Warning: the following installment of Frappy Hiday contains large amounts of nonsense and intestinal worms. Do not read any further if you are prone to sleeping with rubber bands in your cereal or have an allergic reaction to sense that makes no things.
What the heck kind of title is that? Anyhow??? Is this going to be one of those stupid dog butt sniffing stories?? Come to think of it, I’m not sure I know any dog butt sniffing stories. I could maybe make one up, but there’s really nothing you can buy with three nickels anymore. So why would I sniff the butt’s dog? My friend Musky da sniffed a butt’s dog recently, and he seemed to be very intent with this activity. Does this mean that sniff dogging is similar to wise wondering?
No, this is an adventure in stress relief. You see, I’m being a bit indulgent here… and I’m going to just crack open a jar of petroleum jelly and a box of crackers, and make a nice snack that not only sticks to your ribs but lubes the bones and coats the skin with a nice shiny paragraph on Al Gore and his TV Dinners. Then I’ll wash it all down with a nice tall glass of dry ice. Work has presented numerous “challenges” of late, ok? I placed “challenges” in “quotes” because there are some “people” who are getting on my “nerves” and I would love to “choke” them but I don’t want to go to “jail” just because the “kakaheads” are making me “crazy.” You “know” what I “mean??”
Then there’s the “guy at work” who seems bell lent for heather to “drive me up a tree” and I don’t even have a seat belt for that tree or anything. No air bags neither. No smell phone to stick in my ear so I can drive like a zombie and crash into a giant salami. I mean hey, if someone is determined to “tree me up a drive,” the very least that person could do is provide air conditioning and a hybrid engine that gets well over 93 miles to a gallon of ice cream.
Am I right or am I wrong??
Of course I am!!
I’m keenly aware that the only “solution” to letting someone “up me tree a drive” is to tune out their bullroni and strongly suggest that nasal cheese insertion be performed. The instructions would come in a format very much like this:
“Hey you with the face! For why you are asking for my resistance with these things you require yesterday or the day before, but you’ve jumped into this ‘project’ with no planning ahead or even knowing what the do you are hecking?? Are you in the want of pickled toilet paper? I am now urging you vehemently to cram large cheese globs in your nose to enhance your breathing!! And while you’re at it, why don’t you place your tongue in that electrical box over yonder?? That box needs testing, and you’ve just the tongue to do it!”
This, I am sure, is the only true way to diplomatically tell flame-headed wombats just how wonderful you feel about their actions.
Don’t you agree??
Of course I do!
I was also very compressed at the driving ability of one total bark-eating numbskull just yesterday. There I was, careening down the boulevard in my 2014 racing Toyota Sienna, and going the legal speed limit or even less, and some tonk-mookler decided to pass me with less than 2 millimeters clearance between his bumper and my front fender with no regard for the safety of any insects or other humans. I mean, this tampon-brain forced me into the evasive “holy cow” maneuver. Then of course he (or she??) proceeded to cut off numerous other innocent sidebanders while zipping in and out of traffic. Now THAT’S intelligence, don’t ya think? Seedless to nay, I had a few opinions which instantly arose from my brain and out of my mouth as I flailed the steering wheel about while I tried to prevent the kersmooshing of metal objects and finely crafted petrochemicals.
Now, believe me, I understand that people don’t intentionally do things TO me, they just DO THINGS. But sometimes I just let it get to me and then I go find a bug and try to teach it to sing karaoke. I try to be tolerant of people who are less than wonderful… I think I’m getting better at being nice these days; but while my eyes and mouth are being pleasantly neutral, my mind is screaming at the top of its lungs:
“HOLY MACKEREL, WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO BREATHE ON THIS PLANET?? I’M BECOMING CONVINCED THAT YOU NEED TO EAT BARK AND POOP AT THE MOON!!”
This is not very kind, so I’m very grateful that I don’t often react with nastiness to those type of folks. Anymore. Used to be I would actually SAY the things that my mouth wanted to spit, but then I’d have to apologize and offer expensive candy or something. Maybe that’s part of getting old enough to remember when the Beatles came over on the Mayflower, I dunno. But I DO know that stress is a very small pair of pajamas that seek dogfood in a jar of jellybeans. So the next time I get angry, please remind me that there really is a bus that has one way tickets to Indianapolis. I don’t really want to go there, but if I never run away again it will be the next time.
I had an ice cream cone today. That was helpful. And in spite of the intense heat, most of this tasty treat went into my mouth.
Perhaps I need a new job. You know, where the stress is zero minus 173 and you get paid for loafing. Bud Abbott and Lou Costello did a nice bit about just that very subject…