All Others May Read But Do Not Sing The Chorus Out Loud.
(It frightens the radish grabbers.)
The Flooper Beetles keep eating the insides of my safety shoes. I’ll need at least 3 brand new, totally used hammers to eradicate them softly while donuts fly south for Spring. If no tapeworm dust is inhaled, apply bologna to both armpits before walking to the bathroom. When you’ve finally come to the conclusion that ice cream cannot be injected into the elbows to increase flexibility, you’ll find it completely obvious that not only does hair find its way into every part of your automatic transmission, it also can insulate the tree beepers; and this of course is only useful when the wind is multicolored with a pleasantly indignant odor that is often found to be not unlike cottage cheese that has been allowed to rest on the top of a night light during Barn Knocking Day in eastern Slooponia.
Perhaps you never heard that I’m collecting $$ for anyone who wants to attend The Great Flatulence Festival. Beans and boiled eggs are served round the clock to all participants; who of course wear the traditional festival garb of off-white Party See Pants. When the Festival commences, all the Party See Pants participants part ways in a most disorderly manner and select their favorite “brooping corner” so they can perform their musical Stink-O-Rama. Their amusing Farty Party ways will delight the crowds into extinction; and the Party See Pants of the participants will have the familiar tan but irregularly elliptical patterns where the noxious fumes exit the stinkulus holysmokeabus apertures. Additional medical terminology is often used to grade the performances; and of course the winner is permitted to leave before someone strikes a match to ignite the celebratory Kaka-Kaboom.
Tickets are $.27 each but nose plugs are $379.17 per unused pair. Used plugs are not for sale but may often be bartered for with enticements of extra Boiled Egg Bean Surprise available at the condescension stand.
In closing I’d like to demand that you remember about all that creamy slinky dust oozing from the back of my phone today. Not sure why today should be any different than the time none of us celebrated Webmiggle Day while wearing oversized raincoats.
Thank you again for not shrieking while I opened that 12 year old can of smoked caterpillar toes. You must admit they were delicious with those deep fried dust crackers!
Eat Well And Cause Mischief,
Milbert R. Wofflenock
Speaking of nonsense, these gentlemen were masters…
Many of you may know this already, but I’ll say it again anyhow. I am married. Not only that, I am fortunate enough to be married to The Most Beautiful Woman In The Universe (all other women are the 2nd most beautiful), and we are very happy. We are best friends, and even love each other enough to smooch and all that other married people stuff. Are we weird or what???
This extraordinary wedding event occurred on the 21st of August, 47 years ago. Therefore, in honor of “Happy Friday!!!” silliness I do hereby relate the details of a glorious make-a-believe honeymoon we never went on; and of course we still hope we never do do that, and HA HA, I said do do, which sounds like doo doo but it wasn’t, so that became fodder for a nice run-on sentence which has often been present in my silly writings and there was another one special for all of YOU.
There we were, 10,000 feet in the air, no plane, no parachute, wondering where we should go for a 47th anniversary honeymoon. Halfway down we forgot to remember a nice getaway called the Hotel Frankfurter Hotdog Ranch, where you shell out $19.75 (or more, depending on the type of honeymoon suite you choose) for a room, dinner and breakfast for two, taxes and tips all included in the bill. Very nice at amazing price!
I had booked the room 22 years in advance, as a surprise. Finally the big day arrived. There we were, in our 1971 Maverick along the Lake Michigan Shoreline, and suddenly several policemen sang polkas to us while blue smoke from our tailpipe gases filled their eyebrows. Then we started the engine and headed up North to Frankfort.
With an average speed of 12.7 mph, we made it to Frankfort in a record twelve days. Several parts of the car were missing when we arrived, but we just figured the noises were from that funny rope we substituted for the fan belt back in 2013. The hotel was everything we expected it to be. Deep green clouds of putrid dust belched from the chimneys of the honeymoon suites. We turned to each other and winked, knowing that it would soon be OUR turn to ignite the bricks of dehydrated pond scum. At the main entrance, we backed up several yards and then ran through the masking tape barrier they put up to greet new guests. On the other side, the staff greeted us in their traditional lizard suits, urging us to bring them insects from the nearby chocolate shop.
After checking in, we decided to take a stroll down to the pier before dinner. There we found very sad fishermen leaning against iron pilings. To our amazement, they were told they were reassigned to a project that involved teaching giant (imaginary) freshwater squid how to read and write. The squid plopped themselves on the pier and wouldn’t move to let us by, so we did our best to comfort the fish holders, who ate oversized jelly beans while they cried out for extra ballpoint pens. Suddenly, I had a terrible sinking feeling…
“My Mom knew this would happen,” I uttered.
“What? She knew WHAT would happen,” My Lovely Bride asked.
“My left leg just turned into scrambled eggs,” I pouted.
My Beautiful Honey Pie scolded me, saying, “Kenny, get the heck out of that broken sewage line!! This is no time for stink-o-rama.” I apologized diversely, and she promised to make some sock puppets when we got home. She knows I’m a sucker for a bucket of removable training shingles (ching-ching!!).
We went back to the Ranch and waited in the basement to be called to dinner. I must point out that this was my least favorite part of our celebration. I couldn’t find the light, so of course I tripped over the giant rusty telephone and nearly fell into the washed popcorn they pulled from the dryer lint trap. Our reservation was finally stained, and we were shown to our topsoil.
Dining at “The Ranch” is nothing short of elegant. The long, dark hallway’s cracked cinder blocks are accented by the flickering light of bunsen burners at each desk. I had to sit on the side opposite the chair sliding-in place, but that didn’t dampen my moisture. I ordered filet magnum, and My Sweet Love got shrimp on the half shell. We shared and split the entrees down the middle with a chain saw and splitting maul. Our waiter forced us to watch “Little Lulu” cartoons while we awaited the arrival of the meal. But that was OK; because halfway through the 37th cartoon, My Lovely Bride’s mood had been visibly altered. She gazed at me longingly, as if I was the next course, then began licking her napkin and pressing her butter knife flat against her eyebrows. What a woman!!
Dessert, of course, was the house specialty, “Frankfurter Hotel Rocky Ranch Hot Dog Heaven,” made with fresh hot dogs that were caught the previous Wednesday. They do magical things with mystery meat. We were awestruck by the lovely appearance of the dish and the surprisingly delectable cherry sauce and peppermint rice cream toppings.
After completely filling our tummies, The Rollers came and boofed us up the stairs to our room. Special humor was exploding as they let us roll downstairs 23 times before finally slamming the room shut on us. We laughed most jolly and tried to reach the pond scum fireplace with our bellies dragging on the floor, splinters in our garments and happy broken belt loops. Needless to say, My Lovely Bride did the napkin-licking butter knife eyebrow thing the rest of the night, and I responded in turn by recycling the flypaper in the master cylinder accusation chamber.
You can bet we’ll be back again on some other imaginary anniversary. Until then, please deform all your friends and neighbors while they are sleeping. Their armpit hair, after all, will soon be converted into satellite receivers.
We’ve been blessed with the presence of our grandsons this week; and as is customary, they got to choose the “Happy Friday!!!” topic for tonight.
During an elegant dinner of frozen pizza (DiGiorno’s, of course) I posed the question, “what should I write about tonight?” Responses were pretty much instantaneous. “Fribble knockers from Neptune and their odyssey to France!” Ollie declared. Then Gabe chimed in with, “random fruit!!” After Ollie whispered something into Gabe’s ear, Gabe exclaimed, “and wild businessmen!!” Pretty sure my face looked a bit puzzled as I acknowledged both with, “OK…”
So here goes…
Random Fruit, Wild Businessmen, Fribble Knockers, And Their Odyssey To France
by Ken Hansen (I think)
In the before times, businessmen ran wild in the jungles of Yooglania. They led a rather ordinary life, bonking out messages between 9 AM and 5 PM on hollow logs with their ceremonial message bonkers. Since there were no electronic communications in those days, all business had to be conducted either by long distance bonking or cave to cave visiting. In those days, there were known to be two types of businessmen: Tame Ones and Wild Ones. The Tame Ones were kind of boring really. They just walked around trying to sell stone tools and animal skins to people who already had all that stuff. They didn’t make much money but they were OK with just lying around and eating ants and beetles. It’s possible they watched a little too much TV, because they really loved to watch reruns of The Flintsones.
The Wild Ones were much more fun to watch. They would send out the message bonkings, then run to the nearest cave with a big bag of stuff to sell. When the homeowner would come to the opening of the cave, the Wild Ones would just start saying really weird things like:
“Hey!! Your toes are dirty!! Wouldn’t you like to buy a banana??” Or…
“Oh No!! That spider doesn’t know its name!! I bet you need to purchase some cherries!!” And…
“Holy Moly!! My cat can yodel!! Wanna by some grapes??”
These strange offerings of random fruit would often get the cave owner so confused, they would buy mangoes and kiwi fruits… just because!!
Ancient Yooglania was a small part of what is now called France. In those days, both The Tame Ones and The Wild Ones would have a business convention every year. This took place in a town they called “Cool Tower River Town;” which has since been renamed Paris. It was a rather unusual event, because The Wild Ones would have random fruit tossing parties while The Tame Ones just sat around and watched The Flintstones on TV.
During the year that Bliffy the Great T. Rex was in town, everything was very festive until something very unexpected happened. The sky became dark (because the sun went down), and out of the night sky came strange yellow orbs with really fancy flashing lights. As they drew near, it was obvious to everyone that these were some sort of space ships; so when one landed in the middle of Cool Tower River Town people gasped in fear and hid in the bushes.
As the door of the big yellow orb opened, a stairway was lowered to the ground. The businessmen could see the form of a strange being walking down the stairway. As its feet touched the earth, the being was surrounded with a foggy green haze that spread over the land and smelled like burnt pancakes. Very soon after the green haze floated away, the being spoke:
“Hello People Of What Will Soon Be France! Please excuse the green haze, I farted!!” The businessmen giggled and covered their mouths to hide the laughter. “We are Fribble Knockers from the planet Neptune. We have come in search of Fribbles so we may knock on them. Please direct us to your nearest Fribble Forest!!”
The Tame Ones were scared out of their minds, so they just pretended not to be afraid. They sat motionless in front of their TVs while yet another Flintstones rerun was on their screens. The Wild Ones looked at the Neptunian Fribble Knocker and then huddled to discuss how to respond. Then Chorp stepped away from the group and up to the Fribble Knocker. He seemed to know exactly what to say:
“Hey!! Your green fart fumes have really annoyed the T. Rex!! Wanna buy some apricots?? We have no idea what Fribbles are!! Wouldn’t you love to purchase some lingonberries?? Maybe you should try your luck on Mars… they might have some Fribbles you can knock. Here, try a free sample of grapefruit!! You’ll really need to buy some pineapples!!”
The Fribble Knocker looked rather confused. Not only was it annoyed that there were no Fribbles, but it was entirely confused at all these random fruit sales ideas. “No thank you, I guess we’ll be going. Please have a nice… um… whatever it is you’re having.” And with that, the Fribble Knocker got back into the yellow orb. It soon made what sounded like a thunderous sneeze, and with a great “AH-CHOO!!” it launched back into the sky and flew out of sight.
And that, my friends, is why you should never eat salami and pudding at the same time during a snow storm.
People have been baking bread for thousands of years. In fact, bread has become one of the most important foods on our wonderful planet. But no one, NO ONE, makes bread the way I do. That’s probably because I’ve never made bread!! But I have eaten it many times. After a very small amount of imprecise research, I have gathered some truly scientificable ideas on the making of bread. I’ve also learned a few amazing remarkables by listening to other bread basket talking peoples. Therefore, I have decided I should share my secret bread making observations with all of you, right here and right now, whether you like it or not.
The main ingredient in any good bread is, of course, grain dust. You know, the stuff that happens when they grind up wheat, oats, or rice, for example. Sure, some people call this flour, but I find this too confusing. I mean, I love the smell of spring time, and occasionally someone hands me a blossom of some sort and says, “Here, sniff this flower.” Of course, being the friendly person that I am, I put this
flower up to my nose and sniff its wonderful sniffiness.
But suppose I have my eyes closed, and I’m offered flour instead of a flower. I might be able to notice by touching that it was a bit powdery. But if I had my eyes closed, and was not holding it, and I put my nose in the flour and sniffed… that would not be pleasant. I would probably have a very powdery sneeze. Then I would reach for a tissue; and if I wasn’t careful I cmight make paper mache’ in my nose!
Therefore, my professional opinion is the term grain dust is much more correct. I suppose one could call it “powdered wheat,” or something like that. I just think grain dust has a nice ring to it, OK? So anyhow, grain dust is the main ingredient in bread. You certainly couldn’t just fill up a pan with grain dust and bake that, now could you? All you would get is cooked dust, and it would make a real mess if you tried to put it in the toaster. No, you have to make the grain dust soggy with something so it will stick together. That’s where the moo juice and chicken seeds come in handy. Oh sure, now someone has to know what moo juice is, right? Of course, it’s the white water from cows!
Cows make two kinds of juice: one is yellow and one is white. Never, *NEVER* USE THE YELLOW MOO JUICE FOR COOKING. Very ocky. Whew! Glad I warned you! Of course, unless you live on a farm, it’s not likely you’ll see much of the yellow moo juice.
Not sold in stores.
And chicken seeds? That’s where new chickens come from. Just plant some under a warm mama chicken, and the seeds will sprout baby chickens in a matter of weeks. It’s truly remarkable! Infertile chicken seeds will not germinate, so those are the kind normally used for bread construction. You wouldn’t want to kill a baby chicken just to have bread, right?? These infertile seeds are also called “eggs,” and are used for baking cakes, kromkaker, omelettes, and other neat things to stuff your face with.
OK, so now we have the stuff to make the grain dust gooey so it will stick together. If we mix some grain dust, moo juice, and chicken seeds up in a bowl, the goop will just sit there and look at you. Not very bready looking, if you know what I mean. We have to put some stuff in the goop to make it floof up, so the bread will be puffy instead of flat. Bread bugs are just what we need.
Scientifically known as “yeast,” these tiny little bread bug organisms are poured out of their package and into the goop. Then they are allowed to have families, make babies (lots of them, too!) and eat the goop for a while. The bread bugs pig out really well and burp a lot while they are eating. This burping makes bubbles in the goop, and the mixture begins to rise from all the fun the bread bugs are having. Such bread bug burp mixture is often referred to as dough. Science is very remarkable about naming things, because until this (not very) extensive research about bread, I was always under the impression that dough was another name for money.
Who knew it applies to bread??
It’s always good to have dough, especially when you want to buy something. I’ve always figured that’s why bakers work so hard… they knead the dough. Hey, I need dough as much as anybody else, and it sure seems like you gotta shell out a lotta clams (another term for money) for everything these days. So maybe I’ll go to work in the bakery so I can shell the dough and knead the clams.
Anyhow, you have to knead the dough to bake bread. Then you have to be able to loaf; and then into the oven the dough must go. So does this mean if you’re a good loafer, you can get a lot of work done baking bread? Apparently so!! Very confusing, but I’ll push those thoughts out of my brain while I sniff the delicious odor of freshly baked bread.
OK. Now you may or may not have all the information you knead to bake bread. I’m getting hungry with all the bread talk! I think I’ll make myself a clam sandwich and get a nice glass of that white moo juice so the clams will have something to swim in when they’re inside my tummy.
I’m writing to tell you that my fingers are broken and can no longer type anything that requires typing. You may well ask, “howma na heck are you broken fingers? Anyhow?” Then again, you may not ask that.
Please do NOT ask that.
The reason my fingers are broken is because they are not broken at all, merely sleeping in a typing trance that occurs each week during the Morshnayvian Lunar Cycle. Previously I was riding a Pepto Dismal Cycle, but that one only had 14 wheels so I switched back to the Bread Flavored Hamper Cycle. It coasts down hills really well, but the brakes are made of chalk dust; and that of course cannot be used in soups any longer.
Please refer to your Fronkle’s Universal Dictionary for a new and soil proof container for your unwanted dander. If you decide your dander is too oily for soil, gently injure the nearest lamp tossing machine and stand back while the multicolored fizzing foam engulfs your left elbow.
Thanks very much for being. I know you all are, and I’m truly grateful that this is. Hey, if you weren’t, you simply wouldn’t be; and then of course my thanks for your being would soon roll hastily toward the nearest asparagus burrito.
At this point, I must beseech unto you: If you do not enjoy this upcoming weekend, or any other day for that matter, I shall be forced to report you to the Inner Peace Police. If those guys apprehend your frownings, you’ll be mandated to toss marshmallows into the gopher hole. Soon after that, your presence will be requested at the North American Sandwich Throwing Contest, which is never held at midnight on top of Old Smokey.
Stand proudly during a meeting and give each of your office supplies a name; and tell them jokes often with a very big voice. This activity will very will very quickly let you know who you can trust.
Now I will go back to my finger realignment. Please call my veterinarian and find out if my lunch is still there.
As I’m sure none of you are aware, the consensus reached during the recent Corporate Rally And Preparation meeting (CRAP) was that communication has been lacking. It is in this spirit that we announce the following additions; designed to complement the guidelines of our Company Hospitality Enhancement Additions Policy (CHEAP).
All that being said, we’re excited to announce to all of you that new tasting tanks have been installed in Room 1023. You can enjoy the flavor of any gravy or fruit salad by merely entering the tank and setting the knob to 2.3 while pointing your index fingers to Alpha Centauri and / or Cleveland.
Please be certain to wear protective clothing while tasting the new entries on the Flavor Dials. Each dial has a luminous cramp lantern designed to strike fear in the hearts of any lingering mole wrench sleeveless hydrocarbons.The new entries, of course, include Swiss, Roquefort, and Toe cheeses. Utmost caution is urged, however; as no one is completely certain as to the effect of cutting the cheese in the confines of the tank. Enjoy the scented antler handles in full view of the sinus chipper mechanism.
Many of you may also have noticed the velvet coating that has recently been applied to the walls and floors in the cafeteria. This should allow grumpy employees to increase their fluffiness after the mandatory face rubbings. Face Time will be scheduled during breaks and lunches to allow others to photograph the Softness Surprise Sessions that will be accompanied by a very large accordion with percussive inquisitions. Be sure to wear your mask and rub your face only on designated, pre-sanitized areas.
Last but by no means least, Karl and Milly-Rae Snortwaffle have agreed to spearhead our saliva collections again this year. As in previous years, it would be very much appreciated if all of you could please make sure your contribution lands in the Collection Vessel, rather than on Karl or Milly-Rae’s shoes. Although both Mr. and Mrs. Snortwaffle enjoyed the shiny, yet ucky patina on their safety boots, they also reported sudden nausea and gagging when they tried to unlace before dinner time. Thanks in advance to Karl and Milly-Rae for keeping the Spit Vats full so our machines are automagically lubricated during these challenging economic times.
If you have any questions about the use of the tasting tanks, velvet face rubs, or Spit Central, please call 800-555-1212 and ask for Mr. Crinkleberry. He will never really help you, but he is an excellent listener and has been known to make really good dingleberry jam.
Although it is still the dog days of summer, The Labor Day will be one more time coming to visit us, and the schools may or may not open due to the COVID-19 indignation. 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 gridlines, 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 while you are nearby.
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: firstname.lastname@example.org.
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 now you are 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.
Imitation Education Expert
Bribley Lamp Cord Museum
Viffleburp, New Honkney 1020103
And now please to enjoy these two videos of the amazing foot tapping bippity bops of Gracie, George, and Fred.
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 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.
And now it’s time for the video thing. If you listen very closely to the words of this song, you’ll notice that it makes at least as much sense as all the stuff you’ve read until now on this page of story weirdness with your eyes that you use for reading.
On the other hand, you have the smellgrabber song…
The news has been rather stressful lately. 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 is a good thing for my earwax to enjoy one of those good ones.
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 expressway cruising speed 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 aVERY ugly pair of pajamas that reeks of GIANT, TWELVE-TOEDMONKEY SNAKEENDOCRINE 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. That will show them!! I find deep fried owl toes a most enjoyable snack while driving heavy whipping cream through the vegetable cemetery.
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!!
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.
And now for a truly delicious version of Bohemian Rhapsody by some of my favorite…um… artists(?)
Even though our faces have Facetimed,
please be aware that we miss you terribly and have begun to wash our
faces with strawberry jelly just before smelling the driveway juices
run down the sides of the Very Important Egg Warmers (VIEWs), If you
don’t believe us, well, I guess I can only remind you of the time
that both of you never fell down from that gigantic pile of roasted
pickle tires!! Right??? Yes!! And of course there was also never
the time when you each tried to swallow my radio controlled sandwich
bags!! Oh, and of course there was the incident when large whale
pebbles never filled your sneakers when you weren’t hiding in the
ocean during that one time that never happened!!
Now I’m afraid I need to call the
LAWYERS!! Yes!! You see, I woke up the other day (or was it
night??) to discover sawdust flying from the rafters in our attic.
When I went to investigate, I noticed that the landscape business
next door had chopped away the side of our house to make a storage
area for their weed whackers and assorted metal cylinders. I asked
Nini what the HECK happened, and she just looked at the ground and
mumbled, “um… they needed the room or something.” So I told
her we needed to call the LAWYERS. Yes. Just before that I was
riding around the hills in some sort of crazy tube thing. It was fun
but I really had no control over where I was going so that was a bit
Then I woke up FOR REAL, and remembered
that we had pizza with ham, salami, pepperoni, sausage, and golf
balls (OK, maybe no golf balls) for dinner that night; and eating
that much processed meat often gives me very strange dreams. This is
a true thing you see. And the dream seemed pretty real too. No
foolin’. I call dreams like that “free movies.”
Speaking of movies, have you seen that
one movie where those people were doing things in a place? And they
talked to each other and also wore interesting costumes? Sometimes
they were running around yelling, and other times they were very
quiet except for the burping. I think the name of the movie was…
um… OK I don’t remember. Perhaps you know it. Was that one cool
or what?? I’m gonna make me a movie some day. I believe it will be
“Mighty Mouse Meets Godzilla.” Rather than fighting, they become
friends and team up to educate squid and also give teenage dung
beetles the ability to find really good poop. A movie like that will
likely become a franchise. I’ll be RICH I tell you!!!
Or maybe I’ll just be Papa.
My dear Grandsons, I really must inform
you that when I write a letter like this, it comes from inside my
socks which should really have been put in the laundry many days ago.
Nobody likes bad odor in the foot area; and I am really tired of
Freddy the Freeloader crinkling his eyes and calling me “Mr. Stinky
Toes.” Tomorrow I’m going to try to recycle some old milk that is
starting to smell badly. I believe if I put it in the washing
machine with Mr. Monkey’s Milk Mender Solution it will make a really
big mess and Nini will send me to the garage with a bag of old staple
Alright then. I must away to the
Interwebs to find for you a cartoon that is both nutritious and
easily melted into a pleasant but invisible fire extinguisher. We
Love You and may your nostrils never be filled with TV antennas.