An Open Letter To All Bug Snorters

Hello Darling Friends and Zimplers,

Just a note to tell you that I’ve learned how to eat what snakes don’t like. Please, all of you, before it’s too late: change your weevils soon or your dentifrice will be subject to humiliation. You’ve always known what eggs are, so get with the program! OK, maybe you didn’t always know what eggplants are. But the second you found out, I’ll bet you enjoyed their rich, chewy centers.

Twelve times this year I’ve sanctioned your optic nerves. Now it’s time for YOU to do something for ME: bring “the stuff” to the next curbside travel aroma infestation. Do this for me in remembrance of the good old days, when men were mere clods of soil and women were tender, loving, delightful bags of chocolate crème oatmeal.

Clams have been telling me the best doggone stories I’ve ever ignored during the past few milliseconds. I often am astonished at their true talent and willingness to stack coloring books to the ceiling. If only they would cease applying the maraschino cherries to all those taffy-sucking, dust-gathering, elegant and kind bovine conversation artists. How pleasantly they yell to my cats while I’m sleeping: “HEY!!  GO USE YOUR CLAWS ON THE HUMANS! IT’S FUN WHEN THEY WAKE UP QUICKLY!!”

As I wake up each morning with cat ouch on my freckles, I’m beginning to understand why God made dump trucks.  It’s the noodle thing you know.  People fling noodles in the streets as a sign of protest during times of tardy laxative infusions.  When the doody is late, the people are… well… noodle flingers.  Some floodle ningers are just plain angry, and other fling noodlers are having the best time of their lives.  Why anyone would shake up a bottle of Pepsi and hand it to the “birthday boy” is beyond my wildest pile of tent caterpillars.  I’ve seen the look on “birthday boy’s” face as the brown foam covers his favorite television clicking carpet.  It’s just one of those moments when you just gotta have a pair of pineapples to stuff in the pencil sharpener.  So as you can see, the noodle trucks were made to pick up all the dump flingers.  Is that a remarkable paint remover or what??

PLEASE:  Step awaaay from the rhinestones.  We will glue them to your armpits later, after you’ve washed down those two bags of Camel Chow with radio juice.  Don’t worry about all the precipitation, Camel Chow is made to last even in the worst banana storms.  After all, Uncle Clogpipe will certainly let you know when it’s time to rotate the fossil camera.  Remember, always duck when the banana storm begins, or you’ll be the first one on your block to own a 12% rayon staple gun.  I’ve seen this happen at least – 0.5 times, maybe even less.  Don’t try to argue with me on this one, alright?

Wumba, wumba, wumba goes the tire with the small baseball bat inside for extra bad handling on those tight turns and special goat races.  Carefully pick your friends, for if you are picking your friends carefully, then you’ll never have to worry about picking your friend’s… um…. lint globs.  You thought I was gonna say nose, didn’t you?  Ha, ha ha…  it’s snot something I wood say hear.  I mean, you can pick your friends and you can pick your knows, but you can’t wipe your friend’s boogies off behind the sofa.  Sew there!  Eye didn’t say it!!  Ha ha on you!!!

All right then.  You better not read this anymore.  You may find yourself being lost within your shelf, and then there will be no finding of anything.  Who needs surround sound anyway??  I’ll tell you who:  ME.  I’m gonna tell someone to have it for me so I may enjoy it viscerally.  Or perhaps vivaciously.  Possibly even vertically.  My Belt is Yellow.

Horizontally Yours,

Krayben Fizztoggle

a.k.a. “Wally Wartwonder”

And now we must enjoy the delightful iridescent angle worm delight.

Happy 2021 to YOU!!

Dear Earthlings,

At this time I would like to wish you a Very Happy Merry and and Extremely Joyful Wonderful. New Year. To you. In 2021. With sentence fragments. Batteries not included.

Thank you.

Holy MOLY 2020 was a very cronkulous year, no? Well it really was, because I just wrote it back there. In that previous sentence. Which was not a sentence fragment. Like I’m doing now. And if you’re not familiar with the word “cronkulous,” that’s likely due to the fact that I invented that silly word. You see, it’s like this: the German word for “sick” is “krank (pronounced cronk).” Therefore, since there was much blech and baroop and yukkity-poo during the year we cronkulously refer to as 2020, I took it upon myself to again take liberties with words and language in an effort to both amuse you and get you to agree with me that HOLY MOLY I’m kinda glad 2020 is not here anymore; in spite of my continued use of run-on sentences (which I don’t plan to discontinue from this silly column any time soon).

Very cronkulous indeed.

But now we are forging ahead into 2021, which for some reason I’m having difficulty typing. I keep typing 20201 and having to backspace to correct it to 2021, but that’s no fault of yours. A new year will hopefully bring relief from this deadly virus; and perhaps will also bring a few rays of sunshine into an otherwise cronkulous atmosphere of government barfwater and complete disregard for scientific yodeling and other forms of vertical Zoom sessions.

It is therefore in the spirit of greatly remarkable (and hopefully NOT cronkulous) personal betterment that I inflict upon all of you some of my New Year’s Resolutions for 2021. Please keep in mind that I may or may not achieve these lofty goals, but I will state them nonetheless, with hopes that I either succeed in my improvement endeavors or just go hide behind the compost pile until 2024. So without further ado, here are some of my resolutions.

1) I hereby proclaim that I will announce the declaration of my intent to disclose and therefore publicize communications to reveal and make known that which I shall divulge in a public manner. In other words, I’m gonna say stuff to people. Out loud. Nice things only.

*7) Remember that one thing I was gonna do the other day and I completely forgot my cat ate the little pieces of cheese I left lying on the counter? Neither do I. Sheesh, I wish I could find my electric crayon sharpener!!

H) There’s gonna be a reckoning around our house, I promise!! The dishes will be taught to wash themselves and crawl back into the cupboard at the snap of my fingers. You don’t believe me? Well you just wait!! I’ll call you when they start stacking up, and you can help me with the cleaning overload stinky surprise!! That oughta teach us!!

9x) One project I’ve never started and also never wanted to pursue is to learn how to sing Don McLean’s famous song, “American Pie” in reverse, and also in Swahili. Should be very flatulent!

Q@) What the HECK is that digital clock doing in the pantry again?? Doesn’t it know neither the potatoes, nor the flour, nor the macaroni have any idea of how to tell what their countries of origin are? Very indisputable. Very indisputable indeed!!

5i) Someone stole my pickled herring!!! Oh man, this is terrible. It was right there last night when I awoke at 3:15 AM to go tinkle and then I went on the hunt for a snack. And yes, of course I washed my hands!! Oh wait, it’s on the other shelf in the fridge. WHEW!!

Well, perhaps you all get the idea by now. All my New Year’s resolutions are extraordinary and completely disreputable, and will only serve to enhance my reputation as a rapscallion. However, one resolution I really do embrace each and every year is this: try to do better. And to complement that idea, I’ll throw in another: treat every living creature with kindness and love.

And yes, that includes all of YOU.

I sincerely hope 2021 brings good fortune to you and your loved ones. Hey, it’s gotta be better than 2020, right?

On the other hand, there was George and Gracie…

Please Praznify The Churblazooken

Dear Appletoes,

This letter is to remind you that both you and your dog owe me 16 gravy molecules from that bet we made last Hamperday. I’m not going to be lenient with you any longer; I am very soon going to splash Bloopen Sauce onto your Spoken Lint Collection. Do you really believe you can trust Stick Lizards to vonculate your patchnicorns? Well of course you can. That is why I love you and your pet sawhorse so doggoned much.

Oh my, can you remember when everyone in Pudding County could actually count to 14? That was the coolest time of my 3 week Toaster Party; especially when you shouted “who dumped out the electric chicken hammers??!!” during the Roof Rodeo Rocket Ranchers celebration. Very surprised young children performed the amazing “Backward Conga Dance” shortly after the marbles were ejected from that lawn ornament dispenser we installed on Picklestick Boulevard.

Oh my GOD!! This chair is farting!! Oh wait… I had receipts for dinner again. They always make my socks explode. No rudeness intended, but when I write nonsense while sitting in a fart chair there can be one or two candles that disagree with my liverwurst. But really now, would you please stop biting that poor spidersquirrel’s flyswatter every time the batteries on the remote control say “Karflebock?”

As I write this letter to you I’m becoming increasingly aware of just how unaware your awareness has become without you even being aware of it. For example, you know full well that I have always enjoyed the rich, full tone quality of a telephone roasting in the oven. In fact, just the other day, Difnert, Mopenarch, and Joojoofloat were over to the house the day after yesterday and we had a great time dissecting all the training wheels. So obviously both boys and girls can enjoy something without knowing something unnecessary; like who a person changes into when they have the wrong kind of cereal for their 3:45 snack (sometimes I turn into a tuba).

So my dear friend, my eyes are in great moisture from laughing my elbows off as I compose this heartfelt, yet indignant letter to you and all your Monkey Headed Friends Who Have Absolutely No Idea How To Shave A Viking’s Volume Control while the band plays simply delicious renditions of “I Never Had A Salad,” and oh my gosh, how about that wonderful smash hit “You Shouldn’t Choke That Speaker Cabinet So Loudly” while the Eagles and the Buzzards and the Loons all marvel at their complete Lack Of Interest in writing; either in a normal way or by abusing their English with a terribly too long run-on sentence.

Thank you for sniffing only the red printer cartridges. I’m sure you’ll be proud of yourself someday; and until then you can just keep trying to play disc golf with oversized chocolate chip railroad ties.

Peace, Love, and Haberdashery,

Hyram

P.S.:  If nonsense never existed, these guys would never have become famous.

My Holiday Requirements for 2020

Dear Delightful Human People,

If you’ve been reading “Happy Friday!!!” for as long as I’ve been writing it, please accept my apology because I never meant to harm anyone; and if I’ve made you smile once or twice I consider that my privilege and I hope to continue provoking smiles and perhaps even laughter by writing silly and sometimes not so silly things until Herbert, my pet fountain pen, can no longer hit the keys of my computer keyboard thing to write all the things that are stuffed into a run-on sentence that is way too long.

Whew!

So yeah, like if you’ve been reading this silly thing for more than a year, then perhaps you know that this time of year inspires me to issue a mandate to all mankind regarding the items I expect to receive during the Holiday season. Perhaps you may find it a bit greedy of me to demand that I be showered with gifts; but that’s OK, because as long as everyone gets me everything I’m about to list there will be no need to worry about the safety of the sawdust piles that lurk in the ditches of my sock drawer.

Or something.

Very well then. I shall now commence to issue the list of things I’m sure all of you will agree are required for me to receive this year.

A) Please send 347 fifty gallon containers of that new “Corona Oh No” juice I saw on TV during my dream last Wednesday. I guess it works really well; and what you do is pump up the included spray canister and zap anyone who’s not wearing a mask when they come near you. It really gets their attention and has the added benefit of glowing in the dark so others will be alerted when the lights go out.

G1) I’m definitely gonna need some new battery operated spice jars. My current ones are unreliable, and yesterday my Lovely Wife complained greatly when our breakfast had too much oregano in the oatmeal. I’d like to stay married, so please make sure I get the new kind with the solar amplification modules.

11) As you all know, COVID has most restaurants basically only doing take out these days. I like take out. However, I don’t understand why some of my favorites don’t show up on take out menus. I mean, you can’t even get regular stuff like sardine sandwiches, Soup on a Stick, or even Chicken Cockamamie. What is this world coming to??

&) This year I’ll need many more bags of potato chips please. Yes, I know the ones from last year are all stacked neatly in my garage; but in my professional opinion, there’s simply no such thing as too many potato chips. What? Why didn’t I eat the old ones? Do you know how difficult it is to stack bags of potato chips 14 high and have the pile be presentable?? Sheesh!!

Red) Oh yes, I’ll need you to special order me some Peter Pumpernickel’s Pickled Herring Pot Pies. That brand is the very best, you see. Of course, if you can’t find those, I’ll settle for Oscar Olafsen’s Chocolate Covered Oyster Candies. Mmmmmm those are disgusting.

z5) OH WOW!! I remember where I left the spare tire for my minivan!! Hope that guy doesn’t mind me driving through his cornfield again…

4b) Just saw an ad in the paper!! The new X-Box with the power assist cheese slicer is on sale this week for a mere $376.29 at all local mattress stores!! Get one today!! Oh and get me one too!! And what’s up with all these extra exclamation points?? Oh and now it’s extra question marks?? What the heck!?!?!?!

Tell you what: instead of wracking your brain trying to figure out what to get for me; I’ll make it very simple: just sell all your stuff and bring me the money.

Thank you.

OK, that should keep you all busy for a few microseconds. But seriously folks, all I really want is the same old thing I’ve always wanted for every Holiday I can remember. I just want Peace, Love, and Kindness to be the guiding principles for all of us on the planet. And of course that means that we must all treat our dear Mother Nature with Love and Respect too. Dunno about you, but at our house we are blessed in so many ways. We try to give back, and hope that if any of you out there can afford it that you would please give to charities or somehow help those in need.

And as always, if you’ve actually read this far, thank you for being you. And please remember that it’s always better to be you than for you to be me, and although you can count to it, eight is a word.

Und now we go to da Grampy cartoon awreddy

Smiley Face Headphones And A Balloon Ride To Mars

Our grandsons are visiting, and as is customary I’ve requested their assistance with writing this week’s Happy Friday!!! installment. As I’ve done before, I’ll put their contributions in bold italics to differentiate them from the silliness that jumps out of my brain.

**WARNING!!** This story may be a bit silly. OK, here we go…

Smiley Face Headphones And A Balloon Ride To Mars

During a recent snowstorm, Sir Bobbington was found sleeping on the bathroom floor with the electric toothbrush jammed up his left nostril. Of course, such a traumatic event would at the very least cause strange dreams. For Sir Bobbington, this was no exception. And when he woke up he said, “I don’t know! I didn’t know my foot was bleeding this much! I didn’t feel it!” Then he went on to say some really strange things, apparently inspired by his dream. He bribbled and florped, then said, “This coming Sagnerday I will illegally change my name to Frapzak Mizzlepop, which of course was never a Native American name meaning ‘Slumbers With Chowder.’ Used donuts and apple chowder vinegar will be served in celebration.”

We used our garden tractor to get the toothbrush out of Sir Bobbington’s nose hole. It worked pretty well, but now there is a trail of gooey stuff all over the driveway. That should not be a problem because it will be winter soon and the snow will cover it up. Besides, it sealed some the cracks in our concrete quite nicely.

I asked him if he was OK after this ordeal. I mean, there was no blood or anything, and his nose was still functioning normally as far as I could determine. He assured me he was fine, but when I asked how in the hibbledy-boo he got that thing lodged inside his nostril, he said, Well that’s even harder making a story. Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!” I gave him a funny look and he quit talking. Both of us just figured the horrible event caused him to talk a bit squirrely.

Well it didn’t end there. Next thing I knew I was also affected by all the excitement and began reminiscing about all the green dust I found in my shoe bottles during last year’s amplified crust removal incidents. I told Sir Bobbington, “I would like to take this opportunity to urge you to please have a Happy Merry and a Joyful Wonderful. Personally, I’m very much looking forward to the Cream of Mustard celery toppings and the Dead Snake Surprise desserts!!” Then of course it was his turn to give me a weird look!

We decided to maybe try to change to some more intelligent conversation; so we took a walk over to Peach Pit Park to enjoy a relaxing walk. There we noticed Sir Frinklefoot; who was often seen in the park doing some “interesting” things. You see, every time Sir Frinklefoot went to a park or other public place where there were benches he would feel underneath to see if there was any gum. This time we got brave enough to ask him why he always collected used gum; and he said he wanted to make it into a hot air balloon and fly that to Mars.

Sir Bobbington and I just didn’t know what to make of all that… so as a measure of desperation, we kind of quickly looked around for a way to steer the conversation elsewhere. I spied a pair of headphones lying on the bench next to Sir Frinklefoot… and my imagination kicked in as I pointed at them and blurted out, “look at the headphones, it’s a smiley face !!” Sir Frinklefoot gave us a puzzled look and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “OK, whatever.”

We said goodbye to Sir Frinklefoot; and started briskly walking away. As we made our way down the sidewalk, I remembered an experience I never had that I just knew would impress Sir Bobbington. I told him, “Many of my enjoyments have wriggled right out of Mars and other parts of the Aurora Borealis.  I hope my cat learns to speak German soon.” Both of us stopped walking, shook our heads and roared with laughter.

Then we went for ice cream.

The End.

Chicken Nuggets Billy Bob Llama Juice Coffee

Our grandsons are here for a visit, and what has now become something of a tradition, I’ve asked their assistance with some story ideas for “Happy Friday!!!” Previous renditions have revolved around strange titles, for which I was expected to come up with some sort of story line. Maybe I shot myself in the foot this time, but tonight I asked for some random sentences that I would incorporate into this week’s blog post. I got a few ideas; although the first suggestion came in the form of an interesting glob of words. Without further ado, I shall attempt to write something that utilizes their ideas; and you will know when it’s something they gave me because it will be in bold italics.

“OK guys,” I said, “tonight is Friday, so you know what that means? I write a story every week. I need your help with some ideas. This time, how about some weird sentences instead of just a title?”

After some hesitation, the first suggestion was “chicken nuggets Billy Bob Llama juice coffee.”

“Huh??” I asked quizzically. “Um… that’s not a sentence. Can you please think of some sentences? I don’t care whether they make sense; and they don’t even have to be related.” As these instructions flew out of my mouth I began to think maybe I was biting off more than I could chew. They did not disappoint, however, and here comes the result. Remember, their ideas will be in bold italic.

Chicken Nuggets Billy Bob Llama Juice Coffee

by Ken Hansen (kind of)

Late one day in the middle of the night, I decided to go visit Billy Bob. On the way to his house, I stopped at the local McBarf and bought some of his favorite munching things: chicken nuggets. I phoned him right after I left McBarf, and he said, “hey man!! Hope you didn’t get anything to drink!! I am making your favorite: llama juice coffee!! I’ll wait till you get here, because I know you love that stuff.”

Holy moly, when he told me about making the lama juice coffee I was totally geeked. I haven’t had that stuff in a very long time. Hard to get it because of COVID you know. My mouth started to water so bad I had to get out my drool cup to catch all the slobber. Billy Bob is a good friend, but although he means well sometimes he gets a little greedy with treats. I was really hoping he wouldn’t dip into the delightful beverage before I got to his house. But of course, when I pull up to his house, knock on the door, and go inside, what do I see?? Billy Bob is drinking the llama juice coffee!!

“Couldn’t wait, could you??” I blurted out. “Well, hey, can’t say I blame you. That’s some pretty good stuff.” Billy Bob apparently felt a little guilty for starting without me, and tried to conceal his cup by sliding it behind his back. “No, man!! I didn’t start without you!!” It wasn’t any big deal to me really, but I knew he was fibbing. I mean, hey, Billy Bob and I are both very aware that every time he enjoys our special treat, the llama juice in the coffee makes his face shrivel up. “Hey dude, take it easy!! I’m OK!! You were kind enough to make the brew, but you should know by now that you can’t hide the fact that you drink it. I mean, your face is really shriveled up!!”

Billy Bob must have been having a bad day, because suddenly he became a bit defensive. “I’m really sorry, man,” he explained, “but please don’t pick on me right now. After all, my ears are on fire.” “Say what now??” I asked with amazement. “Ummm it sure doesn’t look like your ears are on fire,” I replied. “But now that you mention them, they do seem a bit hairier than normal.” I stepped in for a closer look, but Billy Bob stepped back abruptly and shouted, “do not shave my ears, they smell like cat turds!!” Quickly he covered both ears with his hands as if to protect them (or maybe me… if they really did stink). Then he said something totally off the wall: the fribbleknockers on Mars always give away free stones.”

I had to step away a bit, and then it dawned on me… llama juice coffee has always had a strange effect on my friend. So I flat out told him, “Billy Bob my friend, I think we need to find us a different treat. I mean, you’re having some very strange reactions to this delightful beverage. Let’s go downtown and see if we can get another one of those grapefruit milkshakes at the gas station.” Billy Bob was instantly relieved. He liked the grape gas milk fruit station shake idea very much. We hopped on our 5 wheel scootercycles, hoisted up the sails, and waited for a few days for a nice wind to power us downtown. We had a great time during our 6 hour ride from Billy Bob’s house to the grape milk station. Once we arrived, we ordered our shakes. As we slurped our new treats, we smiled and promised each other to leave the llama juice coffee alone for a few decades.

What can I say? We are best friends!!

The End

Hmmm… what to do about this week’s video? I’ve got it!! Let’s “celebrate” the upcoming election!! Don’t forget to vote… for Grampy (?).

An Open Letter to Noodletoss Anklebracelet

An Open Letter to Noodletoss Anklebracelet

All Others May Read But Do Not Sing The Chorus Out Loud.

(It frightens the radish grabbers.)

Dear Noodlestomp,

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…

Celebration Time!!

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.

Now please pass those hot dogs!!

Or maybe pastry…

Random Fribble Knockers And The Wild Businessmen Neptune Fruit

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.

The End

(I think…)

How To Bake Bread

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!

**!!WARNING!!**

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.

Happy Bread Baking, and don’t loaf too hard!