A Friendly Letter To A Friend Who’s Not Really A Friend

Hello Nice Friendly Peoples!

My brain fell out 3 times this past week, and each and every 139th time all the computerized floral arrangements could be seen waving their tusks at me with indecent cheese filled pasta pies.  Can you relate?  Do you find yourself blaming “The Amazing El-Farto” (or someone not even remotely similar) for all the troubles in your universe??

Well, if you do, you’ll probably never need or even want to send that person a letter expressing just how smelly the air molecules become when they are near you. But just in case, I’ve taken the liberty to compose an all purpose letter you can either send or deliver to someone who has gently taken your self esteem and crammed it into a hollow tree full of spiders and other (perhaps fire-breathing) ickety-boo monster animals. Please feel free not to use this ever at any time at all; but instead maybe read it sometime when the friend you thought was a friend simply turned out to be a very mean person who really doesn’t know how to be a friend so you really may want to just pray for them and ask the Creator Committee to help them be happy and healthy all the day long; even though you don’t like them, and of course please remember that all creatures great and small need and deserve love but that of course does not necessarily mean you will be inspired to make a new ice cream flavor in their name but maybe you could at least try to forgive them for being so nasty and even though I intend to continue with this run-on sentence I was wondering if I might please have that big piece of chocolate over there now?

Thank you! OK, here we go with the letter thing you probably should never send; but it might make you laugh away your crackling insoles:

—————————————

Dear Fossilbrain,

I’d like to apologize for allowing you to eat all those barnacles I accidentally put in the pasta salad. It’s just that I was very much enjoying the crunching noise and your interesting amazement at the happy culinary bewilderment. I would also like to apologize in advance for the discomfort you are sure to experience when these barnacles and their shells travel through your digestive tract; and the eye widening sensation they are certain to inflame just before they embark upon the journey to your septic tank.

You may soon discover that Tootsie Rolls do not write well on a chalkboard. If that should occur, please again accept my apology; this time for replacing all your writing implements with pretzels, licorice, and very skinny carrots. We all know that pointy things can make patterns in the sand, which is soon to be found in your pee nut butter and celery sandwiches. Drink 3 centiliters of popcorn oil while gargling with paprika and you’ll be treated to a very remarkable temperature tantrum.

I know you may not want to hear this, but right now I’m pretending to yell with a giant squid flavored amplifier that will cause even the most obstinate pair of moisture control pliers to wither and fly westward due to their foolish insistence upon trolling for sod without an adequate flashlight renewal calculator. Your pets and stain resistant dinnerware will one day thank me for all this.

In closing, I’d like to assure you that in spite of everything and in spit of everything else; I will do my very best to enhance the length of my string supply. After all, one can never have too much string. Thank you for your itchy sidewalls. Whenever I compare them to my inexplicable “potato dances,” life is clearly baffling; much in the same way a fluffy yet malodorous box of dandruff sneaks its way into a delicious rhubarb-liverwurst casserole.

Yours in Tender Shouting,

Breem Pifflewonk, Esq.

“Don’t try to sing while sneezing.  Your nostrils may create an unwelcome booger kaboom.” – Eugene T. Snackpincher

———————————————–

OK!! Now on to da cartoon!!  And it’s a WEIRD one…

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.  That being said, I want to warn you all that I feel a little nonsensical today due to the paperclips that Mr. Ventricle keeps inserting into our favorite spoon sharpener.  It is therefore with gravy and peanut clustered insulation that I send you this very Unimportant Announcement.

My Dearest 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.  Besides, all that powder I keep in my toenail drawer simply must find its way back to Gattlestar Ballactica.

Am I right or am I wrong??

On a more insectivorous note, 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 venture into that territory 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? Additionally, 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.

Fast Lane Follies

Well I suppose I’m overdue to express my sadness by crying in my dog food about the driving ninnies. I’m really loving summer though… the lack of snow means we don’t have to worry about sliding into the ditch as we leave our driveway. No more hitting the windshield with a sledgehammer to remove those pesky chunks of ice. Nope… these days we can crank the windows DOWN and crank the tunes UP. Coolness!

Unfortunately, with every silver cloud comes a grey lining. Warm weather kicks in a well known ailment in some people. Officially, I just named this disease auto-idiotica, and many of you know this age-old affliction as, “hey you with the Cracker Jacks driver’s license!!”

You know what I mean. Stupid, flameheaded wombats that believe they’re the only ones on the road. You’re in their way, so watch carefully. These people have dog breath and improper grooming habits, and are EVERYWHERE. Some symptoms are: weaving in and out of traffic, severe tailgate-itis, driving 130 mph over the limit, and passing on the right on a two lane road. At intersections. While honking. Although they are ignorant of the fact, idiot drivers have chicken lips, and are known to cavort with barnyard animals during Mardi Gras.

Used to be a time when moronic motorists were restricted to the male population. Unfortunately, however, women are learning from us dudes, and are beginning to do the “tailgate-till-you-move” dance when you’re going less than 85 mph in the right lane on the expressway. It never matters that you’re already going five over the limit and are sanely going past Grandma and Grampa Sightseer. But as far as numbers, dumdum boy drivers still far outnumber dodo girl drivers.

I’m still truly compressed by the number of mush-minded monkeys that try to pull the trim off my car as they fly past me on the expressway. Hey, the limit in Michigan is already 70. Nobody really needs to go more than 75, ok? It just ain’t safe! Sure, you can go, but try to safely miss that deer or broken car. Maybe I’m getting to be an old fart. At least some “kids” (30 and younger) would label me so. But because I’m over 60 I remember the high speed limits from the beforetimes. Before the Arab oil embargo (say wha??). A lot of people raced around back then, and ended up being “dead on time.”

Very sad, the road rage that is spreading these days. Too many people in a terrible hurry. And of course if you are “in their way” they will show the likes of you. Especially if you drive cautiously like I do; meaning I usually try to observe those crazy “Speed Limit” signs. I can almost hear them…

“Watch this, Mr. SlowPoke Minivan Cruise Control Person! Watch while I remove a few thousand miles worth of wear by vaporizing the surface of my tires! Watch how well I can ruin my transmission! Ha ha! I shall show the likes of you! I’ll accelerate wildly so I can tailgate the next jerkface who has the nerve to drive courteously!! Then I’ll pass on the right, and also on the left. But just to show you I mean business, I’ll wait for oncoming traffic and barely pull back in on time! Ha ha! I listen to the COOLEST music very loudly and am ruining my hearing with 92 inch woofers! Boy are you stupid!!  And if you dare to look my way, I’ll display to your face one of my more memorable fingers!!”

Such intelligent beings are often mystified when they receive a ticket. After all, it was not their fault they were going 84 that day, because that cop is NEVER there before! Or… they run the same stop sign all the time, BECAUSE THEY LIVE THERE and there’s NEVER ANY TRAFFIC. Oh, and not to forget the folks who weave and poke along like they’re drunk. Some really ARE drunk, but the others are texting.

I don’t want the reader to get any funny ideas about the possibility that reckless driving scares me or anything. It PETRIFIES me. Wanna know why? Because I used to be a Mr. Moron Motorist! Been there, done that! Thank God I never hurt anyone. I did, however, manage to rack up many tickets in younger days. Too many. But boy, the insurance company was happy with me!! I wanted to continue driving, and they were only too happy to take lots of my money in exchange for minimal coverage.

Lucky for me, I finally learned; albeit the hard way. Haven’t had so much as a parking ticket since 1982. This is a good thing. I can breathe much more easily, and so can my wallet. It’s always empty anyway, but at least it’s not red when I put a nice, crisp dollar bill in there.

So, I can spot ’em a mile away now, and know pretty much what they’re gonna do when they get up near me. I just let them go by. Safer that way. I paid my dues, and I’m sure they’ll pay theirs in one form or another.

Anybody seen the keys to my Slow Poke Minivan Cruise Control Zooming Machine?

Folks just need to chill out and slow down… something strange happens to the weirdo drivers once they get behind the wheel… they become Motor Maniacs like in the first video.  The whole zooming mania reminds me of an old Queen song.,”Dead On Time;”  the lyrics for which appear in the second video.  Take care folks… and please, BE SAFE.

Free Compost!! And All The Trash You Can Eat…

I love to grow vegetables. And my favorite way to grow vegetables is the “natural” way, which means I don’t put any artificial additives in the soil. There was a time when I relied on manure for fertilizer, but I’ve switched to pure compost.

Well, mostly pure.

We have a compost pile, and that receives all of our kitchen waste: vegetable snippings, coffee grounds, egg shells. Absolutely no meat… meat in the compost is bad juju from the nasty microbes that eat animal flesh. Fish stuff is OK if you put it straight in the ground before planting, but no bird or mammal meat. In addition to all the kitchen waste, a healthy helping of leaves and all the weeds I yank from the garden go into the compost pile. Some folks take a pitch fork and turn the pile occasionally to speed up the composting action; but I usually end up just letting the creepy crawlies chow down and make the compost for me.

This practice has turned me into an avid leaf collector. My “prize leaf ” is a 1971 maple that really makes me proud. A nice bowl of leaves are really great with milk and sugar too! High fiber.

OK, I may be fooling… But seriously folks, I used to traipse around the neighborhood and pick up bagged leaves in the fall. Many, many trailer loads. People tell me, “Oh God!! Don’t use oak leaves!!! They have too much acid!!” And I reply, “No!! This is bull mahookey old fairy tale nonsensical rumor badness!! There’s no such thing as bad leaves in the garden!!” And they cry and roll on the ground.

Or not.

Oak leaves have a high calcium content, and are pretty substantial compared to leaves like maple that break down more quickly. Earthworms LOVE oak leaves, and earthworm manure is alkaline, so a balancing effect occurs when oak leaves are added to the soil. Back to running around the neighborhood to collect leaves, these days I’m blessed with friends who bring me leaves from their yard and dump them out behind the garden for me. And if I go through all those (which I often do) I make “emergency runs” to the local transfer station, which we affectionately call “the dump.” People bring their leaves there, and the pile even gets turned regularly so there’s lots of compost available, free for the taking.

I have only one complaint about all these free composting items. Trash. There is always at least some trash in the leaves, whether they come from the dump or are given to me by my friends. Sometimes I find “interesting” items, like soda cans, candy wrappers, hunks of Styrofoam, even found the remains of a cell phone once. My very “favorite” type of trash are the fake leaves that get mixed in with the real ones. I’ll bet plastic leaves take a few thousand years to break down. Oh and on a side note: you know those little sticky labels on green peppers, avocados and the like from the grocery store? I’ve been guilty of forgetting to remove them before the remains go in the compost. Then of course I find them later, either while scooping compost during planting time or yanking weeds. I’m pretty sure those stupid labels will be here when the archaeologists come.

I’ll continue to use the dump as my primary source of compost material. So to my dear friends, and to all who bring their leaves to the dump, thank you. But please, keep the trash at home.

It doesn’t just doesn’t make good fertilizer.

And now, a video that’s not a video, but a song. Our grandson would express frustration on cartoon night when I’d slip in a music video; and his annoyed voice would ring out, “Papa, you like songs!!” Anyway, this is from a band from yesteryear called Spirit. The name of the song is “Fresh Garbage.” And the lyrics are…

Fresh garbage
Fresh garbage

Look beneath your lid some morning,
See those things you didn’t quite consume.
The world’s a can for your fresh garbage.

Just (Not) My Style

I am really enjoying retirement.  I am so comfortable, I can wear my “Sunday Go To Meetin'” garden grubs to the grocery store and not give a flying mahookey who sees me running around in dirty rags.  In fact, just yesterday I had to make a quick grocery run after I got done crawling around in the garden.  While I was grabbing a few necessities, I had something of a fashion flashback that happened back in the old days when I was still working.

So there I was, in a Hard Day’s Night, working like a dog, with no barking, walking around the factory after walking between the Work Buildings and having enjoyed the cool air of West Michigan spring while in my denim jacket, when suddenly I stopped to talk to some fellow associates; but not all that suddenly because I left no skid marks on the concrete floor or nothing, and long before I wrote this run-on sentence (because I was at work, not writing like I am now) a friend walked up to me with a large grin on his face and said, “Hey Ken, don’t you know that denim jackets have been out of style for 20 years?”

Being the good natured fellow I am, I smiled while shaking his hand and quickly replied, “I really don’t give a ship (or something like that…)!!” Then one of the other associates said, “You’re one of the good guys, you can wear whatever you want and it would be just fine.”  Well being thought of as a “good guy” was nice to hear, but being the silly fellow I am, I smiled again and said, “How about I put on a pink tutu and some OSHA approved safety ballet slippers?? Would that be OK??” One of the associates eyebrows kinda came together as he looked at the ground; but the one who called me “one of the good guys” chuckled and said, “Yeah sure!!”

Again at work, I had yet another instance of fashion consciousness. A friend of mine came up to me and said, “Nice shirt!!” Took a little pointing on his part for me to notice that he and I were wearing shirts with nearly identical fabric. “Oh!!” I said, finally getting the point. “Yeah, I’m guessing mine is a thrift store special.” He gave me a puzzled look. I thought about that much later, wondering if I insulted him. But we are good friends so I’m pretty sure he didn’t take it too seriously. Besides, he found it amusing when I said, “Yeah my wife buys all my shirts at the thrift stores. This one was probably 99 cents. Well OK it’s kinda nice, maybe she paid $2 for this one.”

As you may have gathered by now, I’m not exactly in tune with GQ or whatever that hoidy toidy men’s magazine is called. I just don’t give a hoot about fashion. Some proof of that is:

1) I just had to google “GQ” to make sure it still was what I thought it was; and

R) I still like having very long hair, even though it’s only growing well on the sides of my head (I plan to till the top under and try to grow a new crop); so that’s like 40 years out of style, and finally

&) I rarely paid attention to what the work shirt looked like in the morning. My fashion combo consisted of a pair of blue jeans and a “business casual” shirt.

And yes, Virginia (or Vern), I stuffed my shirt pocket with my smell phone, my eye glasses case, a pen, and maybe a small screwdriver. Oh and not to forget that’s where my badge hung.

People see me from miles away and say, “NERD ALERT!! OLD HIPPIE NERD ALERT!!!”

Guilty as charged.

I did, however, try to make sure all the buttons were buttoned, my fly was zipped up, and my “gig line” was straight. For those who were never in the military, a “gig line” is correct when the seam of your shirt, your belt buckle, and your fly are all in a straight line from top to bottom. If you didn’t have that just so in basic training, you got gigged. Nobody likes to get gigged. Funny how old habits stick with you.

So the oldest habit of mine that sticks with me is I just don’t care about fashion. Fortunately my Beautiful Girlfriend keeps my garments acceptably coordinated when we have to play dress up for a wedding or whatever. Fun to see the new fashion stuff sometimes though, kind of like going to the carnival!!

I’m just not hip, folks. I’m an old hippie who doesn’t care about hip. Not even sure what the current expression for “hip” might be!! And I don’t give a flying mahookey!! So there!!

As the folks from the Tower of Power said so eloquently all those years ago (1973 in the video that follows), “what is hip? Tell me, tell me if you think you know.” Then later in the song is my favorite line: “What’s hip today might become passe.”

So I’m just not in style and that’s very OK with me. My Beautiful Girlfriend, on the other hand, is “Just My Style.”

So kids, two videos today. Tower of Power with “What Is Hip?” is first but isn’t displayed like other videos I’ve linked to in the past.  That’s because I usually embed them here, but this time Youtube said “embedding disabled by request.”  So just click the link to get the Tower of Power.  Nice performance by them on Soul Train.

The second one is in honor of my Beautiful Girlfriend, who will always be “Just My Style” like this song from Gary Lewis and the Playboys.

Peace!! (Now that’s ALWAYS in style!!)

Click below for “Just My Style.”

Artificially Intelligent But Not Necessarily Funny

Well I finally done did it. I created an account on OpenAI, the website where ChatGPT lives. If you haven’t heard, ChatGPT lives on an artificial intelligence platform and is designed to respond when you send messages to it. Can’t say I’m a fan of all this artificial intelligence stuff. I do agree that it has great potential for problem solving and such, but I also worry about humans who would use its power for naughty purposes… that could be frightening. My apprehension has finally submitted to my curiosity. I simply had to try it.

Of course, being the kakahead I am, I did my best to get this robotic rhetoric regurgitator to make silly. Here are a few of the results of my frivolous fribbling:

Me: I’ve decided to cook some pencils and feed them to my bicycle.

ChatGPT: Feeding pencils to a bicycle is not recommended as they are not suitable or digestible for bicycles, and cooking them would likely render them inedible for any purpose.

Me: Why are ducks calling me Herman? Answer with one sentence please.

ChatGPT: Ducks are calling you Herman because they have associated you with the name due to repeated exposure or conditioning.

Me: There is a toad stuck in my armpit.

ChatGPT: Please seek immediate medical assistance for the safe removal of the toad from your armpit.

Me: Why would a cat put a crayon in a car’s gas tank?

ChatGPT: Cats typically do not intentionally put crayons or any other objects in a car’s gas tank, as their behavior is primarily driven by natural instincts and curiosity rather than specific motives.

Me: I’m thinking you’ve been drinking slug slime again.

ChatGPT: As an AI language model, I don’t have a physical presence or the ability to consume substances like slug slime. My responses are generated based on a database of text and knowledge. If there’s anything specific you’d like to discuss or any questions you have, feel free to let me know.

Me: Click wildly as the mouse pointer glides toward the new toilet motor.

ChatGPT: It’s important to handle electronic devices and appliances safely and avoid any potential hazards. Interacting with a mouse pointer and a toilet motor in that manner could be dangerous and is not recommended. Please exercise caution and follow appropriate safety guidelines.

Me: What the hell is a toilet motor??

ChatGPT: I apologize for the confusion. There is no such thing as a “toilet motor.” I misspoke in my previous response. A toilet typically doesn’t have a motor, as it relies on gravity and water pressure for flushing. My apologies for any confusion caused.

(My thoughts: ChatGPT appears to be well versed in CYA.)

Me: Say something silly.

ChatGPT: Sure, here’s something silly: Did you hear about the mathematical plant? It grew square roots!

(I have to admit, that made me laugh.)

Me: You don’t seem to know what I mean by silly. Say something nonsensical.

ChatGPT: Burplefloofle snickerdoodle wobblepants gigglesnort!

(Sorta silly…)

Me: Landerponk zickleymargen broo-hickety sembtofe, bizzle cagiloopen!!

ChatGPT: Gobbledygook flibbertigibbet ziggity-zag, woggleflop blibber-blabber doodle-dag!

(Meh…)

Me: Moochy?

ChatGPT: Hoochy-moochy, moochy-roochy, boochy-woochy!

(Copy cat!!)

So ChatGPT seems to think it can be silly… but I prefer to replicate my own syllables with orange meatballs and over extended soda crackers. You may have heard on the news that some scholars are using ChatGPT as a replacement for their own brain power to compose term papers, etc. Well not this guy. It was fun while it lasted, but I’ll be leaving ChatGPT in the dust of my nonsense while it grows up big and strong to take over the universe.

“Hoochy-moochy” indeed!!

So ChatGPT can either be amazing, or scary… or perhaps both. Like this for example…

Beans Think Onions Stink

If bean plants could talk, they’d ask the onions to leave the premises immediately. This is for real, people! They’d pinch their noses and shout thusly: “Hey! You wid da face! You’re pudding a big hurt od by doze! Gid oudda here awreddy! Can’t lib here wid dis stinking.”

The onions cry. After all, they can’t help the fact that they were born with a natural fragrance that bean plants find offensive. Not to worry, the cabbage family is happy to have onions in the neighborhood. Must like that Italian cooking, maybe?

Forgive me while I indulge in this good stink / bad stink talk. In these parts, It’s time to start the garden up, and I get to thinking out loud about who goes where in the dirt. Companion planting, the practice of growing plants that benefit from each other, is a cool thing for us organic-type gardeners. That’s because if plants can be happy together, they are much healthier. Having healthy plants means more yield and fewer problems with bugs and diseases.

Onions exude chemicals that prevent beans, peas, and other legumes from making nitrogen in the soil with their toes. If you’ve ever yanked a bean plant out of the dirt, you might have noticed the rhizomes (little round bumps) on the roots. Well, the beans do NOT have tumors.  The rhizomes are where the action is:  bean-friendly bacteria live there and make nitrogen for the bean plants and anyone else who happens to be nearby.  That is, unless the onions are in town. Then they just sit there, remaining all tiny and twiddling their toes.

Cabbage and its relatives (broccoli, cauliflower, brussels sprouts, etc.) love those onions, because they help keep the cabbage butterflies away, and also keep the aphid population down. Both of those bugs love their cabbage, but, like beans, many bugs also hate onion breath.

Another example of companion planting is when corn says thank you to the beans and peas for being there and doing the cool nitrogen toe jam thing. The beans and peas give the corn a high five for wind protection and some shade. Corn plants also make nice poles for peas and runner beans to grab. Between the corn rows, squash or pumpkins get the shade they like, and they in turn shade the corn’s roots and keep them cool. Everybody happy.

On the other hand, you have marigolds. OK, maybe you don’t; but those can go near anything. All the vegetable clans love marigolds, and they even stimulate growth. Not to mention the pretty flowers attract pollinators, so there’s a nice bonus for you.  My kinda plants!

Grandmas and Grandpas used to know lots of this stuff, and Native Peoples were very much in tune to companion planting. Farm and garden chemical companies would love for you to forget all about that stuff though. Those fancy commercials showing folks winning cool prizes for big veggies do tend to get one’s attention. Unfortunately, chemical companies are conveniently quiet about the nasty stuff flowing into our lakes and streams when herbicides and pesticides are washed out of our dirt during a good rain.

But fear not, organic produce are finally becoming more mainstream. People are “discovering” that when the pilgrims found the Indians were growing pumpkins in their corn, it was no accident.

Back to the beans a second (uh-oh, he’s gonna get weird again). I know some people who agree with beans about the onions. Some folks just can’t stand onions or the smell of them. If you like raw onions, your sweetie might say something like, “No kissy face for you until you brush them chompers!” Onions and beans are great food things. I love them together, and regard the combo as almost cosmic. Of course, there is a by-product of eating too much of either: methane. In its natural state, methane is colorless and odorless. When generated by human food eating machines, it is often released with a “PHOOT!!” noise and can have a rather diSTINKtive odor.

HOLY COW!! I JUST HAD A BRAIN-FART!! We may be able to achieve world peace with this combination! Get regiments of bean eaters, right? March them into enemy territory two or three hours after the whole bunch of them cram a few truckloads of bean burritos laced with onions in their faces. No troops in their right minds would try to fight against anyone during such a gas attack. We’re talking victory with no chemical weapons here! Peace could be had without firing a shot, except for the occasional audible report from those burrito eaters. The only hitch would be to strictly enforce an important rule, which would need to be posted with very large placards:

ABSOLUTELY NO SMOKING ALLOWED.

So the moral of the story is: if you must plant beans and onions together, plant them in your tummy, not in the dirt.

And please, always remember to visualize whirled peas.

So if you find any of these beans, please save a couple for me!

Harakiri Rhubarb And The Case Of The Lost Band-Aid

Pretty much everyone has heard of the Japanese method of suicide called harakiri. Lots of Americans mangle the word by pronouncing it “hairy-carry” but they mean the same thing. If you look it up on the interwebs (or something weird called a dictionary) you’ll find that it’s a pretty gruesome method of taking one’s life. And no, I’m certainly NOT suggesting anyone use suicide for problem solving!! But believe it or don’t, harakiri actually is relevant to this week’s silly blog entry.

You’d think harvesting in the garden would be a relatively safe activity. It should be, right? Picking vegetables, gently placing them in a nice woven basket, then toting them inside for delicious eating. No worries, right? Well yes, that’s true unless you have a very sharp knife in your hand. Rather important to be careful with sharp things.

But sometimes I get a bit carried away.

All I wanted to do was harvest some rhubarb… or “ROO-bob” as Grandma used to call it. Spring is definitely springing here in Beautiful West Michigan, so I thought I’d make a rhubarb-raisin pie today for when our friends came over for dinner. One might ask, “Rhubarb-raisin pie?? What the heck??” But yes boys and girls, I take the basic rhubarb pie recipe from our 50 year old Better Homes And Gardens cookbook and tweak it slightly. The recipe calls for 1 2/3 cup of sugar. I use 1 cup of dark brown sugar. I also add a heaping teaspoon of cinnamon for a little extra flavor, and yes I line the bottom of the pie with about a half cup of raisins, then put some more raisins on the top. It’s pretty darn good in my professional opinion!

I get the rhubarb from the garden, which is already producing nicely. Out I went to harvest some stalks, armed with my Swiss army knife and a plastic bag from Dollar General. My method of harvest is pretty simple: twist the stalk so it breaks away from the bottom of the plant, then use a knife to whack the leaf off the top. Then into the bag goes the stalk, and repeat until you have enough to make pie.

As I was working today, I was reminiscing about the time the in-laws were visiting from Florida a few years back. They were hankering for some rhubarb, so armed with my chef’s knife and plastic bag, I hustled out to make a quick harvest. Unfortunately, I was a bit careless with the knife and made a pretty good gash on my left wrist. Knowing the gash needed stitches, I asked my Beautiful Girlfriend to drive me to the ER. After asking her to please not go 90 MPH anymore on the way, we got the wound taken care of at the hospital so I could go back and finish the harvest (yes, I did harvest a bit more). Toward the end of the seven stitches, the nurse jokingly told me, “We do have a social worker on staff if you need one.” I assured her I wasn’t going to commit harakiri and we both laughed as I went on my way.

As I mentioned earlier, today’s weapon was my Swiss army knife. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson, but noooo… I was careless yet again, but this time much less damage was inflicted. A little cut on my finger… but it was bleeding enough to merit a Band-Aid. No big deal… although I silently yelled at myself for the goof.

OK. Time to make dinner. Spaghetti with meat balls from Mac’s Meats in Rothbury. Newman’s Own Sockarooni sauce with added mushrooms, peppers, and onions. Homemade garlic butter (with homegrown garlic) for the French bread. And of course the rhubarb-raisin pie. Somewhere along the line, the Band-Aid was lost. I looked high and low but could not find it. Then a horrible thought crossed my mind and I blurted out, “I hope it’s not in the food!!” I stirred the sauce and stirred some more. No Band-Aid in sight. Is it in the rhubarb that was mixed in with the flour and sugar?? Not that I could see. “Oh poop!!” I grunted and moved on to the rest of the cooking.

Our friends arrived, and after the hugs and hellos I told them I had an announcement. “I lost a Band-Aid,” I told them. “Unfortunately, I lost it while I was cooking,” I continued. Then I dropped the bomb: “I don’t think it’s in the pie, but it might be! I don’t think it’s in the sauce, but it might be!!” They all laughed and showed no concern. Everything came out great, our friends and we were all stuffed with delicious food and dessert. At the end of the meal, my friend Dick said, “Hey Ken!! No Band-Aid!!” I sighed with relief and said, “Yes!! Thank God!!!

The moral of the story? Maybe something like this: if you’re gonna attempt harakiri with rhubarb, make REALLY SURE you know where the Band-Aid is!!

And now, as Mr. Cleese used to say, for something completely different.

From the CEO: An Important Letter To Zandooky And All Other Fizzibops

Dear Lardsnorts,

It has been reported to me that some of you have been been accused of pickling corduroy. Well I’m here to tell you, that if you don’t begin doing something else soon, you won’t be able to do anything very soon. Soon you will know that something else was done long before The Egg Sniffing hour.  By that time, will you even be aware that those things you ate last night contained absolutely nothing nutritionally resembling turtle snouts??

I should hope not!!

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 when all those lentils were floating from the out  house behind the garage. What the HECK have you been slurping during nap time??

Anyhow??

The weather was completely perfectly indecent 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.

On a personal note:  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 their earlobes during The Great Nickel Tossing Festival.

Last time we were never there, the noises of our crawlings were completely different than the normal 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 was kids.

Ah yes, those were the good old moldy days.  When we was kids, we were required to drool into 3 gallon containers until the Body Odor Horns blasted all of our Stink Juice into the rafters.  Drool collections were repeated incessantly until each container was full of enough crayon dust to power a small rhinoceros wagon.   This of course required us kids to stand on our stomp ladders with rafter rakes in hand, to collect as much Stink Juice as we could to moisten the clanger modules.

My fellow Corporate Citizens, please to not regard the aforementioned statements as instructions for personal fungus removal.  Simply incorporate all what was stated here into your dreams until the rinse cycle is complete.

OK.

Now you have been klempered.

Please resume your taddle-brickling.

My chair eats frogs,

Hyram C. Pooflestench

A.K.A. Peeper Fling Muskellunge

Here now are some video analyses of the effects of sauerkraut saturation on blind ants.

Earth Day, Earth Month, Earth Year

Those of you who read “Happy Friday!!!” regularly probably read it on Saturday or maybe even later. Well, according to my calendar, tomorrow is Earth Day. I say tomorrow because as my fingers are touching this keyboard thing, it’s still Friday. So there. I must say I am not now nor never have been a fan of Earth Day. Those who know me might exclaim, “Kenny!! Are you tell me that with your tree huggyness and organic vegetable grow munching, that you are not of enjoyment from Earth Day??” And yes, I’m knowing that you probably wouldn’t say it that way at all.

No, I am NOT a fan of Earth Day. That’s because I firmly believe that EVERY DAY is EARTH DAY. So rather than “celebrate” Earth Day, howzabout we celebrate our Mother Earth every day, every month, every year.

Please?

So much climate but not enough change. Yes, good progress is being made. But every time I see a “Hello Fresh” commercial on the TV I want to barf toxic substances. So much packaging! So much delivery!! So much carbon footprinting!! Oy yoy yoy. I’d really rather see a public service announcement from Woodsy the Owl asking people to “Give a hoot, don’t pollute!!” followed by some tips on how small lifestyle changes can make huge differences toward reducing the warming of our dear planet. Rather than lament about all the bad stuff, I believe I’ll devote the rest of this week’s blog thing to some suggestions on how to reduce our human footprint on this delicate orb we call Earth.

1 – Buy as much fresh food as possible; especially foods that don’t come in a container. Not always easy, I have to admit. I of course am guilty of buying packaged foods. But I do try to get stuff in recyclable or reusable containers.

R – Eat less meat. WHAT’S THAT YOU SAY??? Why that’s UNAMERICAN!! Well yes, actually, it is. No I don’t mean it’s bad to eat less meat, I’m merely pointing out that lots of cultures in the world eat less meat than we do. Raising animals for food is one of the greatest contributors to greenhouse gases in existence. I don’t even want to think about how much of our livestock is raised; because I too am guilty of eating dead animals. We do eat meatless meals, but not nearly often enough. So now that I’ve opened my mouth about it, I guess I better work on eating even less meat!!

7 – Do not ever spray for bugs, never ever, no, don’t do it, bad juju. I saw a BookFace friend post about spraying for mosquitoes recently; and I pointed out that sprays designed to kill mosquitoes are indiscriminate. They also kill bees, spiders, and may other beneficial critters. We do use insect repellent on our bodies when the bitey bugs are hungry; but we normally try to do outside things when they are less likely to smell us. Ever notice that skeeters are really hungry just before sundown? Oh and they like to stab me in the mornings too. So during the day, not so much. I try to avoid the repellent at all cost… I’d rather swat than put poison on my skin. But when I read about bee populations (along with other beneficial creepy crawlies) declining I am very aware that I’m doing the right thing by keeping sprays out of my tiny 5 acre piece of this world.

B – Mow less lawn. Mow less often. Or don’t mow at all. That is all.

Yeah I could go on and on and on, but I’m already preached to the point of “enough awreddy”. We still have a magnificent home here on Mother Earth. So my wish is to put a stamp that says EARTH DAY on every single day / month / year of every calendar. Then we can start our day thinking about what we can do to help Mother Nature survive all this human activity.

OK by youse??

Well I would be remiss at this point if I didn’t include some hippie freak tree hugger videos that honor our Mother, so here goes.