Hello Darling Friends and Zimplers,
Just a note to tell you that I’ve learned how to eat what snakes don’t like. Please, all of you, before it’s too late: change your weevils soon or your dentifrice will be subject to humiliation. You’ve always known what eggs are, so get with the program! OK, maybe you didn’t always know what eggplants are. But the second you found out, I’ll bet you enjoyed their rich, chewy centers.
Twelve times this year I’ve sanctioned your optic nerves. Now it’s time for YOU to do something for ME: bring “the stuff” to the next curbside travel aroma infestation. Do this for me in remembrance of the good old days, when men were mere clods of soil and women were tender, loving, delightful bags of chocolate crème oatmeal.
Clams have been telling me the best doggone stories I’ve ever ignored during the past few milliseconds. I often am astonished at their true talent and willingness to stack coloring books to the ceiling. If only they would cease applying the maraschino cherries to all those taffy-sucking, dust-gathering, elegant and kind bovine conversation artists. How pleasantly they yell to my cats while I’m sleeping: “HEY!! GO USE YOUR CLAWS ON THE HUMANS! IT’S FUN WHEN THEY WAKE UP QUICKLY!!”
As I wake up each morning with cat ouch on my freckles, I’m beginning to understand why God made dump trucks. It’s the noodle thing you know. People fling noodles in the streets as a sign of protest during times of tardy laxative infusions. When the doody is late, the people are… well… noodle flingers. Some floodle ningers are just plain angry, and other fling noodlers are having the best time of their lives. Why anyone would shake up a bottle of Pepsi and hand it to the “birthday boy” is beyond my wildest pile of tent caterpillars. I’ve seen the look on “birthday boy’s” face as the brown foam covers his favorite television clicking carpet. It’s just one of those moments when you just gotta have a pair of pineapples to stuff in the pencil sharpener. So as you can see, the noodle trucks were made to pick up all the dump flingers. Is that a remarkable paint remover or what??
PLEASE: Step awaaay from the rhinestones. We will glue them to your armpits later, after you’ve washed down those two bags of Camel Chow with radio juice. Don’t worry about all the precipitation, Camel Chow is made to last even in the worst banana storms. After all, Uncle Clogpipe will certainly let you know when it’s time to rotate the fossil camera. Remember, always duck when the banana storm begins, or you’ll be the first one on your block to own a 12% rayon staple gun. I’ve seen this happen at least – 0.5 times, maybe even less. Don’t try to argue with me on this one, alright?
Wumba, wumba, wumba goes the tire with the small baseball bat inside for extra bad handling on those tight turns and special goat races. Carefully pick your friends, for if you are picking your friends carefully, then you’ll never have to worry about picking your friend’s… um…. lint globs. You thought I was gonna say nose, didn’t you? Ha, ha ha… it’s snot something I wood say hear. I mean, you can pick your friends and you can pick your knows, but you can’t wipe your friend’s boogies off behind the sofa. Sew there! Eye didn’t say it!! Ha ha on you!!!
All right then. You better not read this anymore. You may find yourself being lost within your shelf, and then there will be no finding of anything. Who needs surround sound anyway?? I’ll tell you who: ME. I’m gonna tell someone to have it for me so I may enjoy it viscerally. Or perhaps vivaciously. Possibly even vertically. My Belt is Yellow.
a.k.a. “Wally Wartwonder”
And now we must enjoy the delightful iridescent angle worm delight.