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!

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Das IMAX Earschplittenloudenboomer

“Today I have good news und I have bad news. Die erste Hörster das nicht verstehen was ist jetzt eben gesagt haben; und die zweite Hörster weiss noch immer nicht was ein Earschplittenloudenboomer ist.” And so goes the introduction to the Steppenwolf song, “Earschplittenloudenboomer,” which is anything but an assault on the eardrums.

HUH??

Yes, it’s real. The rock band Steppenwolf preceded the the song with John Kay saying silly stuff, the beginning of which was English. “Today I have good news and I have bad news.” Then he broke into German, the translation of which is (roughly) “The first listener doesn’t know what’s being said right now, and the second listener doesn’t know what an Earschplittenloudenboomer is.” And yes, it’s a real song, but as I mentioned before it’s pretty mellow for a hard rocking band like Steppenwolf. So, speaking of IMAX. Weren’t we speaking of IMAX?? Well it’s in the title, right?? Pay attention!! Oops… sorry I’m grouchy but my ears still hurt from das IMAX Earschplittenloudenboomer!!

There we were, minding our own business, going to the IMAX in Grand Rapids to enjoy Moonage Daydream, the new film about David Bowie. We went to the 12 noon show to avoid the Covid crowds, and that was very successful as there was only one other couple besides us in the whole theater. So here come the commercials. Pretty loud. VERY loud. Ouch with the ears awreddy. Then come the previews. OH MY THAT’S TOO DARN LOUD!! I was sure the speakers in the place were about to spew their innards at us!! I called the theater on my smellphone and asked them to please remove the auditory anguish from our ears. The (not) happy theater employee grudgingly said she’d tell the projectionist, who apparently listened to our plea.

I know we are old retired people, but hey, we are Officially Receipted Volume Veterans (O.R.V.V.). All you have to do is take a gander at our album full of concert tickets. We’ve seen loudenscreamers like Slade, Joe Walsh, Hollywood Vampires, Foghat, and even David Bowie (twice times). And that’s just a small fraction of the list. So it’s not like we’re wusses or anything. We’ve had our cochlear hair cells flattened lots and lots of times.

For whatever reason, this time was different. Maybe it was the lack of bodies… previous noise kabooms could have been absorbed by the crowds around us to some degree. Maybe it was that we’re not getting any younger. Or maybe it’s just because the IMAX audio was just too damn loud! Lately, my Beautiful Girlfriend and I have asked each other to repeat things while we’re trying to converse; then both of us lament that our ears are still in shock. Typical conversations have been dismantled into nonsensical exchanges. For example:

“I’m going to the store, do we need any cheese?”

“Not sure why it matters but I brushed my teeth a few minutes ago!”

On the other hand, one of us will say something that is completely incomprehensible to the other. Solution: we get closer and face each other to watch lips move, then ask, “WHAT??”

Ah well. We very much enjoyed Moonage Daydream. We might go back to the IMAX some day, but we might also bring some ear protection. At least until I can call and ask for them to turn down the audio to avoid another Earschplittenloudenboomer.

This video has nothing to do with the film, but it’s quite an imaginative way to associate video with David Bowie’s Moonage Daydream.

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