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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Rodential Resentment

What kind of resentment is this now?? Rodential?? What the… ??? Well you see it’s like this: there I was, minding my own business, stringing the Christmas lights around the rail of our deck. Pretty much becoming an annual thing. The strings go up shortly after Thanksgiving, them come down… um… later. Sometimes just before Easter!! Hey, we have them on a timer and they come on just after sunset and go off before midnight. Then they come on again at 5:30 AM for a couple hours so my Honey Pie can see better when she heads to work a couple times a week.

When the lights are done for the season, I stash them in an old woven wooden basket all nicely placed so they’re easy to pull out the following year. There’s also enough room for the timer and a couple extension cords. Convenient, right?? Well this year I plugged the lights in, and began to string them up. As I was running my fingers along the wires, I got a pretty good poke!! A shock!! Electric ouch awreddy!! I let go quickly, said some “magic” words, and then went in for a closer look. Looked like some of the insulation had been scraped off the wire. No problem, I thought, I’ll get out the trusty electrical tape and fix the problem. As I continued on, I got shocked again. And again I shrugged it off, saw the minor damage to the insulation, taped it up and continued on.

Third time is a charm, I’ve heard. Well it wasn’t very charming to receive a third shock. This time a substantial amount of wire damage was evident. Then I looked in the bottom of the basket where the remaining lights were waiting for their turn out of the basket. Shavings. Green shavings. The “scrapes” on the insulation were not scrapes at all, the wires were being nibbled by mice!! Rodents!! So I got rather annoyed.

Hence the term: rodential resentment.

Wasn’t sure if rodential was even a real word, so in my search for a catchy title for this week’s silly story I went hunting on the webbernets and found a definition.

Rodential: of or pertaining to a rodent.

Well my resentment definitely pertains to a rodent. Probably several. My Beautiful Girlfriend suggested I lay some traps, but hey, we live in the dingleweeds. Pretty sure the number of mice is far greater than any number of traps I might set. “No,” I told her, “the lights need to go in a mouse-proof container.”

A similar event happened earlier this year but with carrots. I love to grow vegetables, and after much labor I was able to convert a weed patch into a pretty nice carrot bed. But something was nibbling the greens… kinda weird because the greens were being snipped off about 8 inches or so above ground. I couldn’t see any varmint tracks, but I figured maybe chipmunks or squirrels were the culprits. A couple days and few more carrot plant munchings later, the small live trap I set in the garden proved useless. “Must be meeces!!” I said to myself, remembering that cartoon cat Snagglepuss. I set several mouse traps near in the carrot bed and sure enough, I got one! The next day, another! A grand total of 6 over the space of a week or so. Traps stayed in the garden until the mice quit coming.

I consider myself something of a veteran mouse trapper (if there is such a title). After trying several types of traps over the years, I’ve stuck with the old fashioned Victor snap traps. The key is to put something on the bait pan that reliably springs the trap. Nothing is more frustrating than baiting a trap with peanut butter only to find the bait has been licked off and the trap has not sprung. My tried and true method now is to take a hunk of walnut and tie it to the bait pan with several loops of sewing thread. Mice simply can’t resist that big hunk of walnut, and they have to tug at it to get their reward. Unfortunately for them, their “reward” is a quick trip to Mouse Heaven. I really don’t like killing them… but I really don’t like them eating the carrots I worked so hard to get!! So when I remove their little mouse bodies from the trap I say a little prayer of apology for them. I mean hey, they’re just doing what meeces do (as Snagglepuss might say).

The carrots are sleeping now… they get covered up with a healthy layer of leaves to keep them from freezing during the winter. Then I go out and uncover what I need and carefully put the leaves back to keep the soil from freezing. I’ve also learned (the hard way) to mark where I left off harvesting. Not much fun to dig for carrots in the snow only to find out that you had already dug there!! Not sure if the mice are sleeping… but I hope so.

So if any mice are reading this, please be warned: Christmas light damage is annoying… but if you mess with my food, I’ll be setting out a deadly surprise for you.

I just hope they don’t find a way to fight back like these did…

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