Gerslabe

Gerslabe: A Story of Two Smiggs
By Hyram C. Gilmore

ONCE upon ago there was no use in telling it, the lamps had not but the others did. King Homar knew it was too late to wash the frogs; so his wife made dust for lunch. They both knew full well that large green funnels would soon fall from the sky. Without warning the Merbs cheated each other out of their Volkswagens; making it difficult to play records with the toaster. “Give me no wrenches. My birds are smiling!”, said the young snitch. “Run down there and slap that tree so we can twirl our fruit in peace!”

Noodles remembered that there had been strange sounds coming from the click-poonkler not two hours before. It was widely known that click-poonklers were largely to blame for the rash on the kitty; but there had been no ugly yard things lounging around the Taco Bell today. Therefore, of course, the roofing cement became airborne and struck three birds on their way to the movies. No one would warn them that the giant marbles would be the next dessert at the Holiday Inn.

Creeps, jerks, and stupid-heads filled the hall with their singing:

“O give me some meat
That has sat on my seat,
And I’ll show you some meat
I won’t eat.”

This was sung to the tune of “Home on the Range”, while people barfed rubber bands through their noses. I don’t want to visit there anymore. I’ll never use rubber bands again. Don’t ask me to go there, because the dogs change their underwear with the lights on.

When we got home, we discovered that the new tires were now in complete control of the TV. All they wanted to watch was “The Jetsons”; and they peeled out all over the brand new raisins. “O my God, I can’t believe you don’t know the answer to this!”, they hollered. So Poable yelled back, “You jempergleens! Do you mean to tell me that a glandular disorder can actually issue traffic warnings? There’s a big cruncher out here with your names on it; and I’m not eating until that woodchuck quits picking his nose! Take his new pajamas away so he won’t try anything funny!” The woodchuck took great offense to this and tried to drown his sorrows with Twinkies and tomato juice.

By this time the reader must be a bit apprehensive. If this is supposed to make any sense, my goat is a sump pump. Well, of course this is not supposed to make any playdoh out of broken clocks. But if things are fun to read, people may be inclined to forget that they left their hairballs in the pizza mix. Life could become more cro-naybley! Glue could be served to science teachers as a nutritional supplement! Real value could be found in small pies! Planetary travel could really be screwed up! At best, laughter would fill the 5-gallon conatiner. Maybe even the container! Ispelgudyup!

Ever wonder what would happen if your typing fingers got lost from “home row”? It would probably lppf sd ig yhr eotfd ertr noy mskinh drndr! ;p. look as if the words were not making sense! ;p.

Always smiling, the two Smiggs (Remember those two Smiggs? This is a story of two Smiggs!) landed with a thump on top of the Empire State Building. They looked over the view and stared at each other, shaking their floaglits. Mogney asked Bloonk,”Whoa! Don’t these people know how to lick their eyebrows? We’ve been here for three biggles now and I still can’t read their fire hydrants!” “Maybe they are deaf, and can’t see us waving our teeth at them”, replied Bloonk. “Ollee ollee, oxenfree!” Mogney yelled, honking his boadler as hard as he could.

“Listen here, you boadle honker! We can’t act as if we own the place! I mean, the yellow pig food is really starting to agree with my outlook on life,” said Bloonk. Having said this, he and Mogney jumped from the top and ran to the nearest bystanders. The poor folks took one look at them and began reciting every Devo song they knew. The Smiggs tapped their dretzels to the beat and hummed along just as loud as they could. Very shortly a policeyman arrived and asked them all what the @#$% they were doing. They politely stole his hat and made funny faces at him; and offered a chance to win a shiny new dime for guessing the best soup in the world. The policeyman said thank you very much, but he had already had enough wood particles for one day.

Now, if you look closely at the facts, you will surely notice ants in your undergarments. Disturbing as this may seem, many cultures are now changing their approach to fried hammer handles. Long lists of edible plastics have been sent to the local governments, but the representatives still insist that it would be better to shovel candles into a small motorcycle than to tax the bug doo-doo upon which we walk. They seem to think that by grinning when folks belch, a new and more receptive attitude can be cultivated in the inner regions of crayon boxes.

For myself, I have always known that zebra mussels are very yummy in cake. Proving this has not been easy; but when I have friends over for tea and slobberfood they smile sheepishly and say “What’s crunchy?” When I tell them they are snarfing down thousands of little zebra mussels in each bite, they say “O” and excuse themselves out the door very quickly.

I’m quite certain they are rushing home to make their very own Moobi-Moobi!

Thank you very much, O-K!

Recent Posts

When The Well Runs Dry

Here it is, Happy Friday time again, and my Beautiful Girlfriend asked me a couple times, “whatcha gonna write about?”  I couldn’t muster an answer.

Sometimes I just don’t have a clue what to write about. Ever have one of those times when you knew people were waiting for you to write a story for Friday but you had absolutely no clue what to write??  Oh and by the way,

Q:  What do you call a deer with no eyes?

A:  No eye deer!!

So I have no eye deer what to write today.  When that happens, I look to my archives for something I haven’t posted in awhile. After all, I’ve been writing “Happy Friday!!!” for many moons now; so I think I have the right to slip in a rerun every now and again.  Believe it or don’t, I’ve been writing “Happy Friday!!!” since 1993.  That’s 5 years before Google!!  In those days, if you wanted to reach a mass audience on the interwebs, you sent you stuff to a listserv.  I put a link there, so click on the word listserv if you want to know more.  Anyway, there were several of these around, and you just had to ask the administrator nicely if you could post your stuff, and then it would be sent around the globe via e-mail to the subscribers.  One of my favorite compliments was from a guy in the UK who told me he read my stuff on the train on his way to work.  Is that cool or what??

So yeah, I’ve got some archives to draw from when the well runs dry.  Four egg sample:  here’s one from 2005. HUH??  Yes, that’s what I said.  2005!!  I tweaked it a bit; but much of the original silliness remains:

Our son Nate the Great was over tonight again. This was a completely cool thing, because even though his primary motive may have been food, it’s always good to see him. I’ve been calling him “Dark Santa” because of his very dark, bushy beard. I sat on his tummy and told him what I wanted for Christmas just yesterday as a matter of fact.

Today I sought his counsel. “Nate, what should I write about today?” I asked.

“Marble poop cake,” he replied quickly. It was as if the topic was right on the tip of his tongue (gack!!).

“Marble poop cake??” I asked with a puzzled tone.

“Yes. Marble poop cake,” he quipped back confidently.

“How does one make such a cake?” I asked.

“You need cat poop, dog poop, and human poop, but it all has to have the same smell and size. It’s quite the rage in Bulgaria these days.” He didn’t blink an eye or even change his facial expression. I therefore had absolutely no reason to doubt his word.

“I see… and what kind of frosting do you use for marble poop cake?” I asked curiously.

“Brown preferably, although vanilla is OK too,” he asserted. At this point I observed two things: 1) that there was no mention of what flavor this “Brown” frosting was, and 2) we were pretty much done talking about marble poop cake.

So as you can see the nuts do not fall far from the tree at our house. Poor guy is afflicted with terminal sillyosis, and he got it from his old man. His sister is afflicted with it too. And some has also rubbed off on My Beautiful Honey Pie.

And it doesn’t wash off.

This was especially evident the time we were all coming back from the Coast Guard Festival one summer evening, and as we passed one of the upscale houses, my Lovely Girlfriend yelled out, “hey!! They have a two car kajar!!” “Two car kajar??” everybody laughed out loud and repeated that lovely phrase several times. We have deeply rooted silliness in all of our souls that is always eager to jump out for a laugh.

OK, so I still don’t know what to write about today. Sometimes you just have to take the marble poop cake by the pan and fling it where the sun don’t shine, whatever that means. I don’t really want to write about politics because it brings out the nasties in too many people. Because I’m an old hippie, I hope and pray that everyone on the planet will one day see some Light and just try to get along.
Another topic could be global warming… I could probably write some stuff about that. But these are not funny things, and Happy Friday needs to be funny at least some of the time.

So as I said, sometimes you just need a nice marble poop cake to brighten up your day.

And if you decide to try some, please make sure you brush your teeth.

OK… time for da video fun stuff.

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