Seems like some Earthlings have been obsessed with a very old question: is there life on Mars? I pondered this myself for what seemed like hours, just before hitting my head on the pillow last night.

Well, DUH! Bet those science folks spent some big bucks researching this no-brainer. Of COURSE there’s life on Mars!! Lots of other places, too. Folks in Hollywood have known this for years. My good friend Vexor the Sarganian laughed openly about the stupidity of Earthling scientists, and has often helped movie makers get the real picture. “Lobster Men from Mars,” for example. Lots of diffent kinds of folks out there on the other planets. Earthlings are just too arrogant to embrace that idea. Or maybe we’re just chicken!

Vexor is, of course, from Sargan: the 5th planet of Sector 23vx in the Skoldern Galaxy. A pretty cool dude, and he’s been around, if you know what I mean. Got that 479 Megazip Crambo-Leaper a couple yargons ago, and he’s been tearing up the Interstellar Speedway ever since. He took me for a ride once, but I get starsick; and, well, I’ll just be staying on Earth for a while (I barfed on his crystal- regulated zoomophone).

Anyhower, he’s known about life “out there” for years. When I asked him about Mars, I think it upset him, though at first he just got this blank look on his face. Then he scrunched up his eyes, and blurted out, “Where the heck ya think all those chocolate candies come from?? Says `Mars’ on the back, don’t it?? Jeez, man, don’t you pay attention?” I sat there, dumbfounded, as he continued to illustrate my cosmic ignorance.

“You can even smell them making the chocolate from here,” he ranted. “All you have to do is go to Hershey, Pennsylvania and look through a telescope at the beautiful Red Planet. Before you know it, you’ll smell chocolate.”

“What’s so special about Hershey… hey, wait a minute,” I said, grinning. “That’s where the Hershey bar factories are, you Moogle Framer! Ha, you got me there. Ha ha.” Vexor laughed too, and slapped me on the back playfully with his dretzel. Then he put me in my place again by noting that he hadn’t been called a Moogel Framer in over 43 durns. I guess I used an obsolete expression. “Nice try, though, you silly Zoff Pinkler!” he chortled. He thought that was pretty darned funny, but I was getting a bit impatient. Vexor picked up on my frustration pretty quickly, and being the sensitive Sarganian that he is, he returned to Mars as the focus of the conversation.

“Yep, you may remember reading in the National Globe Star Enquirer that Elvis is alive. He’s making records on Mars, and doing quite well, thank you. His favorite candy is his own creation, the Hunka-Hunka bar. Some kind of cross between chocolate and a peanut butter sandwich.”

“What, no Snickers??” I asked this of him with a pretty strong tone. I was a bit shocked that Vexor hadn’t mentioned what I considered to be one of the best chocolate bars in the universe. “Of course,” I continued, “they are becoming the amazing shrinking candy bar. Something happened with the size lately, and they’re not quite as big as they used to be. Still cost just as much, though. Perhaps they should be renamed `Sneakers’.”

Vexor started tapping his pedplarbs and fidgeting with a small piece of croob. When I quit rambling, he started anew. “You wanna gab about junk food or you wanna hear about Mars??” He was almost shouting at me, so I shut up. “OK. Now, where was I?” he continued. “O yeah. Elvis. He bought one of those fancy belts from Leroy, too. Helped him bring a lot more folks into his concerts at the Martian Mosh Pit there in New Kramia.”

I was puzzled. “Leroy??” I queried. “Who’s this Leroy?”

“Duh,” Vexor chided. “Don’t you Earthrats know anything? Leroy Aster! You know, the inventor of the Asteroid Belt! All those shiny things on his custom made belts really bring in the crowds. Gotta have good technicians to train the lights on them just the right way, of course. Those Gleebnoogles from Jupiter really go nuts for that stuff. Spend thousands of smoglards just to get a peek!”

He had a great time reminiscing. He paused and tilted his head back, rolled his eyes and shook with laughter as he recalled some of the fun he and his girlfriend Vosk had at some of those Elvis concerts last month. Wasn’t long before I was being treated to his best bag of dehydrated skunyon and a tall glass of brak-ma-gar.

Then the alarm clock went off…

But wait!! Perhaps it wasn’t a dream!! I forgot about Marvin!!!

Here I am again attempting to retrieve silly inspirational announcements from our grandsons for the purpose of overcooking a new “Happy Friday:” but this time it came at some cost, as they were unable to flagellate any wrought iron waffle cones unless I bribbled and houted first and in the beginning. I hovered under their small socks and urged them to spill forth silly things; and found myself being again the Leader Of The Weird Hello.

Therefore, it is with great indecency that I send these words to your eyes. Some of the text may have been the result of speaking gibberish into the Texting Microphone Thing (TMT) on my phone, and the result was (of course) bleeding aquamarine crayon sauce. So without any further doodley-doo, here are the silly exclamations that were harvested from the Nonsensical Neon Lantern Salad this very evening.

The smeckle smabbajoos are hunting the wild kielbasa for dinner. While they hunted they snacked on rancid chicken nuggets and drank jars of mayonnaise. Grasshopper grinned while eating drywall. The drywall tasted like rancid Snargonian Strawberries with bug Jell-O. Some of my favorite warm sauce was made of oatmeal that slept in the sewer for 14 days.

“But where did you sleep in the sewers?” they asked.

Well everybody knows that oatmeal sleeps in the light fixtures that are broken in the sewers, and when the sewer elves come to repair the damage, they go into the closest dollar store to buy delicious stink free nibblings. They especially like the stink free nibble snacks because whenever they strike a match to light a candle to fix the oatmeal lights if the nibble snacks smell bad they might cause an explosion.

Sometimes the smeckle smabbajoos sneak up on the sewer elves and throw bug Jell-O at them. When the elves turn their heads they get an earful. And then all they can hear is the munch munch munch of the grinning grasshopper as he mistakes the elves’ hats for drywall.

“Do you still happen to have those donuts?” they asked.

“Why yes I do, and I ran them through the toilet tank earlier this morning specially for you.” I screamed. “Oh you can have them then.” they barked. “But I don’t want any, because I haven’t stopped eating toilet snacks long ago,” I sneered. Suddenly, I began to speak without tongues and splashed pure gibberish into my Texting Microphone Thing (TMT).

Smurfs minigame button world will propel eggnog opposite now, and will call number again I must not.

Shambo equity past month slumber Chromeo many eggs are in the book.

That snake worm fastening ears don’t change my name I’ll kick my horse today unless I get caught in which case I will hide behind this large peppermint stick.

Fambo Namaque as probing Elmar will caption a body ache fun Zombo cowboy boots could you make money pouring in Meijer.

Next, a horribly familiar question was stretched out of the frozen toaster and into the known universe.

“But seriously do we still have those donuts?” they honked.

“Yes. They are covered with ashes because I was trying to heat treat them this morning with small pieces of pine to make them fragrant and delicious,” I shrieked. Shortly after the pine heat treatment infusion we stuffed our faces with the remaining donuts.

I commenced one last time with the TMT, but this time with a mouth full of donut molecules.

The result was:

Well from my phone from our horrible with warm mouth for our programmer.

Who/blue marsh replacement working woman Who/blue marsh group lemon working woman.

This caused all 3 both of us to make saturated laughter with great animosity.

The End.

So… how about some TV bloopers??

Well here we are again, snacking on yet another “Happy Friday!!!” episode for which I solicited creative input from my grandsons. However, their contributions were notably smaller this week due to a condition my Beautiful Honey Pie has diagnosed as “Video Game Brain.” Her diagnosis is based on the fact that when they are at Nini (pronounced NEE-nee) (and she’s also my Beautiful Girlfriend) (and she let me marry her) (and enough with the parentheses awreddy!!) and Papa’s house, they get an extra helping of screen time with their handheld face blasters. I’m sure her amputation has gotta be very correct. I know that this is true, because when asked for silly ideas to help me write a silly story, both of them struggled to provide any hilarious shopping cart infections. In reaction to their lackadaisical scorch water infusions, my Lovely Bride asked them both, “what, do you both have Video Game Brain???” Since she is a nurse (and a very good one at that), I must defer to her reprehensible punctuality.

That being said, I’m largely on my own with the writing and keyboard bopping this week. Hopefully all of you will be defended; and of course if that is the case I shall broop and geschnibble until the Lower Moon sinks into the toilet tank. Besides, if you’ve ever slept inside a small spare tire, you’d be absolutely certain that molecules smell better outside than they do inside.

So there I was, writhing in great joy on the floor, and screaming at the bottom of my lunges for any suggestions they could provide. Gabe said, “Well, I have a title. How about ‘The Banana Blobs On Vacation To India’.” “OK,” I replied. “Any other silly sentences to go with that?” “Nope,” said Gabe. After a pause, Ollie tinkled his wifflets and said, “what’s that thing… the prime meridian?” “I think that’s 0 degrees longitude,” I answered in a scholarly cabbage surprise. “Yeah!!” said Ollie. And he continued, “Pomeranians eating pickles at the prime meridian.”

Perhaps noticing that my dendrites were choking on less than fashionable pajamas, Nini brashly but randomly chimed in with a poem:

Strawberries like horse meat to eat.
Strawberries think horse meat is sweet.

Ollie followed up with a shocking revulsion: “I’d rather eat a moose!!” This caused me to pose as if I was being sculpted with a large egg beater, then I flung out a very serious question to all involved: “Does a Heffalump have a whole lump or a half a lump?” Questions such as these could of course cause a run-on sentence unless they are kept in a well lit pantry for at least 12; but when crickets finally resign from their duties as auto mechanics, only the most critical crayon rashes can prevent a hummingbird moth from knocking on xylophone bones during The Great Pine Cone Races which are held annually each year with a spacing of 12 months at a time on the order of 1/10^th of a decade and like, you know, sometimes but not really.

OK??

Yes, have some.

Alrighty then. I suppose I’ll just resume washing the television shows I very much enjoy while all the silly, battery operated concrete blocks jump wildly from lane to lane on the interstate railroads. Is any of this making sense to you? I hope not!! If you are having difficulty looking for a “hidden meaning” or some sort of “symbolic embolism” or perhaps are seeking a “rational radiator” in all of this, please mail $12.73 and 17 box tops to:

Yodel Screechers Anonymous
24-7 Wildebeest Way
Honkingtown, Indibraskalania 49001-5

Ask for Mr. Rumpkin.

I leave you now with some very undergrown words that I never but always am urging with complete indigestion:

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

Peace, Love, and Fuzzy Earlobes,

Hyram C. Gilmore
Professor of Turnip Juice
Gutcramp University

And now for something completely different. Well, maybe not completely…

Some people need a word for the day to make the radio sauces slide briskly from under the toilet canopy. Well in my professional opinion, “bird” is not the word. No, rather the word for today (or any other day) is “bloop.” Sometimes it’s used as an exclamation, as in the case of dropping something in the water. An example: remember that one time I was with Uncle Bribblet on the dock at Zooper’s Pond? He handed me this awesome looking smellphone he just bought and went up to the house to get seconds on Aunt Meebee’s refried cabbage sticks. When he came back, I had some bad news for him: “Sorry… I had your new iPhone 27 held tightly in my grubby little mitts, but as I was leaning over the dock I was distracted by the freshwater hexagonal stickfish and BLOOP!! into the brackish water it went. I was able to get it out and I tried to dry it off in the fire, but it started to fizz and make weird popping noises.”

Uncle Bribblet was not amused.

Because I enjoy learning more about words and other household temperature measuring cups, I decided to scan the interwebs for any additional applications of the word “bloop.” Lo and behold, there was one I had never heard of before. According to Wikipedia, “Bloop was an ultra-low-frequency, high amplitude underwater sound detected by the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) in 1997.” Initially it was thought to have originated from a marine animal, but it was later determined to be sounds from glacial movement or by “seabed gouging by ice.” Well now that’s just plain fascinating!! If only I was there to enjoy the bloopening!! Perhaps I could have gotten an autograph from one of the underwater sound detection technician people persons!! Or not!!

Bloop also appears in baseball, when a batter smacks a ball just beyond the infield. And then there are bloopers in film or other video media in which mistakes are made and are presented to audiences for the humor of it all. And then there’s the use of bloop to describe a noise made by an electronic device. So yes, goys and birls, I’m stealing all these inflammable regressions from the webbernet dictionary website definition place things.

Being the drebnerflooted person I am, I have sometimes been known to utter a short, high-pitched, low volume “bloop!!” for no apparent reason. This serves no other purpose than sheer amusement for me and anyone nearby who happens to hear it. I’ve also been known to utter other inconomulous strebulations like “flarf!!” or “mozzbop!!” and perhaps even “hookonk!!” just to perplex my grandsons and any other young or otherwise height-challenged lifeforms that happen to be within earshot. Of course, few of the “words” you just read are real; but hey, if you can’t have fun langling manguage, I mean, why squish the Twinkies on the sidewalk? Right??

Of course it is!!

Lastly, but not in the least indivisible, is the (not very) famous poem that includes the bloop as a sound made from mergling.

Well there you go. These days, there are many things we could cry about, but sometimes it’s important to laugh with very big harroo while you have a big mouthful of macaroni and cheese. I hope you find a word for your day, whether it is “bird,” or “bloop,” or even something highly technical like “wozzpoffle.” In the meantime, may your nostrils be free of burrowing insects, and may your garments be forever stain resistant.

Peace, Love, and Blissful Antigens,

Hyram C. Gilmore

On the other hand, you have Betty Boop and Grampy…

Well there we were, snarfing some homemade assorted fried rice with green beans and garlic from the garden and lots of other veggies from the grocery store and some dead crustaceans (a.k.a. shrimp), dead chicken muscles (a.k.a. chicken meat) and also dead pig muscles (a.k.a. mork peat); when My Beautiful Girlfriend announced, “it’s time to give your Papa some ideas for Happy Friday!!!” so they began hurling (not food) sentences at me in the form of interview questions and now it’s time to switch to that idea rather than allow this run-on sentence to continue any farther.

When asked what the title of this silly story should be, Gabe quickly blurted, “Monkeys On Their Bus Ride to England!!” This quickly ushered in a mock interview session in which his older brother Oliver assumed the role of interviewer.

Oliver: “Where are they in the world when they get on the bus?”

Gabe: “They are not in the world they’re on Jupiter.”

Oliver: “Is the bus that the monkeys are on going so fast on Jupiter that it somehow broke through the atmosphere and landed on earth?”

Gabe: “Well no, they did not go fast in the bus to get out of the atmosphere. They built a ginormous ramp, and it took them one day to get to earth. They landed in a field 5000 million miles away from England. The field was floating on a ginormous balloon on the water. A balloon was there to keep the field from sinking in the water.”

Oliver: “What country were they closest to one they landed?”

Gabe: “They were closest to China and four different countries.”

Oliver: “Are there any cows on this island?”

Gabe: “No but there are a crap ton of pigs!”

Oliver: “These aliens are confused.”

Gabe: “These aren’t aliens, they are just regular monkeys.”

At this time my Lovely Bride interjected that she was wondering if these monkeys were going to do any sightseeing. Perhaps they would see Big Ben or perhaps the Queen?

Gabe: “They thought maybe they would go see big Ben and the queen but instead they chose to go to the Eiffel tower to see the other crap ton of pigs.”

Oliver started to resume the “interview,” but Gabe quickly took over. “I’ll question myself,” he said. “Where did they go after they went to the Eiffel tower and saw the other crap ton of pigs? They went back to the balloon to see the first crap ton of pigs! The End.”

We all had a chuckle while I e-mailed the results of the interview to myself so I could more easily transcribe the notes I dictated to my phone along the way. Afterward we all sat down to crunch on some delicious remote controls dipped in chocolate flavored motor oil and watched “Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship Of The Ring” until it was too late to keep our eyes open. So now I am sending this to all of YOU and that’s just all you get for this week, with the exception of course of the silly video I like to put at the end.

Thank you and good night.

P.S.: Hope the raccoon finds the live trap I set in the garage. I’m really tired of that critter tearing it up in there!!

Note:  This notice has been circulated to everyone who has pockets, pocket books, mailboxes, or ice in their driveway.  Please read carefully and follow the instructions.

My Fellow Colleagues,

In these uncertain economic times we must strive to defeat the competition both before and after they are finished watching their favorite movies and / or cooking programs. Therefore, it is with great implosion that I urge all of you to apply an exorbitant amount of effort toward our long discontinued standard of excellence.

In striving toward the spirit of this year’s successful yet spiritually degrading development plan, we are rolling out what we believe is an innovative approach to corporate indecency with our new motto: Strength Through Costly Mistakes, or STCM.

To facilitate Phase 1 of this plan, Zelden Bilgehammer of Quality Infusions, Inc. will be arriving soon to inspect the cambernackles. Please ensure that all edible Click Wrapper standards are well concealed and thoroughly hyphenated before Zelden’s infestation.  As a reminder, the entire Click Line will be down for maintenance during this inspection; since all the Snooglebockers are on their vacation to Jupiter to see the flying cows.  I hope they have a great time!!  I can smell the rancid cows from here!!  Let’s just hope they don’t bring back any rottage cheese.  That stuff is nasty, am I right??

But I digress…

During this exercise, please note that cambernackles will heretofore be inspected on the 3rd Tuesday of each week, twice monthly, with liberty and justice for all. This information may be shared freely with herds of wild businessmen, or any and all individuals whose names rhyme with “lumberjack,” as they would appear when divided by the pertinent day of the month.

For example: on the 1st Tuesday of 2022, the week begins with the letter R. It follows then, that you may share this with people who have names like:

Rudence Cumberjack

Rumby Cambersnorck

Royven Snanderjunk

And of course Roopy Wofflenick.

Note that the inverse modification standard never applies. None of these stick flingers are employed at this time, so sharing the inflammation can only enhance our deprivation protocol.

If you have any questions regarding this modulation, please insert two nickles and eleven dimes. I’d very much like you to tell me about the case you’re working on.  After all, your toaster is probably orange with chrome crumb fenders.  The chicken tenders have escaped the restaurant and are now stealing cars.

Thank you in advance for your cooperation in this urgent flea popping contest.

Sincerely,

Norvis Pimpleburger
Chief Inspection Officer
Feline Antler Fabrication Dept.

“If you want something done, don’t remove the cat’s antlers.” – Milton Wildpockets

——————————————————————–

On the other hand, we could just make with the jumpin’ jive and swing it!!

Hello Ladles and Jelly Spoons,

Every once in a while, I spend a little time thinking about words. Everyone has of course learned various words over the years… but I find myself thinking about the weird ones. Words like adz, and affable, and even crapulous. My grandmother often sat and read the dictionary, just for the enjoyment of it. She never read a single word of “Happy Friday!!!” though, which is probably just as well. She might get frightened at some of the silly words I invent while writing this silly blog thing.

When it comes right down to it, English is a rather odd language. Little wonder that people of the world find English difficult to learn. So many rules like ” I before E except after C, unless pronounced A as in neighbor and weigh.” And of course we have so many words that are spelled completely differently but sound very much the same. Sew with that in mind, eye wood like two continue this episode of Happy Fry Day bye you sing words that will bee spelled correctly, but are not necessarily used proper lee in a send tense.

Four egg sample, the word “ewe” sounds the same as “you” but a “ewe” is a female sheep, and of coarse you no exactly watt ewe are eye hope. Their is all sew a “yew” that is a type of bush!! Eye yam knot shore that any won kin even reed some thing like this. Four many pee pull, trying two reed words that dew knot bee long two gather is moor like jumping threw a window while there pants are on fire. They simply kin knot bring themselves two dew it. And eye four one don’t blame them won little bit.

Sew my friends, pleas try to right with proper you sage. When eye sea words with apostrophes that don’t bee long in them, it makes me wander wear that person’s brain flue off two. Yew no, like when sum won is selling sum thing, and they have a big sine that says, “Freshly Picked Pear’s” oar sum thing like that. My question two a sine like that is, “Freshly Picked Pear’s what??” Yew sea, an apostrophe is never used when a noun is plural, but only to show possession oar may bee as a contraction. Like, “eye wood like you two meat my pear’s Uncle Bartlett” for possession; or “my pear’s got a big fat worm in it,” as a contraction. And yes, eye yam fully a wear that a pair probably does knot have an uncle. But booboos like these types of things make me cry inside, but I dew get over it after much less thyme than I used two.

Any way, that’s probably enough strange use of words from the likes of me. Eye true lee hope eye have knot harmed yore brain things two bad lee bye righting awl these words in sand dances that suffer from horribly pour usage. Sew, eye wheel stop this write now sew yore brain kin have a rest.

Until next thyme then, pleas have a ferry Happy Day.

Peas, Love, and Hogs,

Ken “Eye Don’t No How Two Spell” Broyvington

a.k.a. “Mustard Lips Mack”

These three gents could really swing it… please enjoy the “Alphabet Song.”

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.

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…

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.