An Important Letter To All Frames and Camelstands

Dear Frames and Camelstands,

I understand that none of you have been lifting corduroy. Well I’m here to tell you, that if you don’t begin doing something soon you won’t be able to do anything very soon. Soon you will know that something was done before egg time, and are you even are aware that the thing you ate last night had absolutely nothing nutritionally resembling paint chips??

You better know something. I’ll let you know when to know it. Do you know what I mean? You had BETTER know. Don’t look at ME in that tone of voice!! You often remind me of lentils floating in a small garage. What the HECK have you been slurping during nap time??

The weather was completely perfectly wintry during these past 42 yodelwhompers. That’s because I forgot to throw coat hangers at the sun all last week. I threatened the sun within an inch of its life, and as you can see it paid off backwards. Now we can all cry and roll on the floor because we are very aware that the sun won’t listen to me when I shout. This of course increases the likelihood of macaroni storms.

Cheese is applied during the evening hours.

My beautiful girlfriend, Zonikula, and I went walking the other day with our legs and feet. During our walk, we decided to crawl on our bellies for 13 miles to see if rain deer really know how to fly. Rain deer are absolutely nothing like Santa’s reindeer. No. Rain deer are made of water and they sing greeble songs when the geese run backwards through the tomato forest. This gives them magical flavor crystals that can only glow in the earlobes during The Great Nickel Tossing Festival.

Last time we were never there, the noises of our crawlings were completely different than klick, klick, clomp as we sniggled down along the Mosquito Ribber near the old Cobb plant (where Cornn is Kingg). Suckers were busy catching humans that

were running up the river. Very remarkable. Garter snakes tried to trim our fingernails as we invaded “their space;” and as they wriggled gently over our eyebrows all 13 of them kept whining about how they were missing their favorite Applesauce Program. Why They Capitalized These Strange TV Program Words With Their Nostrils Remains A Mystery To All Of Us Who Enjoy A Complete Breakfast Of Oats Coated With Bullet Proof Mustard.

Please, don’t ever describe this to me again.

There was probably a time when we could have stood up and used our foot things to walk like regular snork monsters, but that never occurred to us until we got back in our car and noticed that our belly mud had hardened into very attractive pajama sandwiches that looked and tasted very much like those old fashioned salami burgers we never had when we were kids.

OK.

Now you have been klempered.

Please resume your taddle-brickling.

My chair eats frogs,

Hyram C. Pooflestench

A.K.A. Peeper Fling Muskellunge

Well, if you’ve read this far, you may have found all of that a bit weird. With that in mind, check this weirdness out:

An Unimportant Announcement

Please note: you are reading this message because you are on a secret list that only the Cheese Vendors can access with toaster friendly amplification.

Hello Habbniferns,

I’m sure none of you are wondering by now whether the sky has been removed from the Ionized Bugle Machines (IBM). There’s probably a good chance that someday I can divulge the particulars of that molecular substation, but this is no time for soaking baby toys in cups of sesame oil.

I ate a bug once during the Warmer Weather Times (WWT). It had very little flavor, and devouring its body really was not as pleasant as one might surmise. This required minimal effort, however: I opened my mouth, a small insect flew in, and I closed my mouth again. I tried to pitoo, then kerchack, but when I said “orgkkk” my swallowing mechanism switched on and down the hatch it went as I Bit My Tongue (IBMT). Possibly there was some struggle on the part of the poor bug, as I was somewhat sure I felt griggling actions as the very small Insect Bit The Dust On The Way Down My Esophagus (IBTDOTWDME).

Now of course we must discuss this business of intermediate tree watering schedules. Please do not go there with me ever again. Why would you insist on watering the trees with that Jell-O dispenser I shall never understand. Don’t you know that pressurized prune skins can injure cats and other flying rodents? We really need to talk about your compulsion to slide wildly through the Baked Apple Rhubarb Fritters (BARF).

OK. I really must go to the store now. They have metal objects on sale, and one can never have too many metal objects. I’m keeping mine in the washing machine; they help spoons and radio antennas stay fresh and crinkly.

Thank you for not licking my car. Last time my car was flattened, all the tire juice ran sideways through the maple syrup. So again, thank you VERY MUCH for not flattening my cat’s toy water fountain. Unless you did. In which case I will stop. Writing in incomplete sentences. Which cannot be sentences at all.  Since they are incomplete. So therefore they must. Be sentence fragments.

So there.

Yours with no hair,

Abnick G. Wiffleponk

a.k.a. “Sgt. Lumpy, Underwater Greenskeeper (SLUG)”

Now the cartoon is about to happen, and this one should cause none of you to long for Jellyfish Bay.

An Open Letter to Mr. or Ms. TextNeck

Dear ScreenStarers,

I was watching a story on the radio today while listening to the interwebs about internet addiction behavior that is characterized by people tilting their heads to gawk at their smartphones when they really should be interacting with their friends or family; especially during dinner or perhaps in the middle of a friendly outing that implies personal contact but instead of talking and giving loved ones eyeball contact, these smartphone addicts are constantly checking BookFace or Twizzler or perhaps Funny Macaroni and Cheese videos while being stuck in a run-on sentence that really needs to end now.

A real physical ailment has arisen from smartphone addiction: text neck (<–there’s a link for you if you’re curious). It’s just another one of those whoopee, hibbledyboo happy times from too much technology in your soup toaster. If any of you have read my silly bagga-maroo on this crazy blog thing for more than two seebits, you are probably aware that although I work with computers; I pride myself in being something of a technical dinosaur… at least at home. That’s right kids, I still have a record player, VCR, CD / DVD player, I listen to AM radio (on a real radio…).  Although we do have an internet provider it’s pretty slow (but cheap).  And yes, boys and girls, we still get most of our television worm sauce from a weird fixture perched upon our roof, and it’s called an antenna. Cable simply costs too much and prevents me from having enough extra cash for important staples like pork rinds and Cabbage Cola.

So for this Happy Friday!!!, I decided to give some of my best bread particles a chance to sing louder than most jelly beans are able. In other words, if you invite me for ketchup and lavender; I will keep my phone’s ringer off and leave it in my pocket. Not just the ringer, but the whole stinking phone! Yes, and instead of staring at a screen while we are together, I will stare at those moles you keep hiding in your eyebrows. But don’t worry, I will smile politely while I wince occasionally.

My true indispensable moose hammer will not never need to be cleaned while we are talking neither, no. After all, once you’ve used a moose hammer to open a can of Jack Fluffington’s Floor Syrup; you’ll spend much more time cleaning your walls than clearing your moose nostrils. Upon opening the can, everyone within range will cringe and snort loudly as the syrup droplets coat their eyelids with a nice shiny glucose surprise.

I’m sure we can all find something better to do than check how many “likes” we have on the BookFace or the InstaTwit. Ha, ha ha… I’m having a fond memory of the time we all threw raisins on the floor at the mall, and Snippy and his girlfriend Euglena started walking on tiptoes and shouting, “arrggghhhh!!! Rabbits have been here!!!” Yes, that was just before we filled all those water balloons with tomato juice and… oh my never mind about that time. GACK. Perhaps you could help me finish my 17 year old project: the Lego garage!! It’s getting expensive, but once we finish it we’ll never need to paint the walls. Who knew it took so many Legos to make a building??

OK. In closing, I’m hoping some of you could maybe put the phartsmones away and just tawk ta people awreddy. Ya know what I’m sayin’? There are people very near you who deserve your undivided attention. Oh and here’s a weird eye-deer… if we are watching something other than a small screen, we might see stuff like birds and a very nice sunset or something!! Would that be cool or what?

I go now.

Peace, Love, and Straighter Necks,

Hyram C. Gilmore

a.k.a. MooseHammer McFluffington

Oh… speaking of obsession…

My (Late) 2018 New Year’s Revolutions

Please allow me to greet your face and hands with a very Happy 2018; and may all your wishes be sold to Smoked Fish Merchants (S.F.M.) in trade for Used Flip Flops (U.F.F.) while numerous soft yet Bristly Sock Monsters (B.S.M.) chew rapidly during the Great Raisin Gathering (G.R.G.) at the 134th annual Anonymous Snack Snarfers Hand Or Leg Egg Slappers (A.S.S.H.O… wait a minute!! No no… not gonna do that) chamber pot tossing competition.

So here I am, following my 1st annual run-on sentence with a (late) report what my New Year’s Revolutions for 2018 very well might be. I’m reporting these revolutions in a tardy manner because I simply had to pay tribute to Dick Orkin, the creator of “Chickenman” who passed away last week. And also, in addition, I say to you that these “might be,” my New Year’s Revolutions because I am unreasonably certain that I’m not likely to dig up enough used crayons to change the climate in St. Petersburg, Florida.

My really true and uncrompulated New Year’s Revolution has actually been the same every year for the last couple decades: Try to do better. But if I were to make new revolutions, they “might” go something like this:

A. I hereby resolve not to ever use superfluous exclamation points!! I mean, hey, that’s the least a person can do!!! Think about it!!!! So many people emphasize way too much with exclamation points!!!!! This rather diminishes the effect of using any exclamation points at all!!!!!! Don’t you think so?!?!?!?!?!?

U. My 14th resolution is to avoid using imaginary words that only I can infliborize. Sure, I sometimes use nonsense words for the sheer bagnaffley horkle tones of the contersneffeck. I probably amuse myself more than others with this style of vasherbinking, so perhaps I will cease and desist with the silly words awreddy.

$. Procrastination has always been a lingering hobby of my cat and other members of my corn field. Therefore, I herewith intend to stop procrastinating either today or tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll keep putting off the procrastination until I can’t avoid procrastinating any longer. Or maybe I could delegate my efforts to someone who can postpone them indefinitely. I’m not exactly sure. If one of you has any suggestions, please e-mail them to my garage and I’ll try to read them one of these days.

X12. Have you seen my new socks?? You know, the ones with the fancy frog nostril prints all over them. They really keep my toes happy.

M6. Please erase resolution “U.” above. I do apologize (no, really I don’t), but I am very fond of writing various ibblesnick tenterdoodles. My professional opinion is that with all the horrible things in our past and present world, a little silliness can be a very good stress relief cabbagehamper.

And finally:

O!2!: I plan to do my best to spread Peace, Love, and Hugs to everyone in the Universe. Of course, some people don’t want hugs. That’s OK, I will Love them anyway. And some people don’t want Love, but I will Pray for them whether they like it or not. And some people don’t even want Peace, and I will Pray for them even more. Now don’t get me wrong… even though the People Upstairs tell me I must Love EVERYONE, doesn’t mean I’m gonna like everyone. So I will beam Prayers of Love and Peace to the people who insist on being nasty; but it ain’t too likely I’ll be inviting them for dinner anytime soon.

Alrighty then. That’s what came out of my brain today for the Happy Friday!!! New Year’s Revolution thing. If you have made any, please don’t bonk yourselves or call yourselves bad names for coming up short.

All we can do is try.

Now let’s all scream our lungs out while we sing along with these “revolutionary” guys.

A Special Request

Our grandsons are visiting; which is always a joyous time. During dinner, Ollie gave me a request:

“Papa, are you going to write that thing again tonight after we watch cartoons?”

“You mean ‘Happy Friday!!!’ ?” I replied.

“Yeah!!” he said, with a beckoning look.

“Oh… you want me to print it for you?” I asked; but within a fraction of a second he was nodding insistently.

“Well, I was gonna write about AM radio,” I cautioned. “But I bet I can find you something funny!”

His eyes twinkled and he cracked a broad smile. Needless to say, this “Happy Friday!!!” is not going to be about AM radio (although I still think it’s really cool). No, today will be a brand new silly one… and I’m even going to try my hand without the help of that Hyram C. Gilmore guy that fills in for me from time to time (nudge-nudge, wink-wink).

I think I’ll start with a poem:

For The Love Of Candy

by Ken Hansen

We all had some fun at the Christmas Parade.

‘Twas really quite warm, although clouds brought some shade.

Marching bands marched while the drummers all drummed.

Flutes fluted, horns horned, but nobody hummed.

Folks in their costumes all looked very dandy;

And many were throwing (or passing out) candy!!

When we got home, the candy bags bulged;

Gabe and Ollie said “please?” and oh boy they indulged.

After a while I took both bags away

But promised them more a bit later that day.

I said, “see all those chocolates and suckers and sugars?

Well, now you have something to eat besides boogers!!”

(I know that’s gross but keep in mind I’m writing this to make my grandson smile.)

On the other hand, I think I’ll ask both Ollie and Gabe to wash the kitty litter with toothpaste and Chicken Lamp Soup so we can all enjoy another car tasting contest. It takes a lot of skill to taste cars, especially when their eyes are shooting butter globs out of the tailpipe whistle.

Ah yes, good old tailpipe whistle globs. Aren’t those just wonderful on a nice piece of cracked clam shell toasting waffle? Yes, of course you do. In fact, I distinctly remember the time both of my shoes had broccoli oozing out of the chimney faucets. Those were simpler times when rabbits knew how to yodel much more quietly than they do on Sundays. Please, do not put any more ketchup in my coat pocket.

Of course, we must finish this silly story with a small space animal that can write its own name with the largest pile of applesauce this side of the Martian Mud Watering Festival. Small space animals generally have names like “Big Giant Tiny Guy” or “Totally Huge Very Little Donut Flattener.” I’ve never met any of these strange beings; possibly because I just invented them with my stainless steel curtain softeners.

Very well then. Please give Love to All You See; and try to remember ask them to Give Your Papa Some Really Delicious Cake. Also, Ask Them Not To Capitalize Every Word In A Sentence; Because It’s Just Not The Way Squirrels Are Supposed To Explode.

Thank you, and please feel free to use cheese to stay warm on those cold winter grocery store power tools.


Speaking of cartoons… here’s the kind of thing to which we subject our grandkids.  I know I’m a dinosaur but when it comes to cartoons, the oldies are still the best.  We actually watched this one just before we ushered them off to bed.

We Are, You Are Not, Nyaa Nyaa Na Boo Boo.

Dear Antenna Ranchers,

I found it necessary to let you all know that I am on vacation tomorrow, and you are not. Unless you are, then you are also.

On vacation.

Have I mentioned I’m not working tomorrow?? Oh wait… it’s Thursday, yet I’m writing this thing called Happy Friday. So that means it’s today already!! Which means: I‘m on vacation!!

And you are not,

Nyaa nyaa na boo boo.

Unless you are.

On vacation.

Deja Vu…

Ha ha on you who must work, I laugh to you. I bet your toenails are shivering at the thought of working for the next  days of working. This is very amusing to me indeed.

I plan to spend the next 4 days doing things that I do not get paid to do. This is why it is called vacation. OK, technically I only took Friday and Monday off, but that’s still 4 days in a row of no work stuff. Although it won’t happen THIS time, some of my favorite things to do are playing in the garden, sleeping longer than normal and maybe even forgetting how to shave my cat’s teddy bear baskets.  When I return, the garden must be carefully tilled with explosives and high pressure syrup hoses. Following that, I methodically mix all my veggie seeds together in a large five gallon bucket and fling them into the syrup explosion zones. Pancakes will be sprouting before June 48, 2193 if we don’t get any rain…

We are driving to Chicago this time, which is accomplished by rolling down the road while sitting on our hineys in a Brand New, 2001 Chrysler Town And Country we affectionately call, “Old Rattlebonken.” We go to hire comedians Steve Martin and Martin Short (OK, we are chipping in with many other people). Their show is called, “An Evening You Will Forget For The Rest Of Your Lives.” And yes, that really is the name. Of their show. Without sentence fragments. I believe we may smile and perhaps even laugh until our nostrils fall out.

The most important thing is I will be with my Beautiful Girlfriend, and not at work.

On the other hand, I just ate a grape from Meijer that tasted like fish. I never knew they had fish grapes. Now I must try my hand at making fish raisins or maybe one of YOU could send me the recipe for fish wine. If I recall correctly, there are stories of a very famous person who could convert bread into water and fish into wine. So as you can see, fish wine is not a new concept.

However, regardless of how much fish wine you may care to produce, I will not be having any with your breaded water meal. I am a recovering fishaholic, so it might not be a very good idea for me to start drinking fish again. I’ll just have to enjoy the fish raisins, or maybe peanut butter and jellyfish sandwiches with a glass of dehydrated coconut milk. A nice cup of flavored air to wash it down… mmmm life is good.

How many moles does it take to get a jar of molasses?? Those poor moles, running around with no hineys. They are brave to sacrifice their booty just so we can have our jars of molasses. Not sure why we civilized people even allow jars of molasses to be sold in stores. I mean, do you ever see jars of mouseknees, cricketlips, or even seagullstomachs?? Nope. Just molasses.

Dinner for every day during this vacation will be pizza and Snickers bars. Freshly squeezed fish grapes will be served up as a nice hot beverage with a dollop of whipped crab juice on the side. No farmers will be harmed in this extravaganza. It’s very possible I need a vacation.

Please have a safe and odiferous working time. Are you on vacation? No, you are not.

ME, not YOU.

My eyes have suddenly turned into olives!!!

Conko De Bonko,

Kenny Calibration
a.k.a. “Fossil Tongue Pete”

Someday maybe we will drive to Hawaii… but for now it’s just a dream.

Two Years, 5 Months, 1 Day

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

Thank You.

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

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

She may have heard the countdown a few thousand times.

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

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

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

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

I’m really glad it’s Friday.

How’s this for a diversion?

An Open Letter To Friends Or Others

Dear Service Warmers,

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

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

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

“What the…”

“What was I gonna…”

“Why was I going downstairs???”

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

Please, no butt head jokes.

Unless you want to…

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

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

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

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

On the other hand, you have the smellgrabber song…

A Most Fribbular Movie Night

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Milwort Dendersniffle

Hello Dearest Staplegun Sniffers,

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

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

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

Why??

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

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

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

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

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

Please remember to eat lots of string for more fiber.

Happy Friday,

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

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