in front of me, I’m always keenly aware that I’m a very fortunate person.

I have plenty to eat, a nice home, a car that works well. I am blessed with the love of The Most Beautiful Woman In The Universe. I’m blessed with the love of my children and grandchildren. I’m blessed with the love of friends, and yes, even the love of the stinky monkey kitty cat (he often greets me near the door when I get home from work).  And there are may more examples I could name.

So much awful stuff in this world when I watch the news. So many people suffering. So many more that will suffer if we can’t find a way to end war. So much. So you see, I have no problems. I have absolutely no reason to complain. But I’m human; so I probably will from time to time. I hope you will forgive me when I whine.

As a dear friend of mine used to say, “you want a little cheese with that whine??”

Well I may not like everyone… but I try to LOVE everyone.  Not always easy, but it’s all you need…

An Open Letter To Friends Or Others

Dear Service Warmers,

Thank you for ingesting both pots of crayfish broth during the Great Mustard Festival. After all, one can never be certain how long a 6 inch, foot long Sumpway Sand Witch will turn out to be; especially when it has long been known that TV antennas never make good Snackwonder Surprise.

Today I received reinforcement of my long standing belief that there is a neurological connection between my hiney and my head bone. This I have determined by venturing from my typing chair, this one here that I’m sitting on, in my writing room, where I am writing to you while typing and wondering what it was I should actually be telling you.

So there I was, approximately 676 feet above sea level (plus or minus 3 million miles), thinking that because I used my aging body in the garden today and it hurts in various places, maybe I should go downstairs and get some aspirin; so I got out of my chair, started out the door of my typing room (which I use for writing) (in addition to sitting) (and now the excessive use of parentheses in an already clunky run-on sentence), and lo and behold I completely forgot what for I was going down the stairs to get something; I have no idea what the heck it was. Shortly thereafter (well OK, my body didn’t get shortened because I was the same size, but it wasn’t very much time) I mumbled to myself out loud so my ear things could induce vomiting:

“What the…”

“What was I gonna…”

“Why was I going downstairs???”

I come back; I sit down, and VOILA!! My brain thing in my headbone was now retrieving memory information. I go for to put the aspirin into my mouth place and wash it down with some dihydrogen oxide. Therefore, the logical contusion is: my hiney and brain are connected somehow.

Please, no butt head jokes.

Unless you want to…

OK. So back to the original premise that all of you Wonderful Yankle Tramplers out there were so very helpful with drinking 72 gallons of crayfish squeezin’s during the Grape Custard Vestibule. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to sell that stuff on the street corner?? After a few hours it begins to smell like someone was storing tuna fish salad in my sneakers. After only 47 minutes you can bet your sweet golf hammer I’ve filled my nostrils with marbles to prevent the barfstinkens from floating into my smellgrabber organs. And if you’ve ever heard “Inna Gadda Da Vida” on the smellgrabber organ, well you know you’ve been treated to some of the best doggone Snot Marble Surprise this side of Eastern New Sniffington.

Very well then. I must go find solace in my cat’s new molar polishing machine. In the meantime my friends, I leave you with the wisdom of that age-old someone whose circular germinations you may or may not have ever endured:

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

By the way, I work in the IT Department. Can you tell my week has been very snarbifulous??

On the other hand, you have the smellgrabber song…

No News Is Good News

It’s getting difficult to watch the news these days. Our lightning-fast media bring reports from all over the globe and flash them in front of our faces, often while they are happening in real time. Sure, it’s important to be informed, lest we become complacent and start resting on our laurels. After all, if we didn’t hear about what was going on, how could we act to effect change? Unfortunately, however, too often the news media have become voracious marketeers. Reports about sad and disturbing events have become their livelihood; sometimes with complete disregard for the victims of horrific events.

I saw a video recently of a CNN reporter who was put in her place by a poor woman with kids who had just lost everything because of Hurricane Harvey. The reporter asked the woman what the experience was like, and of course the poor lady reacted with disgust from the mere act of being interviewed in such a manner.

Manners… don’t people have manners anymore? Not sure about anyone else, but I don’t think it’s very good manners to stuff a microphone into the face of someone who was freshly uprooted because of a terrible storm.  My heart aches for those who are suffering, and my head is on fire worrying about my loved ones who are bracing for Hurricane Irma. And please, let’s not get started on all the war crap going on around the globe.

Well my friends, there really IS good news out there, and so I thought I’d take this opportunity to spread some of it around. Some of the links to follow were sent to me by friends, others I simply stumbled upon and stashed into my brain. So without further ado, here are some places you can go if you hunger for some uplifting stuff.

One of my new favorites: UTR Michigan (Under The Radar Michigan). Very cool stuff here. Saw a broadcast of their program on our local public TV station recently, but you can also watch programs on their site for free. I’m very grateful to have been transplanted to Michigan… a great place to live in my professional opinion. This guy points out just how cool it really is at

Then there’s Yes! Magazine. A dear friend gave me a subscription for a Christmas gift awhile ago and I’ve been smitten ever since. Articles about all types of positive actions around the globe are chronicled here. They can be found at

Then of course my organic gardener soul loves these: Organic Gardening magazine’s and of course The Mother Earth News: Oh, and another favorite, the Seed Savers Exchange:

Oh! We mustn’t forget “the pooper book” website!! Say wha?? Well, that’s what our son calls the Old Farmers Almanac. His nickname for the Almanac is one of love, I’m sure, and was derived from the area of the house the magazine is most often found. Every year I buy three of them: one for our son, one for our daughter and her family, and one for us. Not sure the website qualifies as news, and actually the hard copy is more fun than the website. Nonetheless, you can find it at

Well friends, I could go on and on but suffice it to say that there really IS good news out there if you look for it. And the older I get, the more good news I seem to need. There is more than enough heartache in this world; and when I find myself focusing too closely on just the nasty stuff, I get rather sad. I’m sure I’ll continue to keep my ear to the ground and stay informed, but there are times when no news really is good news.

And good news is just plain good!

One of my least favorite topics is politics; but this 1937 Betty Boop cartoon shows that having a mayor like Grampy is just plain cool.

We Stained The Deck And Are Still Married

Not sure if I’ve ever mentioned this, but I married the Most Beautiful Woman In The Universe. She can’t help being lovely, it just comes natural to her. I really am truly grateful every day that not only is she beautiful, but she’s my best friend, and also I get to kiss her and snuggle and stuff like that there. That being said, even her Amazing Loveliness sometimes cannot prepare us for a horrific reality of life: BIG CHORES. We really don’t like big chores, especially when neither of us have had any experience with said chore. One case in particular began today after much anticipation and weather watching.

Earlier this year we decided we should stain our deck. A good idea, it’s made of wood and is 11 years old already. Until today it has never been stained. My Beautiful Girlfriend (the lovely lady who let me marry her 44 years ago) hired a nice man to come blast the deck clean with pressure washers and bleachy chemicals. He did a great job and made the wood look very clean indeed.

I bought the stain a few months ago, and after some delay with the deck cleaning job (the nice man had a scheduling whoopsie and showed up a couple months late); it was time to plan for deck staining time. This of course was completely dependent on the weather: in the event of rain you have to allow the wood to dry for a few days. Needless to say, it rained just often enough to annoy us greatly.

Here we are now on Labor Day weekend. I normally take a couple days vacation in conjunction with a long weekend so I can get lots of time off. And I figured if push came to shove I could spend my vacation staining the deck with the help of my Very Attractive Wife Lady. That fun began today.

Remember how I said earlier that neither of us really like BIG CHORES, especially ones with which we’ve had no experience? Well, not sure about anyone else, but we both got a little grouchy. She started off very grouchy, then apologized. Then it was my turn to be a stinker-butt, and I apologized. Then both of us decided that the stinker-grouchy-butt routine was not very helpful, and we managed to just get things done without trying to remove each others’ vital organs.

A friend of ours told my Sweet And Amazing Honey Pie that this deck staining job thing would only take 3 hours. Apparently our friend forgot to use the time multiplier during her ciphering… 3 hours was chewed up in nothing flat and we have several more hours to go.

Upon seeing the result, we were pretty pleased with ourselves; in spite of the mess we made. Some decorative rocks now have speckles. In the flower bed that trails around the outside of the deck is a little concrete kitty that is “sleeping.” It’s beginning to look more like a calico. We’re taking a break because the sun went ni-night; and besides, every joint and muscle in our bodies is crying for mercy. More fun tomorrow when we hope to finish it all off.

Both of us groaned that we woulda-shoulda-coulda hired all this out; but reality quickly slapped us in the nostrils because that would be rather expensive. Call us selfish, but we’re getting closer to retirement and are trying to make decisions that save us some cash. After all, as my Voluptuous Va-Va-Va-Voom Best Friend Person said, this deck staining business “is not rocket science.” Good thing it isn’t; not sure our home would survive the explosions. Hey, we made pretty on the deck, and our marriage actually survived!! Truly miraculous.

Please, no more BIG CHORES for this year.


Could have been worse, we could have chosen to build a boat…

A Most Fribbular Movie Night

Thank you all for allowing this work week to be so condribular and racknerfloven. It was a Very BIG ONE; and well you all know what THAT means, right? OK, maybe you just don’t know. Therefore, I must tell you: THAT means that my Beautiful Girlfriend and I HAD to go see Spider-Man at the Movie House to force ourselves to enjoy a marvelously brain flushing evening; because all day long this week I was shrieking silently and hoping that now that Friday Eve had arrived perhaps some Big Screen Happy Time would allow the stress crinkles to drip out of my cerebral cortex while tiny aluminum duck sandals renewed their strong scents of delirium with liberty and justice for all.

In spite of that terrible and confusing run-on sentence, please remind me to never again drink soda just before going to the movies. I mean, the Spider-Man idea was one of those impromptu “hey, wanna go see Spider-Man?” things where we both were aware that it would soon leave the big screen in our neck of the woods; and even if our woods were neckless, we’d still miss seeing the movie in the theater and holy marzooka, we really love going to a flick because it’s such a wonderful way for us to escape for a couple hours with miniature Snickers bars that cost too much but who really cares because hey, we’re at the movies and they use such naughty enticements to remove our dollars in large tortellini battery powered radish flossings.

So there I was, pretending to be in control of all my faculties and functions, when after about 4/12ths of the movie had played I learned that my bladder would not listen to my inaudible screams of “NO!! I DO NOT WISH TO PEE!!” This forced me to politely leave the movie room place and run with great zoomophone to the nearest vestibule, deposit some used Cherry Pepsi into the appropriate flushmobile, then briskly (but thoroughly) wash my hand-hand-fingers-palms (I like to hold my Honey’s hand during the movie you see); then zoom back with great runophone to the movie door thing and quickly but quietly interrupt several people’s line of sight for approximately 12.47 milliseconds each while grabbing again my seat of movie viewing oh boy I’m glad I ran in the halls like a wild man but oh wow I didn’t miss much and that is so cool.

If you’ve ever been to a Marvel movie, you are likely aware that after the movie there are credits that roll past on the screen. What?? ALL movies do that?? Oh. Well Marvel movies are more differenter like, you know, because they like, you know, have these little… um… let’s call them “short scenes of actors and such” doing some sort of like, related or like, not related Movie Monkey Business that are strategically placed between some of the credits and like, if you fly out of the theater after the movie is “over” then you like, miss all these totally non-crapulous scenes (my goodest usaging of English and punctuation back there).

We saw the first short scene thingamabobber and that was nice… but hey guess what?? I HAD TO PEE AGAIN!! Both of us were guessing there was one more at the VERY END of the credits and whatnot, but just to be sure I asked the cleanup crew if there was another scene. They said, “yes, you’ll like it!!” And I said, “THEY NEED TO HURRY UP BECAUSE I GOTTA PEE!!!” Then they laughed and threw all their garbage in my general direction but no not really but holy flazzletran I was not comfortable.

After the last scene, I demonstrated to my Lovely Girlfriend Who Allowed Me To Marry Her that this old man can still sprint when personal safety or personal holy flazzletran is at stake.

The moral of the story: please threaten to bite my elbows if I think soda before a 2 hour, 13 minute movie is a good idea.

Thank You And Please Try To Be Happy Even When The Stress Wants To Harm You.

Oh, and tell the guy who wrote this to leave the stinkin’ shift key alone.

P.S.: We enjoyed the movie very much; and I no longer wish to cram large scraps of lumber into my nostrils.

For this week’s video, I found an old cartoon depicting movie stars who were around during the Great Depression.  Recognize any?

An Ecliptical Anniversary

This coming Monday is a very important date. That’s right folks, if you’ve been listening to the news at all, you probably didn’t hear anything about why this Monday is important… to me. You see, way back on August 21 of 1973, when the internet was made of string and soup cans, The Most Beautiful Woman In The Universe allowed me to marry her. I had pestered her for many moons to allow me to become her hubby, and now this coming Monday we’ll celebrate 44 years of wedded bliss.

Oh, and I guess there’s some kind of eclipse going on that day also.

Well OK, that’s what many of you have been talking about lately. The eclipse I mean. Last one like it for the U.S. was way back in 1970. I’ve heard that lots of folks are traveling toward our nation’s heartlands to be in the path of the umbra, which is the shadow that’s cast from the moon completely blocking the sunlight’s path to Earth. You can see a map of where the umbra will be experienced here:

My Beautiful Girlfriend (the Lovely Lady who let me marry her) and I will not be traveling, but will instead be bathing in the glory of the penumbra here at our house in Beautiful West Michigan. I’m taking a half day off to be with my sweetie. I’ve learned from the interwebs that around these parts, the eclipse will begin at 12:56 PM and last until about 3:41 PM Eastern Daylight time. Maximum darkness will happen at about 2:20 PM here. Plug in your zip code at this site for eclipse times at a city near you:

And hopefully all of you know to please be a responsible viewer and DO NOT LOOK DIRECTLY AT THE SUN during the eclipse. You’ll fry your eyeballs out of your noggin. Eyeball goop will be all melty and run down your face like gooey mascara during a rain storm. Maybe not. But you’ll damage your sight, and there are plenty of safe ways to view the eclipse. Here are some tips:

Now one of the coolest things I remember from the 1970 event was the appearance of shadows during the eclipse. My favorite treat is to enjoy the shadows cast by leaves on trees. So if at all possible, try to find a nice shade tree that allows some sunlight to pass through it; and sit or stand underneath during the eclipse. The shadows cast on the ground give an almost surreal light show during this time… and it’s truly special if there’s a light breeze to move the leaves around a bit.

Yes my friends, this anniversary will be special indeed. The weather forecast is looking like partly sunny with a chance of showers after 2 PM. That figures… but doesn’t matter. It will still get crazy dark during the day and I’ll be with my soul mate. And you know what’s really cool?? Our marriage just keeps getting better every year!!

Who could ask for anything better than that?

In case you’re wondering how sunshine is made, check this out:

“Rocky” The Corn Thief

So there I was, minding my own business, harvesting the ripe tomatoes before the rain came. And we actually got a REAL rain for a change!! Almost an inch at our house. While other parts of Michigan have been getting some pretty good moisture over the summer, here in our little corner of Beautiful West Michigan it’s been pretty doggone dry. Because of that, if you don’t pick your ripe or nearly ripe tomatoes before it rains, the extra water makes them split open.

So there I was, minding my own business (oh wait, I said that…), and as I was picking the corn, I mean the TOMATOES, I noticed that two of the corn stalks were bent over in a most unnatural way. It only took a few milliseconds for me to know exactly what this was all about… the partially chewed ear of popcorn lying there, crying silently with little chompy marks all over its outer skin places… oh yes, I’ve seen this before, it makes me crazy and sad inside because I don’t plant very much popcorn and now this (or these?) stinkin’ THIEVES are making me so arooo and bipple-dee-bip that I can’t even snibble my fardaklob without flortening even more bold italic words to show how COMPLETELY ANNOYED I AM AT THOSE MASKED MONKEES GETTING INTO MY POPCORN WITHOUT ANY INVITATION OR EVEN A SLIGHT HINT THAT THEY MAY BE WELCOME and that’s quite enough superfluous emphasis for one run-on sentence; thank you very much.

Raccoons. Just like last year. Unlike last year, I may have some reprieve. I put out a live trap last night and this morning there was a corn thief, trapped in Corn Thief Jail. Ha ha on you, you stinkin’ cute little monkey headed brinklebork!! The cat food was excellent bait for your corn thievin’ nostrils!! I really hope you were the “Lone Ranger” in this popcorn raid. Just in case though, I put the trap out again with the hopes of catching other members of your family; if they are near.

A friend of mine has chickens… and he has trapped some thieving raccoons and a couple possums I guess. They are all in heaven now; he accelerated each of their journeys with a .22 calibre shell. Sorry, but I don’t have it in me to kill these thieves. I guess you’re supposed to get a permit to either kill or otherwise remove vermin from your property; but from what I’ve heard not many folks worry about such things. No, I think what happens at my house is they crawl into some kind of wire box and somehow mysteriously disappear. During this magical event, they venture off to an unknown raccoon friendly environment that’s about 10 miles and 2 rivers away from my yard. I’ve never actually trapped one you see. It was a dream. Don’t read the previous paragraph. Oh, you read it already?? Well fine. I’ll deny every word of it.  Besides, you have to catch me…

The most effective method to stop the garden raids is of course prevention. I’ve talked about an electric fence for a couple years now. This was the year it was supposed to happen… but as is often the case I forgot to quit procrastinating. Now the corn is well on its way to maturity. Although I dashed off to the Farm and Home store last night and went nuts buying electric fence surprise supplies, I’m embarking on a learn-as-I-go journey to put a row of ouchy-wawa wire (that’s technical talk for HOLY MACKEREL THAT’S A BIG SHOCKEROONY) on top of my existing 5 foot high wire fence. I think I have a nice design; so wish me luck.

My grandiose plan for all things like this is to quit procrastinating either tomorrow or the day after that. No need to rush into things you know. Everything falls into place, especially change out of your pockets when you sit on the couch. Did you ever look under the driver’s seat in your car?? There’s treasure under there I tell you!! This is all from things falling into place. OK, maybe I’ll actually have to work to finish the electric fence surprise. That will take some effort.

Maybe tomorrow…

Today’s video has nothing to do with corn theft; rather it is a rendition of one of my favorite Beatle songs. Not sure if my little corn thief’s name was Rocky… might have been a girl. But then a friend of ours named Richelle actually is known to us as Rocky.

I’m guessing many of you have heard The Beatles version of Rocky Raccoon.  If not, you can find it on the YouTubeThing.  I knew there would be no Beatles video of it; but I rather like Richie Havens’ version of Rocky Raccoon.

Perseid Meteor Showers: Snap, Crackle, KABOOM!!

Please do not be frightened, for what I am about to relate is merely cosmic truth that has occurred annually for at least 12 and maybe even 47,000. I just don’t know. But it’s true and that’s all there is to it. OK?? So don’t bother me about this ever again or I’ll start up that dead bug over there. You see that dead bug? Well, to the untrained eye, that bug is dead. But all I need to do is insert these tiny little electrodes in his vinkabules, apply the 3,047 volts from my electric fingernail removal tool, and he’ll be making zucchini bread in no time. And it will be on your conscience for bugging me about all this cosmic truth business. I hope you’re happy now.

So are you ready to receive this information without interrupting the camouflage now? I should hope so.

Just sit back and relax, and be aware that everything you hold dear is in danger of exploding and being zoofled to smithereens. “Of course,” some of you are probably yelling, “he must be talking about the Perseid meteor showers!!” Oh… none of you were yelling that?? Well, maybe you are instead quietly saying, “what’s the deal with this guy… does he eat Legos or something??” Well, for those of you who are saying that, the answer is yes, and my Lower Jaw Lego Chewing Machine is very tired so please be nice.

OK. Back to this horrible cosmic truth I’ve been ranting about. The Perseid meteor shower is an annual occurrence, and this year the best times to look for shooting stars is after midnight on August 11 and 12. Seriously. It happens every year around this time… and some meteors will be visible before and after those days but according to what I’ve read on the interwebs, the peak times are next Friday and Saturday. Look for them to come out of the northeastern sky. You may see as many as two per minute, depending on how many Burger Kings or other light pollution sources you have in your neighborhood. You could always ask them to turn the lights off, but they may not care about any stinking shooting stars. Gotta waste energy to make money, you know. Gotta get that global warming furnace stoked up so my next pair of tennies burst into flames as I stroll down the sidewalk during a heat wave. Thank you very much Mr. Businessman Energy Wasting People Who Leave The Lights On All Stinking Night Long!!

Alright, I’m sorry. I digress. Something I normally never do…

I must now take this time to please ask you to protect yourselves during the meteor showers. Always, always wear a fireproof bathrobe while you’re outside viewing meteor showers. You may also want to flip on the force field to protect your house from the snap, crackle, KABOOM always never happens when an 85 ton meteorite lands on your chimney.  What??  You don’t have a force field???  Ah HAH!  You sold it at the flea market didn’t you??  Have you no science brains?  You won’t catch me out there with no fireproof clothing… And although we don’t have a force field, I have this aluminum bat right here.  Yup, I’m gonna be up on the roof with my modified 55 gallon steel drum overalls, bat in hand, always at the ready.  For a helmet, I modified a nice Revere Ware pot with a pillow stuffed inside. Fireproof Noggin Protection Device. When one of those fireballs puts a bead on my house, I’m gonna take that bat and smack it back into Who Knows Where.  

 I also have a heat resistant meteorite gauge mounted on the fence, right next to my rain gauge.  I want to make sure I know exactly how many inches of meteors we got during the meteor showers.  Actually the meteorite gauge is there for a selfish motive… my Honey Pie didn’t want me to get a force field because she says it’s too expensive.  I guess I’ll have the last laugh when that meteorite gauge is full of smoldering bits in the morning. Right??  Somebody say yes….

Well, hopefully you will all have clear skies and be able to see one of nature’s wonders.  There have been some years when the Perseids have been a very awesome show.  At any rate, I’ll be up on the roof, aluminum bat in hand, hoping to God that we don’t have any lightning.  

Might mess up my hair.

Perhaps a nice trip to Mars after the meteor shower…

Milwort Dendersniffle

Hello Dearest Staplegun Sniffers,

You may be wondering why I would write a story on the interwebs with a title like “Milktoast Dandruffbaskets.” Well, let me assure you that it is NOT Spam. Spam is a mookey, galumpish but nutritious eat thing that comes in a can and is revered by Monty Python.

If you’ve never heard of Ponty Mython, please wiggle wildly with weird wobbly whatchamadingers so I can learn how to write in cursive once again without using Filbert, my pet Crayon, to enlarge the tiger glasses that magnify all but the largest of shampoo bottles.

I would have written sooner, but probably not, because I am writing now and it’s Friday night and our Grand Children Are Here and that of course means they keep us plenty busy and Ollie (the oldest) asked me to write a funny story and I told him “it’s Friday night, so I always write a funny story for my friends” and then he specifically requested I write a silly story for him also and started in trying to remind me of silly story things like “don’t you remember when you wrote about telling someone to eat the kitchen door?” and other things that are ancient history in my brain because I mean hey, I’ve written more than 17 stories over the years and I have difficulty remembering what I had for Taco Salad With Onions And Ketchup Hold The Mayo On A Whole Wheat Cabbage Bowl That Never Existed So Why Oh Why Must I Continue With This Poorly Punctuated, Unnecessarily Capitalized Last Section Of The Run-On Sentence Thing?? Anyway????


Oh… I Can stop that now? OK, thank you.

Yes friends, I’ve had a very week work stressful all the whole week of this past week work time; and now it’s time for the week to end (hence the name, “weekend”) (am I smart or what?) (oh so now we have the superfluous parentheses??) so I can take some time and like, you know, stop worrying about time for at least the present time. Speaking of the present time, have you ever given someone time for a present? All you have to do is spend some with them. You’ll never get the time back but that’s the whole point you see. You are being. With them. Both (or all) of you being at the same time; with each other, existing together in unison while enjoying companionship and perhaps also partying with some nice fluffy marshmallow muffins made with new and improved moisture molecules.

This, I think, is the true meaning of fluffy friendship.

Well as some and /or none of you are aware, my hair is vanishing pretty much every day I think. Some of it’s turning grey and some of it is turning loose. I still plan to grow it longly and donate it until my hair no longer grows out of the little tiny hair volcano that sticks out of the back of my ears. Every 27 milliseconds, the hair lava flows out of my elbows and migrates to the hair brush with soft music playing very loudly at a very high speed. Once the television is planted in the potato bed, be sure to mulch your fingernails with only the highest quality Play Doh. This will ensure that your belt stays fastened securely to the garden tractor for a much more enjoyable paddle boat explosion.

Very well. Did I mention that my job was rather ickety-boo this week? Oh yes, it harmed my brain with very bad clam stink. Now I will resume the rest period, which is entirely too short but I guess that’s how ladies wear their chainsaws these days.

Please remember to eat lots of string for more fiber.

Happy Friday,

Hyram C. Gilmore
a.k.a. “Monkey Head Jones”

Und now it’s thyme for da video thing… I’m thinking some They Might Be Giants…  and then a dose of some Eels. See for yourself by golly…