When Silly Jumps Out

Dear Snail Dance Participants,

There was once a time when I would sit for hours on end. Then I would stand up and realize my end was getting numb from sitting so long. This is no way to extract naturally sweetened stapler receptacles from small pink laboratory telephone handsets.

You may well wonder, “what the HECK-A-MA-ROONEY are you trying to say?? Anyhow??” Then again you may well not wonder that well at all. If you do enjoy going to the Wonder Well, you may have already noticed that this has absolutely nothing to do with the German Chocolate Cake that was left outside to shiver during that last forest fire that never happened in my back yard. On the other hand, you have a small insect crawling carefully away so as not to awaken the dreaded Ritz Cracker Ejection Robot.

Now I know that sometimes I may have been known to write completely silly things. There have also, of course, been other times when I was not known at all. Ah, those were the times… You see, there are things that make us cry, and there are things that make us wish cars would run on jelly beans. I prefer smiling over crying, although crying can be helpful if I need to wash my soul. After the soul washing, however, it’s time to get out the lint brush and get on with life as we know it here on Amplo-Snavorkey (that’s the Crelbian name for Earth, The Cosmic Dirt-Water-And-Air-Blob).

147 years ago, when I was still working, friends would receive a very strange Instant Message From Me, And Only A Few Words Would Be Capitalized. For Example, I’ve Been Known To Send Such Crazy Sentences As: “My ears are full of sand again. Can you please pass me the bread wrench?” That one just caused me to laugh at my very own writing, which may be cause for alarm.

No, I must say this about that: it would be much MORE alarming to go through life without laughing at all. Even though our world is being attacked by The Corona Monster, I’ve determined that I need to keep two things in mind:

A) I must always be grateful because I am blessed in so very many ways.

34) I must try my best to be happy (or at least pleasant) while I’m also being alive in this plane of existence, and

H2) I must never say I need to keep two things in mind when I really meant more than two; and of course

9x)  I sure do love those Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Candy Things you can get at the store during The Great Anything Festival in the robust community of Milkwater Flatulence Ridge.

One thing I’ve learned during my 70 trips around the Sun is that people would really much rather be happy than sad. Therefore, I have tried my best to spread smiling on the walls of peoples toenails (and shoe horns) whenever the dog manure jumps out of the spider webs. Sometimes I tell a joke. Sometimes I make a silly face. Sometimes I dash into the kitchen and whip up some roasted kitty dander with a nice garnish of avocado pit puree. After 13 other methods of jocular animation my friends will have quietly left the building and I don’t have to worry about them being sad, at least not around me.

So my friends, as you can see, my brain still maintains a goodly amount of chowder dust in the depths of its ammonia flavored barnacle snack bars. Nothing that was written here tonight will ever have anything to do with Cream Of Flamingo Soup or any other nuclear missile lobotomy. All I ask is that if you are interested, please try to smile once in awhile. And if you can do that, please send one (or more) of the aforementioned smiles to a friend or even a stranger!

Sincerely Yours,

Hyram C. Gilmore

Captain of the Royal Licorice Cabbage Brigade
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OK, now for da cartoon thing.

Completely Untrue Yet Scientific Observations About Muskegon

Warning: This message contains nonsense and may destroy your porcupine salad.

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Hello My Dear Frame Handlers,

Although most crustaceans were not aware, I’ve lived in Muskegon for approximately 932. So I must say, thank you for visiting us while we were not at home. Perhaps you have never asked me, “How is Muskegon?? Anyhow??” So I’m probably not overdue for an answer.

So, just how IS Muskegon?? Or even better, where is Muskegon?? OK I will keep you in suspenders no longer: Muskegon is located directly near the area that is obscured by amplified latitude and longitude reverberation, which occur at least semi-annually in the deep dark continent of WatchyaDoin which of course is surrounded by the Sea of Magnetosis; directly south of Haliboocheny.

So how is Muskegon?? Oh wait, you already asked that. Well, here are some of my own scientifically based observations: Muskegon is like a chicken with no milk for cereal. All the trees are planted upside down and one has a difficult time finding shade under the roots that stick up in the air. The squirrels are very large and strong, which is partly due to their diet of car parts. Wild dogs run the streets in packs of 12 – 20 ounce containers. Cabbage hammers often get lost during their walk home from the movies.

Many small children grow their own toys.

You’d think that in a large town as small as Muskegon there would be a library and perhaps even a delicatessen. Well, unfortunately the only service provided here is curb dusting on Wednesdays between 12 a.m. and 12:03 a.m. So obviously there’s no delicatessen, but rather a small collection of street vendors who, for a small fee, will abstain from throwing long expired food at you while you walk along the freshly dusted curb.

All the fire hydrants have been painted with invisible ink. Nobody knows why, and now of course they cannot find any of them; so the 1973 Dodge Ram 1/2 ton Firetruck and its 14 man crew must rely on many reused bottles of Dasani and / or Aquafina for fire sprinkling enjoyment.

Muskegon prides itself on the “high quality” paving jobs of the city streets. The primary paving material is zebra mussels. The shells are crunchy and fun to drive on; and the bodies of the mussels are soft and gooey. Once a big layer of mussels is applied to the avenue, a steam roller flattens them to make Instant Road. Nose clamps are freely available at major intersections during “The Great Paving Festival” in early August. While they enjoy the festival, residents wear their nose clamps while singing that old time favorite paving song, “Holy Moly Bad Stink Oh My Gosh Wow.”

Well, I could go on and on, but then I’d soon be forced to join that self-help group, “On And On And On-Anon.”

If you have any questions or concerns, please, by all means, abruptly give yourself a swirly; and then think carefully about what it is you expect to hear from the likes of me.

Got it? OK, that’s fine. Please don’t ever again accuse me of refusing to disseminate this information.

Yours in Two Trains,

Gigglefoot B. Floopenhosen
a.k.a. “The Great Wide Giblet Hunter”

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School’s almost out!!

Um… I Dunno…

Happy Friday!!  Let’s all play an exciting game of Muffin Toss… which is played by teams of 2 people.  One pitches and the other swats with a canoe paddle. Could you even imagine the number of AAA batteries that are never required for such frivolity?? Perhaps it could be a cure for writer’s block…

So there I was, sleeping under the coffee antenna when an eerie thought came to my mind: “What if I can’t think of anything to write about tonight??” Well of course this quickly turned into a self-imposed invitation to gather nonsense particles and blast them from my consciousness to my fingertips and then to the keyboard and then to the screen and then to my eyeballs and then I realized that I was repeating the words “and then” way too much. I almost failed at this miserably when I mistakenly connected a window screen to my computer rather than a LED monitor screen thing.

Takes some doing!

After a few gluffenings, I bringled through my Tangled Old Archived Silly Text (T.O.A.S.T.) in order to bring some words to the actual electronic screen thing so perhaps you could wince or smile or flail your arms wildly in some sort of “Reader Protection Dance” (R.P.D.) so as not to be in any way crankulated about the fact that you’ve been reading a run-on sentence that really needs to end awreddy!!

Whew!! That was morkulous!!

Um… I dunno… you see it’s like this: I’ve been writing nonsensical verse for many, many yargons now… and because it seems to bathe my spirit in calming waves of constipation, there will probably be a 3 gallon container of stretched almonds oozing gelatinous gunk from the refrigerator’s mucous membranes. This could possibly be attributed to my post-retirement practice of yodeling loudly at various times. When I yodel in the grocery store, people’s expressions change.  When I yodel in my sleep, an elbow is jammed into my ribs.  Guess I’ll stick with the grocery store yodeling…

I must now pause to inform you that while writing the previous paragraph, my laughing face engaged in ha ha with shaking belly muscles; and this has become a form of stress relief for me in various times of need. Right now, however, I really need to know why my window snakes can’t jump anymore. That being said, on a scale of 1 to 34, the odor of root beer sounds like my favorite color of the alphabet.

For those of you who’ve read this far, please be grateful I didn’t go ranting about one of those political ice cream adventure sagas that often cause carrots to explode without warning. The way I figure it, if politics can cause your shoes to boycott small seedlings during an evaporation rampage, things that are far more irresponsibly delicious will soon decay in your ceiling fan’s software upgrade incisions. If that should occur, gargle with a mixture of hydrogen peroxide and fried linguini during a hail storm for the best inferno.

But seriously folks, I refuse to be serious because when typing to my friends, my irregular text is regularly consistent with an inconsistent regularity. If anyone is trying to make sense of these silly scribblings, please refer to Gorfle’s Atlas of Crunchy Klinkles (G.A.C.K.) p. 74, paragraph 19; which emphatically states, “Don’t.” 

Also, my nose itches.

Nonsensical Stress Filters

Dear Ninks and Semmerflubens,

I am writing to all of you from the back yard where no children are stuffing bread into the worm holes. This week has been especially stressful at our house, and a lot has been going on in the news. Therefore, in the interest of clam flavored desserts, I feel the need to remove my corporate tortellini. Those of you who know me are aware that some stressfully sprinkled donuts prompt me to write letters to fire hydrants.

Let this past century of my living week be no Oldsmobile to that incubation.

I was walking through the house world the other day, scowling inside my rib cage and doing my darndest to ignore all the negative everything that comes with life challenges. Soon I found myself saying, “Hey Self! For why you are so poofely?? Don’t you agree that your retirement status brings gas to your table and puts food in your car? Are you not, indeed, a very fortunate person who no longer requires adult supervision at most Twinkie eating contests?? And c’mon man! Get with the gratitude awreddy.”

My Self agreed that grouch makes ouch. I decided I really ought not allow these life challenges to remove my ventricles or extinguish my lapis lazuli.

I therefore decided to embrace the tools I’ve acquired during this marvelous journey called Living, andnot to be El Groucho inside my brain world any longer. At least not for 27 minutes, then I could reevaluate and perhaps even continue another 14 milliseconds. By golly, that may have actually worked. I tried hard to not take things too poisonously. Sure, my Beautiful Girlfriend is ailing, but unless I find a way to successfully clone my onion rings, the firewood will likely expire before Hubert The Closet Painter arrives from Denderflaven. If he gets here before the sauerkraut capsules are fully declawed, there is absolutely no guarantee of the existence of any newly sharpened Jell-O forks.

And we all know what that means!!

So, I’ve decided to just be happy until I feel grouchy again, which seems to come at the most unexpected times, like when I’m doing my best to cook the laundry or wash up some dinner that may or may not be cooked with Credit Card Takeout Holy Mackerel (or at least edible) so I can write run-on sentences with increased vigor and lengthy applesauce.

After all of that new grouchiness, I start my day over again with a new happy and grateful attitude. Then I get grouchy once more, but a little less, and keep practicing the gratitude thing. However, because I am human, there are times when I get wibbly and sing happy songs like:

Leave me alone or I’ll bite you.

Your ears are made of sticks.

Why do you talk to ME like that??

I’ll send you cat logs in the mail!!

This of course is sung to the tune of “Leave Me Alone Or I’ll Bite You.”

Finally, and least palatable, I will commence to jump on a soap box for no apparent reason. I’m saddened by what seems to be an attitude of “Hooray for Me and to Hell with YOU” in our world of freely expressive greedy stinkbottoms. I mean hey, I’m very grateful we live in a free country and hey, you know, when it comes right down to it, most of us are spoiled Americans compared to many folks on this planet. You know, hey? It’s just um… what troubles me, is um… you know, like um… wait a minute, let me hold my smellphone and text someone while you’re trying to talk to me and um… you know, this “America First” stuff seems to be causing a lot of resentment in the world and last time I checked, if a person is silly enough to proclaim himself King Of The Mountain then someone is gonna want to knock them down off the top of that mountain with a giant Tootsie Roll or something much more explosive.

Greed is harming all of us; and it ain’t just an American thing; it appears to be a global thing, and it ain’t no good for Mother Nature neither. We humans don’t own this planet, although we seem to act like the whole thing is ours. These things make me become very figgy and bickety-boo! So then I start getting more with the Grouch Ouch, and I want to go bite a bark flavored tricycle!!

So here again is a time to pause to be grateful rather than grind my toenails or yell at unsuspecting Jinkle Birds. I can also maybe try to spread some kindness by thanking retail workers for keeping stuff on the shelves. Perhaps a donation to the rescue mission is in order. Dang it, I just need to try to spread joy rather than be all grumpy-dumpy. I mean hey, do I have control over people, places, or things?? No, not so much. Just gotta let go, ya know?? Then I laugh at my silliness and life is once again refreshing and full of new opportunities to enjoy fruit and perhaps even the occasional flying insect.

Sometimes I restart my day 479 times or more.

So, how was YOUR week? I think it’s time for some cartoons…

Sick Up And Fed With Spring…ing

Hello?? For why we are again making an hour of sleep go once again bye bye?? I mean hey, this coming Sunday we’ll all settle in for a long winter’s nap (technically it’s still winter ya know), and all of a sudden between 2:00 AM and 2:00:01 AM a phenomenon I shall now hereby proclaim as “The KERBLOOEY!! Sleep Sucker” arrives and a precious hour of sleep is flushed into the netherworld.

This is a horrible thing to force upon gentle people like us!!

Sure, I love the fact that here in Beautiful West Michigan we have daylight till 10:30 PM in the summer time. So let’s keep the stinking clocks on Daylight Savings Time all year round, darn it anyway!! For those who miss setting the clocks back an hour in the fall, we could make a National Come To Work Late Day and let everyone get that extra hour of sleep. You know, just to be nice.

There are several areas in the world who have wised up and dispensed with the Daylight Slavings Time Nonsense (DSTN). Arizona. Hawaii. Iceland. Armenia. Actually, according to the Google most countries don’t! So hey, it’s not difficult. Just need to leave the stinkin’ clocks alone!!! Can you tell I’m whining? OK it’s not really that big of a deal. I just wanted to rant a little. Heck, we can’t get our lawmakers to pass much more important stuff without expecting them to fix Daylight Kerblooey Sleep Suction times.

So I guess I’ll have to accept the Daylight Extension Time Thing (DETT) and run around the house to change all 39 of our clocks on Saturday night. Yes. All 5 of our clocks. Oh wait, there’s the coffee pot… OK all 6 of our clocks. And because I’m retired, I will still probably get up at the crack of 9, although this time it will be the crack of 10. Oh goodness, that’s too late outside!!

Well fooey. Guess I’ll just have to break down and get up earlier. Or is that later?? I just don’t know!! All I know is that this clock changing is giving me a rash on both ears, which can be alleviated only by rubbing copious amounts of salsa on a small but unsuspecting speaker cabinet. Yes, I am so convinced that the clock changing habit we observe is completely nonsensical, and therefore merits a good sloshing of multicolored ventricular marble wigglings into several misshapen 1.74 liter Tupperware goat sampling receptacles. It is by this reasoning I hereby conclude this week’s silly blog thing with a sentence that is not intended for commercial nor domestic use; unless of course one sneezes into the gravy dish and the contents are consumed heartily by Ronko The Electic Clown Chowder Chef.

Thank you. Now for the clock movies.

Fore Pot Hominy

English is a subject many of us loved to hate while we were in school. Rightly so, I guess, because it’s awfully complex, what with all the rules and everything. But perhaps the toughest thing is when you try to explain English to someone who didn’t grow up speaking it.

One problem for our brethren and cistern of other lands is that English has too many words that sound the same but mean completely different things (homonyms). On the other hand, you have five fingers. You also have the words that don’t sound anything alike, but mean the same thing (synonyms). Consequently, even those who grew up with English as a first language can have a pretty horrible time at first.

Maybe I’m a sicko, but I actually enjoyed English as a kid. It just seemed to flow naturally for me. But so does fun, and early in life I often turned to scholars like the Marx Brothers and the Three Stooges; and came to rely heavily on silly humor as a coping mechanism. Professors Groucho and Curly, among others, taught me to mangle the use of my native tongue for comic relief.

Some of my favorite fun is the destruction of sentences using various perversions of synonyms and homonyms. Sew, without any further a dew, hear comes the thyme during witch I’ll use words in a weigh that, hope fully, will give yew awl a chuckle oar to. Oar knot! Eye don’t no four shore. Of coarse, Eye may use sum “poetic lye sense” and get in two sum reel bad word mangling, just two make this moor fun. When Eye get in two a mood of this type, I yam knot very predict a bull. Eye simply type watt comes two my mind. And at thymes, my mind can bee a berry strange plays in deed.

Take the title, four instance. Pleas, jest take it away from hear! It contains words that are not reel homonyms of “Four Part Harmony.” But hay, Eye simply dew knot care. Eye thought it sounded funny, sew that’s wye Eye poot it their. Nor dew Eye care that “poot” is knot in the diction aerie (although diction and aerie both are). Eye, four won, no perfectly well that “poot” is slang for the release of intestinal gas. Sew, Eye gist through that in four the halibut.

Won sad fact, though, is their are two many folks who right this way awl the thyme, and think it’s nor mull. If there skills are egg stream lee bad, we cat a gore eyes them as “funk shun Ellie ill litter it.” They dew knot no how two right a reel scent tense. There reeding skills may all sew bee very pour. Knot awl of this is there fault, of coarse, butt it is the sad truth nun the less.

Oh Kay. Watt if wee found too people, driving threw town and talk king, and won was “funk shun Ellie ill litter it” and the udder new grandma pretty well, and was their four “litter it?” Wee mite here sum thing of this nay chore:

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“Hay, Clem! Let’s go two the Ma Jest Stick Thee Ate Err two knight. Eye here their will bee fore fellows singing, each inn a different cord! With know instruments, neither!! Eye guess you call that type of singing, `archipelago,’ write??”

“No, Stewart, that’s definitely NOT `archipelago,’ it’s called `acapella.’ But hey, it sounds like a great idea. And by the way, when there are four singers like that, it’s called a quartet, you realize. I’m thinking they’re probably barber shop.”

“Oh Kay, Mr. Music Smarty Pants Person! Butt hay now, you don’t have to insult me! Four wye you call me `reel eyes??’ Pretty stupid name calling their. Anyhow, I’m really lookin’ foreword two that fore pot hominy. And yes, I am fully a wear that a bobber sharp quartet is a cinnamon four `fore pot hominy,’ Mr. Turnip Nose! There! How dew you like being called names?? Stop with the insults, already!”

“I think you mean synonym, although it isn’t really. And that’s four part harmony. Pretty sure you meant harmony. But hey, I don’t want to pick nits. And I didn’t call you `reel eyes,’ I said, `realize.’ Chill out, man!”

“Yore tellin’ ME to chill OUT?? I don’t half to take this! I mean, their you go again! Are you listenin’ two yourself hear? Eye SAID cinnamon! And Eye also said hominy! And if there’s any pit nicking gonna be done, I’ll do it myself, thank you very much. I was nicking pits before you was born!! And there you go callin’ me names again! What the heck’s the deal with this `reel eyes’ business? Anyhow??”

“Oh brother. Sorry. We’re obviously not communicating. But hey, let’s check out the quartet. What time? Eight?”

“Ate?? Heck know, I’m starved! Haven’t had thyme four dinner yet! Pick me up around 7:45. And watch out fur that `DEW KNOT ENTER’ sign! Oar don’t you understand traffic cymbals?? You ego statistical creep-headed octopus!”

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Well, may bee such a talk wooden happen. Butt as yew kin sea, I like two play with hominy and cinnamon!

Here are two of my favorite artists who mastered the misuse of English:

Retirement – No Longer In Danger Of Capillary Kaboom

Once Upon A Time, I Used Capital Letters With No Regard For Proper Nouns. That’s Because If I Want To Mix It Up, I ShaLL, and NoBody CaN StoP Me; NoT EveN The GRAMMAR PATROL. So I plunk about on my merry Way, now too Lazy to Capitalize Every stinking word, because I am in control of the keyboard, and not you nor any other dust sniffing, flexible, purple and lavender Irish TV sales representative (who of course would find it very amusing indeed to spill bean soup into your brand new sock drawer) can prevent this run-on sentence; because what have we here now sure looks like a large chocolate bar with almonds which just happens to be my favorite kind, especially when I shave with it during all those silly bread movies that never arrive in a theater near you.

Blimp raisins.

None of this reminds me of the time when I was still working, and I had to have a physical exam because it was required by the LOI (Laws Of Insurance). It went like this…

The doctor told me, “Your blood pressure should not be this high… it’s 738 over 485 you know. And your pulse is 276. If you don’t stop trying to inflate your nostrils by blowing so hard, you could lose your navel from capillary kaboom!!” She also warned me that maybe my job might be causing me too much stress. I said, “Nah, I really don’t mind working in the noodle toss machine. It’s good money, and once in awhile they let me catch a noodle or two. Otherwise, I have to twirl around and allow the semi-soft noodles to coat my shirt and make a noodle coat, the likes of which you’ve never chewed. It’s very crinkly and barky bazoo. ”

Thank God I’m retired now. My likelihood of capillary kaboom is much less, and I also enjoy cookies whenever the chance arises.

However, I do remember the stern warning my doctor gave me. I listened to her coarse, scratchy voice as carefully as a dog who lost its railroad ties during the Great Flambonian Snowstorm of 1873. “But you only have your health once,” she said, grimacing. “You and your wife have skills… you can take them almost anywhere. You don’t necessarily want stress to the point where your eyeballs decide migrate to Albania.” I remember suggesting that perhaps I could sell homemade sinks, or even patent my long lost invention I call The Nostrilator. The Nostrilator removes unwanted booger residue with a small fixture connected to an ordinary garden hose. Oh, and I also reminded her that my Beautiful Girlfriend (a.k.a. my Lovely Wife) is an accomplished maker of finely crafted toothpick animals. People come from miles around to see her life sized models of Brontosaurus Rex and Tyrannosaurus Antler Cabbage. Sometimes she even peeled the noodles off me when I had a tough day at the noodle factory and did wonders in the art of noodleskins. She placed the noodles strategically and sporadically while remorsefully reminding me of the loss of Kronok, our favorite phone charger. All this of course generated income we never saw and shall never see again, because we never saw it in the first place.

As I was basking in the glory of my Beautiful Honey Pie’s Animanoodles, the doctor resumed the exam, which started with that stupid skin shovel. Oooohhh I do hate that thing!!! She runs from one side of the room and clobbers me with the shovel to get her samples. Fortunately it’s only a few millimeters wide… but nearly 7 feet long! She has a small wheelbarrow off to the side with little slots to keep other patients’ skin samples separate from mine. Finally she takes a large whisk and twirls them all about, carefully but indiscriminately mixing all the different samples. Whoever has the strongest DNA will enjoy an exquisite coating of aged cheddar cheese on the back of their neck.

I stinkily remember that for nearly 7 weeks following the exam, I was called Mr. Cheese Neck by our doctor’s staff… a title I proudly boasted to my friends in the Noodle Tossers Fraternity Of Lower Puffington. They were all truly fascinated by the snorking noise one makes when adorned with Cheese Neck Holy Moly.

Some of you who may actually have read this far may snicker at my propensity for verbicide. Well, I already knew what propensity meant, but never heard of verbicide until the day after yesterday. I guess one could say I have verbicidal tendencies. Or even worse, one could say I have vertical tentacles!!! Have you seen those things??!! They stick up out of my head bone!! It’s very embarrassing when I try to go through a low doorway and my tentacles try to hang on to the wall places!! They do help me keep my hat on during a stiff breeze, though.

I sure hope there are more cookies.

How about a cartoon now? OK? OK!!

Globs Of Mugg And A Rented Blanex

Dear Friends,

The news has been rather stressful lately. One minute we’re enjoying fond memories of The Beatles 60th anniversary of coming to the U.S. on the Mayflower; and the next we’re crying and rolling on the floor about war, corruption, and global storming. I’m so trinkled by all of the fizzpop that I really can’t bear to lick the remote control!! I’m here to say that for me, there is no better stress relief than writing and / or reading nonsense. Well, there probably are other remedies for stress warts, but nonsense has long been a tool with which I indigulate my heretofore unclogged vascular dandruff bazookas.

My things are starting to become itchy!!

Things include chocolate, the wonder drug of the universe. Chocolate is so doggoned good it should probably be a controlled substance. But someone wisely made it into candy long ago, so now it is completely acceptable in foot smelling contests at the  Annual Martian Rhubarb Flinging Derby. I often cover things with chocolate. My car is brown and slimy as a direct result of this behavior. This is a bit strange when it gets really warm outside, because as I approach the expressway cruising speed of 47 MPH I get brown globs of mugg that splook the windshield. This challenges my dexterity at times, because I often stick my whole face out the window for chocolate catching. I never enjoyed bug covered chocolate before this very time!!

I rented a Blanex last weekend. I needed to recover the hammer sand that was purging my swamp hockey. Run, run, run down a salty road to find the tingly science filters living in the boathouse. Do you ever expect the train to stop on time? Nobody sees that far, so just resimplify your twenty three percent milktoast warblers and bark moonly at the wild. You’ll never be stronger for it.

My Hair has a VERY ugly pair of pajamas that reeks of GIANT, TWELVE-TOED MONKEY SNAKE ENDOCRINE GLANDS!!!  And believe me, that’s pretty darned green and fluffy!  I know a fossil hunter when I hear one, and if you don’t put that stink bomb away right now I’ll sell you a brown leather bedpost at the crack of noon!  Do you understand me?? 

Good golly, I hope not.

Now that you’ve sampled the goat raisins, you are ready to progress to the next step:  wonkling.  Wonkling can be very stationary and exquisitely mobile.  Use something to do a task, throw it in the air, and use it no more.  This is the way of the stationary wonkler.  Change lanes abruptly, apply heat to an iron molecule, and shake your hair until the electrons fall off.  This is the way of the mobile wonkler.  Wonkle like you’ve never wonkled before.  In fact, wonkle as if nobody else is wonkling! That will show them!! 

And now for the shaming:

Do you use toothpaste for tire repair?     Of course not!

Do you slurp fried chicken through a cheese grater??    I hope so!!

Do you walk to school or carry your lunch??    Absolutely!!

Does cat fur remind you of candles made of Jell-O??    If so, you are my kind of snail sniffer!!

Do you really think you can sip a whole gallon of wrinkle juice in one sitting?? If so, please remember that I find deep fried owl toes a most enjoyable snack while driving heavy whipping cream through the vegetable cemetery.

OK, that’s probably quite enough shame for one year or so. Just remember what COULD have happened.  I mean hey, we can’t all be influenced by loofah sponges, now can we??

Remove this teleprompter from your jailing list.

Do it today.

Thank you for the sunrise,

Gleef Vinicktayven

P.S.: My socks are on fire.

And now for a truly delicious version of Bohemian Rhapsody by some of my favorite…um… artists(?)

My Squishy Bribble Hampers

A friend of ours once said, “Getting older is not for cowards.” Ain’t that the truth?? Our senior years are presenting us with challenges that our younger selves would never have imagined. Believe me, I am exceptionally grateful for the blessings I have received. And in spite of everything going on (and in spit of everything else), my Beautiful Girlfriend and I often take time to remind ourselves how fortunate we are.

But sometimes the stress gets to me and I try to use toenail clippers for a shovel. Stress, therefore and to wit (and also nitwit), stimulates a coping mechanism that flows out of my mind and into the keyboard. Yes my friends, I write nonsensical things as one of many tools for relieving stress. But those who really know me are very aware of that awreddy.

Lately the ham radio thing has brought a much needed relief from the intergalactic stress molecules that seem to have invaded our happy home universe. Ham radio has been a hobby of mine for many years; and I much prefer it to something like bacon television or salami CDs.

Stress is climbing in the window and steaming my watermelons. You know how it goes, you just get home from a long day at the soap regulator and you find out the dryer is broken. Then you get to eat all the dust inside in the effort to bring the dead motor out so you can replace it. This is a very happy time for a keyboard monkey, and when the cardboard is creamy enough you can smear light bulbs on the speaker sneakers. Now if you look carefully at the previous sentences, you of course will deduce that I have no problem dealing with stress. Why is my left nostril twitching, you ask? Why do I convulse while smiling? Why do I try to remember what day the lumber salad is due to arrive?? These are questions only a qualified sinus sturgeon may be able to distribute.

I am also grateful I can be of help to friends with technical matters. They all know I’m a Retired IT Geek Electronics Weirdo (RITGEW), and I try to assist when called upon. Although I would never scream epitaphs at my friends, sometimes I just want to shrug them off with a rant just exactly like this one:

I am really busy these days weeks months, so I will get to you as quickly as my foot things will let me travel. If that is not acceptable, please feel free to smell my toe jam molecules. I cannot help the fact that your smellphone provider wants you to enjoy asparagus ice cream. While you struggle with the all the computer happiness you are able to ingest, I will practice licking my eyebrows while I color all the walls a pleasant shade of cobble hobby maroo. Now please excuse me, I have to send e-mail to all the nice birdies in the tree over there. They are taking me to lunch today, and I don’t want anyone to try to impede my laundry design activities. Clothes are people too, you know!!

No, that would be both mean and naughty. I love my friends and family and I would never intentionally hurt their feelings in that way. I mean hey, how can they possibly know that my sock drawer is full of dust lanterns so thick you can hear them wiggling from 3/10 of a mile away? Am I right? So I refuse to be a Meany Moper Man. If I get overwhelmed (or perhaps just whelmed), I’ll politely ask them what the atomic mass of sofa sauce is and walk backwards while smiling as I head to my car.

As you can see, I’m coping really well. Never mind the fact that I can smell strange colors and my ears can see flying pine trees in the pencil sharpener. Did you know I’ve learned to use magazines for socks? Are you aware that nail polish makes excellent pudding?? From this day forward, I will try to greet everyone I see with great conflagration, and then wonder why they are staring at me with such flatulent potato modules. Breadsticks are in the bathroom and nobody can tell me why. I desperately need to get something from somewhere and find out just what the heck it really is.

As I said, I’m grateful to The Great Spirit for all the gifts with which I and my family have been blessed. But there are times when self care is necessary, and that can come in the form of chocolate and other nutritious snack food oscillations. No centipedes were harmed during the marking of this phlegm. I will continue to be as helpful as I can, especially at home, and iridescently with friends. I will endeavor to keep my chin up, regardless of the likelihood of sniffing spider webs that suddenly appear when my chin-upedness is pointing my eyeballs at the sky. I will seek out only the very best squishy bribble hampers to protect my tail lights while square dancing.

I will make some of the very best soup you’ve ever put in your wallet!!

May I have my dessert now?

Oh, and by the way, 7 x 13 = 28. OK??

The Origins Of Foods

We live in a very rich culture. This is illustrated by the number of different foods from which we may choose. Of course, our huge number of choices has also blurred the definition of food. Some of the things we eat are a far cry from the types of things Grandma and Grampa grew on the farm.  What has really happened, unfortunately, is this: the definition of food has been transformed from that which we eat for survival and health, to anything that we can eat without dying. Some “foods” we consume these days are interesting, to say the least. The origin of these interesting foods is at best mysterious, so this manuscript attempts to unfold some of these mysteries.

One example is Jell-O brand gelatin( I’m obeying the trademark laws by writing it that way). Interesting stuff, Jell-O is. Where does it come from?? Of course, it comes from mines. Deep in the caverns of the Earth, “jellite,” the raw material from which all dessert gelatins are made, is found in huge deposits in naturally cooled ice boxes.  Jellite miners are a happy lot, as they are constantly smiling and even laughing aloud because of the strange physics involved in harvesting the stuff from natural deposits. Imagine if you will a large mass of wiggly gelatin acting as if it’s trying to jump off your shovel!

Years ago, miners would eagerly look forward to lunch time, when they could indulge in a sport named “jellite jumping.”  Miners would find a tall jellite cart and dive off into the deposits, sometimes falling into the bouncy goop, and sometimes bouncing right off. Big fun. Food quality standards and health laws, however, brought a quick demise to “jellite jumping,” especially after the renowned case of Groznyk vs. Jellymines, Inc.; in which Frubert Groznyk sued the jellite mining company after finding shoelaces in his dessert.

Moving on, another interesting food item is corn flakes.  Corn flakes are, of course, corn dandruff. Specially selected corn plants are given shampoos far too frequently, and when the scalp dries to excess, corn flakes fall to the shoulders of the plant. Corn Flake Collectors (CFCs) are specially trained individuals who know exactly when the flakes will fall, and are ready with broom corn brushes to wisk the flakes into brand name containers. National cereal chains spend large amounts on their dandruff containers, sometimes even including reading material on the back. But flakes are flakes, so consumers can save a bundle by purchasing off-brand corn dandruff.

Chitlins are considered “soul food” by some folks.  Well, that’s a bit strange to me. We have two chitlins, a boy and a girl, and I don’t see myself going hungry enough to eat either of them. Unless of course they try to move back home. Not really! They’d be way too tough, anyhow. I’ve heard of folks eating anchovies on pizza and other dumb things, but eating my chitlins would be even Dahmer. Just never you mind about eating chitlins. OK?

Hot dogs have been an American staple for many years.  They have a very bad reputation, and are given pet names like “mystery meat,” or the ironically affectionate term, “tube steak.” The ingredients used to make hot dogs is a closely guarded secret, although it is said that any part of a meat animal that can’t be used otherwise is found in hot dogs.  Lips, noses, earlobes, and worse have been speculated as possible ingredients. Hot dogs also contain large collections of preservatives and flavor enhancing chemicals that have been linked to various digestive disorders, and may also affect the central nervous system.

 At this point, I must digress a bit to refute these claims. My mother served us hot dogs often when we were kids. They were used instead of more expensive meats as a main course. Hot dogs, macaroni & cheese, and spinach.  A simply magical meal that covered the three main food groups inexpensively.  In fact, I’ve carried this tradition on to my family, and we just had a nice Hot Dog Surprise Casserole for dinner. Neither I, my family, nor my siblings have ever had any digestive problems; and our central nervous systems are completely intact with the rare exception of vivid hallucinations and strange speaking patterns (oh wait, maybe that’s just me…).

Anyway, as far as central nervous system problems, aside from the occa#i0n9l typ1n6 error$, my brain and nervdes are fine, JUST FINE, OK?? Nice hot dog… come sit down here and we’ll watch TV. I’ll play you a song on my Oscar Meyer Wiener Whistle!! Say hello to Mr. Broccoli. Die Mr. Broccoli!! Die!! You better run!  I throw your face in the macaroni and cheese!! Ha ha ha ha… nice Mr. Broccoli.  Please pass me some more Hot Surprise Dogfood… Thanks!  So, now you all know how food mysteries prevent broccoli from removing sodium gronkulate deposites in jellite pig holders. Until next time, keep smiling at the candy wrappers, and be sure to invite me over when you folks have dot hogs. Or even florn cakes! Jellite for dessert, please; hold the shoelaces.  

Whoa! It’s after eleven o’clock! Do you know where your chitlins are??

So this week’s video has NOTHING to do with the origins of foods… but it’s interesting in a weird sort of way.