Kakahead

Dear Antenna Ranchers,

I found it necessary to let you all know that I am on vacation all next week, and you are not.  Unless you are, then you are also.

On vacation.

Have I mentioned I’m not working next week??  Oh wait… I’m writing this thing called Happy Friday.  So that means it’s today already!!  Which means:  I’m on vacation!!  And you are not.  Unless you are.  On vacation.

Deja Vu…

Ha ha on you who must work, I laugh to you.   I bet your toenails are shivering at the thought of working for the next many days.  This is very amusing to me indeed.

I plan to spend the day doing things that I do not get paid to do.  This is why it is called vacation.  Although it won’t happen THIS time, some of my favorite things to do are playing in the garden, sleeping longer than normal and maybe even forgetting how to shave my cat’s teddy bear baskets.  The garden must be carefully tilled with explosives and high pressure syrup hoses.  Following that, I methodically mix all my veggie seeds together in a large five gallon bucket and fling them into the syrup explosion zones.  Pancakes will be sprouting before June 48 if we don’t get any rain…

We are driving to Florida this time, which is many hours on our hineys in a small rental car we affectionately call, “Old Rattlebonken.”  We go to visit family, no Mickety Mouse for the likes of us (Thank God).  The most important thing is I will be with my loved ones and not at work.  

On the other hand, I just ate a grape from Meijer that tasted like fish.  I never knew they had fish grapes.  Now I must try my hand at making fish raisins or maybe one of YOU could send me the recipe for fish wine. If I recall correctly, there are stories of a very famous person who could convert bread into water and fish into wine.  So as you can see, fish wine is not a new concept.

However, regardless of how much fish wine you may care to produce, I will not be having any with your breaded water meal.  I am a recovering fishaholic, so it might not be a very good idea for me to start drinking fish again.  I’ll just have to enjoy the fish raisins, or maybe peanut butter and fish jelly sandwiches with a glass of coconut milk.

How many moles does it take to get a jar of molasses??  Those poor moles, running around with no hineys.  They are brave to sacrifice their booty just so we can have our jars of molasses.  Not sure why we civilized people even allow jars of molasses to be sold in stores.  I mean, do you ever see jars of mouseknees, cricketlips, or even seagullstomachs??  Nope.  Just molasses.  

Dinner for every day during this vacation will be pizza and Snickers bars.  Freshly squeezed fish grapes will be served up as a nice hot beverage with a dollop of whipped crab juice on the side.  No farmers will be harmed in this extravaganza.  It’s very possible I need a vacation.

Please have a safe and odiferous working time.  Are you on vacation?  No, you are not. 

ME, not YOU.

My eyes have suddenly turned into olives!!!

Conko De Bonko,

Kenny Calibration
a.k.a. “Fossil Tongue Pete”

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Hopefully our vacation will work out differently than Donald’s did…

Dear Tinker Toy Handlers,

 This is to inform you that our house is exploding and the bottle rockets have prevented me from listening to the stereo for 13 weeks.  I know that you are the ones who forced me into this situation, and I demand immediate constipation.  If you do not comply with this request, I shall be coagulated instantly while I sail off to Bermuda with a large tube of toothpaste.  No one has the right to tell ME what to wear to the Chicken Festival!  So please, before our relationship has been too greatly damaged, change that stinky underwear you have on!  You should know by now that the brown and yellow crusties are a clue that wash day is past!

 And another thing:  every time I sit down, my butt makes contact with another thing!  I wonder:   how many times has my butt touched another thing without my asking the thing if it wanted to be touched?  I’ve also learned that my butt and my brain appear to be connected.  I know this to be true because a) I’ve made some really embarrassing mistakes during my stay on this planet we call Rhubarb, and 19) every time I forget something, I sit down and instantaneous remembering occurs within 7 or 8 millirockens. 

Now don’t correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m sure you cannot be allowed to stay in the country after those things you did with that flyswatter in the restaurant.  I mean, people who try to eat soup with a used flyswatter are probably not going to be invited to my burping contest anytime soon.  Unruly behavior will be rewarded with gentle slappings about the eyes and shoulders with the standard issue licorice flavored water balloons.

Please remember that the child within you needs to be nurtured, and only you can do it.  

If you ever feel sad or lonely, you can take action on this by paying me some big bucks.  I will gladly use the money for disturbance mechanisms which will not allow you to get proper rest.  A few weeks of this and you will forget all about that whiny inner child; and you will sport a pleasant, robotic appearance.  Another tried and true method of healing the inner self is to shame the heels that find you.  In other words, whenever some schmuck tries to perk you up, grin politely and suggest that they eat bark and poop at the moon.  They will usually be glad you were honest, and will mumble unintelligible affirmations as they briskly walk away.

Well, as you can see, there is no reason to panic.  Nothing is all right here, and the world is coming to an end.  Please understand that I have found some very effective ways to deal with the stress that Armageddon brings.  Firstly, give yourself the treat of some good all around attention:  walk through the mall without clothing on, and smile to all you meet.  Second:  stop in the restaurant and briskly apply jelly to your ears.  Your eyes will get squinty, and you will laugh loudly at the lack of pockets for hankies to wipe it off.  Next will come the overpowering urge to charge people extra for car repairs.

Nevermind.  That may have been a dumb idea.  Just try something else, ok?

If you question my sanity or the validity of any of the aforementioned delinquent prostitutions, I say to you, “tough beans, Mr. or Ms. Smartenheimer!!”  Sheesh!!  Being absolutely correct is one of my hobbies, and unless I am mistaken, I have never been totally accurate on any doggoned thing in my whole life.  Fortunately for me, however, I know now that the more I learn the less I know.  I learned that… I think.  Ya know??

So in silence, I grant you three wishes, none of which will ever come true so forget about it.  Don’t push me into something I don’t understand.  I have low self-esteem and you know it.  I have been taking classes for this, and they told me the best way to talk to people about your problems is to lie about the weather and run away laughing. 

Be friendly to all you meet, as you may wish to borrow their used cereal someday.  Have a conversation with a foreign car.  Sing loudly with a mouthful of spaghetti; you’ll quickly learn who your real friends are.  Feed your fish some dust and see how they like it.  Try drinking from the toilet, cats do it all the time.  Carry fried food in your pocket and offer it to strangers.  Lick a telephone pole for fun. 

Above all else, please remember:  GOD MAKES NO JUNK, SO LOVE THYSELF!!  OK?

Thank you for being, it gives me great comfort to know that you are.

Also, thanks in advance for not eating the crayons.

Peace, Love, and AM Radio,

Forvis “Green Tongue” Marbleswapper

a.k.a. “Runs With A Flashlight”
 
Speaking of nonsense, here’s the master…

If you live in Michigan, you’ve been enjoying a remarkably mild winter this week month of the year time day.  I can offer a simple explanation for this constabulary indigestion:  I threw coat hangers at the sun all last week.   Yep, I threatened the sun within an inch of its life.  Much yelling and flinging, yelling and flinging.  When you embark upon such an ambitious goal, it’s very important to be loud and repetitious.  As you can see it paid off.  Now we can all be happy that the sun will listen to me when I shout. 

My beautiful girlfriend, Zonikula, was completely compressed at my perforation.  I know this to be true because she would often fling open the door and shout, “boy, you’re really something, aren’t you??” during some of my sun training routines.  At this point I would look toward her and smile, and she would then say a few more words while shaking her head.  Of course I took that to mean, “oh, the poor sun has no idea what it’s up against with this hubby of mine.”

She is so proud of me. 

You see, it’s rather important to me that we have nice weather this weekend because I plan to get off my butt and rent a blanex.  I have been putting it off way too long; I need to recover the hammer sand that keeps purging my swamp honkles.  The window of opportunity is very gummy and full of decomposing marble trays; so if I don’t get this done before the tingly science filters arrive I’m sure I’ll be living in the boathouse. 

I mean seriously, do you ever expect the train to stop on time?  Nobody sees that far.  Please, just resimplify twenty three percent of your milktoast warblers and bark moonly at the wild.  After all, there’s really no certainty that Calvin the Edible Plastic Spoon Vendor will be able to click in the parking lot for more than 12 milliseconds. 

So my friends, you can obviously confer that changing the weather is easier than pushing a large oak toothpick into a deliciously prepared cast iron jelly donut.  If you ever have any doubts as to the antiquity of my animation, please amplify your pencil sharpener with short, regular spritzes of vinegar and moose dust.

If none of those calibrations deplete your catatonic sofa concerto, simply stuff your mouth full of corn bread and sing at least 3 verses of “The Rhyming Song.”
 

Hello Abnardles,

Just a quick note to inform you all that new tasting tanks have been installed in Room 1023.  You can enjoy the flavor of any gravy or fruit salad by merely entering the tank and setting the knob to 2.3 while pointing your index fingers to Alpha Centauri and / or Cleveland.

Please be certain to wear protective clothing while tasting the new entries on the Flavor Dial.  No one is completely certain as to the
effect of cutting the cheese in the confines of the tank. The new entries, of course, include Swiss, Roquefort, and Toe cheeses.  Each
has a luminous cramp lantern designed to strike fear in the hearts of any lingering sleeveless mole wrench hydrocarbons. Enjoy the scented antler handles in full view of the sinus chipper mechanism.

My ears are full of sand.

If you have any questions about the use of the tasting tanks, call 800-400-0001 and ask for Mr. Crinkleberry. He will never really
help you, but he is an excellent listener and has been known to make really good dingleberry jam.

Sincerely yours,

Navnik Obblesoot
a.k.a. “He Who Burns Dust Mites”

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“Please pass the ketchup, I think it’s going to rain.”

Ever have a cold that just didn’t seem to go away?  Well I have one that started on October 13, at approximately 12:17 PM and still isn’t quite gone yet.  Perhaps that’s a slight exaggeration… but seriously folks, this “cold” has been here way too long.  My nose gets stubbed up, add it starts rudding, and then I hab to use up the whole box of tissues every hour; which has become rather expensive.

The beautiful woman I live with shocked me the other day when she said, “Honey, your cold is lingering way too long.  I think you have a sinus infection.”  I’m not sure how she can feel qualified to say such things.  Just because she’s a nurse and does in home care for people (and maybe knows a thing or two about healthcare) doesn’t give her the right to make wild accusations about some lousy cold her husband has.

So to prove her wrong, I have invented a number of methods that are certain to bring this so-called “sinus infection” to its knees, so to speak.  I thought I’d better pass these on to all of you because I’m sure you are interested in following my exact instructions.   Without any further ado, here are the methods, in order of magnitude.

1)  Get an eighteen inch length of surgical tubing and shove it deeply into your nostril.  Connect the other end to a faucet using an appropriate adapter.   Turn on the water quickly, then off just as quickly.  Be certain to turn the faucet completely on during this operation to apply maximum pressure.  Repeat on the other nostril, then repeat the entire procedure at 3 hour intervals.  This will flush out any germ infested mucus.

After 2 days, if symptoms persist:

R)  Continue with the water flush, but after each flush use an ordinary toothbrush to clean each nostril.  Be sure to remove any clingons from the bristles after each flushing operation.   Discard the clingons in the usual manner:  rub them on the underside of the sofa or flick them into an inconspicuous corner.

Still having difficulty?  I see… try this:

9)  Place a birthday candle inside each nostril.  DO NOT LIGHT THE CANDLES!!!  Whadda you, crazy???  Sheesh!  Hold each candle between thumb and forefinger and apply inward pressure while twirling the candles back and forth.  This will lubricate your nasal passages and allow clingons to be more easily removed in steps 1) and R)

Still hab a stubby doze??  OK, one more try:

@*)  Request the assistance of a trusted friend or loved one.  Hand them a ping pong paddle, have them stand behind you with the paddle held parallel to the back of your head.  Have them be ready for “the signal.”   Fill a glass with ginger ale and place two drinking straws in the glass.  Insert a drinking straw into each nostril.  Now you are ready to give “the signal,” at which time your helper should whack the back of your head with the paddle.  This will cause an involuntary snorking of ginger ale deep into your sinuses; which will of course fizz out any congestive fluids.

I personally have not tried any of these methods, so once you’ve given them a whirl please report back to me as to their effectiveness.

So… remember that nurse lady I’m married to?  Well guess what she did??  She said, “Honey, you need to go to the doctor.”  Now, we’ve been married for awhile and I’ve learned (too often the hard way) that all goes much better if I follow orders.

I went to the doctor.  He said, “you have a sinus infection.”   “Oh,” I replied.  “What do I need to do?”  “I’ll prescribe some antibiotic pills for you,” he answered.

I got the prescription filled for FREE at our local pharmacy!!  Is that cool or what??

So what, do I just shove these up my nose???

__________________

Oh… the doctor also said I should get some rest…

OK, so there I was, at work, in the industrial manufacturing stress pile that seems to grow smellier with each passing hour, no plane, no parachute, and thinking about writing a run-on sentence, with no semi-colons but only commas, and probably grammatically incorrect; but that doesn’t bother me one little bit; oh wait, there are a couple of semi-colons back there.

On this particular day at work, I was heating up my lunch in the nuking machine.  My friend Mary saw the vegetation in my Pyrex bowl and said, “you eat a lot of leaves.”  I smiled and said, “yes, and today I have leaves, roots, and the flesh of a dead bison.”  I mentioned that I intended to consume kale, collards, parsnips, and some bison meat from Oleson’s in Manistee.  Mmmm-mmm yummy.

At this point she ran screaming through the top floor window while her ’65 Mustang was in flames and all the propane tanks burst into an explosive conflagration causing the air to become very brightly orange but then black with smoke as the rest of the cars in the parking lot exploded one by one and the military came in full force to let the cat into the shower so she could drink off the floor while the Happy Friday Ken Guy wrote yet another run-on sentence with nary a comma or semi-colon to be found within the whole darned thing.

That crazy Nevvie… she loves to drink off the shower floor!  We believe she may be addicted to shower water.  She is 17 years young and will broop and mee-roouu  until one of us turns the shower on for just a bit.  Then of course we must let her know we are OK with her going in there to drink.  It’s a ritual you see.  Shortly after she gets her drink, the earth’s crust splits open and large steel structures vault toward the sky while people are screaming and running for cover and toasters are flying sideways through the violent winds that are generated (of course) by the huge bats that arise from the bowels of the planet and OH MY GOD HERE COMES ANOTHER ONE get down and hide behind this big rock OH NO THE TREE MONSTERS ARE STEALING ALL THE ROCKS those dirty selfish stinkers they wish to protect themselves and who gives a flying mahookey about us, right, we should be grateful the trees are safe and there’s yet another run-on sentence with questionable (at best) grammatical structure.

OK.  So, what have we learned from this week’s installment of “Goats On Parade?”  Well boys and girls, we’ve learned that some guy who works at an explosion factory likes to eat leaves, roots, and bison meat from Oleson’s  grocery in Manistee Michigan.  We could also possibly infer that the author of this week’s installment of “Radio Sandwich Dust Lanterns” is prone to writing run-on sentences.  Also, a very likely possibility is that I, the author of this week’s “Happy Burger Filled Sock Drawer” may have had a stressful work week and am simply trying to blow off some steam in the form of nonsensical rants that have absolutely nothing to do with the Republican Primaries. 

Therefore, I implore all of you:  Please, if your job is stressful and ouchy, PLEASE remember that work is what you do for a living; but it does not necessarily have to define who you ARE.   In my case, four egg sample, I’m grateful I have a job, but if I let the stress consume me I’m no good to anyone at all.  Hence, I will be sometimes known as the person who sends messages to his peers with the following content as an example:

       My dustflute sings much better than our dog’s frozen trumpet.

None of you may ask, “hey Ken, did you have a stressful week at work?”   And of course I would reply, “does a chicken have lips?  Is a frog watertight??” 

I had a chocolate chip cookie at lunch today. 

It was truly constabulatory!!

“Now,” as Rocky would say, “here’s something we hope you’ll really like!”

Greetings, fellow Silver Chinklers,

I come in the knowledge of wishing you the Happiest Merry of all Years, with dotted Ts and crossed eyes following all of your newly configured radial sandwich flavors.  It is very and ultra important that we greet this new year, simply because it is the very last year we will ever have in our living lives because everyone knows the world will end on January 37, 2012 at precisely 1:49 pm. 

That of course means that we must fill our Tupperware with pledges of doing remarkable things.  As you may already know, pledges are words that express an intent to do something.  Politicians know the value of a pledge.  They use them to get elected and, once in office, they do what they bloody well want.  But when you come right down to it, when people make promises about this or that at the beginning of a brand new year, they have a lot in common with politicians.  Many people make pledges, but how many fulfill them??  This I am unable to know.

One thing I do know is that 2012 brings a new president, and also some other electoral zoomophones.  It really does my heart good to know that many of our politicians are making more money than I will ever see in a lifetime.  And I’m also truly inspired by their ability to honor the wishes of the vast majority of we, the people of the United States Of This Place Here.

It’s possible I’m being slightly sarcastic here.  So in other words, those stinkin’ yoyos in Congress make me to barf on the ground.  Actually there are all too many world leaders that seem to enjoy torturing us.  Their aloofness and holier-than-thou attitudes just give me the warm fuzzy noodle constipation that every mom loves.  But I know that it’s always easier to find fault with others than to look inward, so I thought I’d better lay out a plan for my own self improvement.  Therefore, I beg of each of you to elect me as your next Filibuster Yakkity Yak Doo Dah Day for 2012.  My plan for self bereavement lies below.

Please be indecently aware that I have incubated the following Noo Yeer’s Revolutions:

1)   To remind myself that I need to remember those things which I can’t seem to recall.

What was that again?  What was I thinking about…??

R)  To lose weight, gain it back, lose it again, and lose some more until my nostrils can be used for sidewalk painting without fear of changing lanes abruptly.

Please pass the pepperoni flakes and the coagulated skim milk.

24) To change lanes abruptly so all weight loss can be vehemently avoided.

Watch out for that tree!! It has a scale near it!!

++) To boldly go where no earthworm has ever dined before.

Ummm… you gonna eat that compost??

3X) To be nice to all people whenever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

Excuse me sire, your toupee is on fire.  May I stomp it out for you?

T5) To dress in all recyclable clothing, in order to lighten the load on my laundry licking machine.

I especially favor the milk jug socks and the recycled string bikini underwear.

Z44) To unite all small countries in a global effort to stop Barney from eating my cake.

Alright boys, this is it… you clunk him on the cake eater and I’ll knock the stuffin’s outta him!

and finally:

9)  To sing loudly about how wonderful it is to be alive, ever reminding myself that work is a joy and that complaining is tantamount to feeding dogfood to caterpillars.  In other words, no matter how badly I think I have it, I am really a wealthy person.  I have received many gifts from the Creator.  As Alistair Sim said in my favorite Christmas movie (Scrooge)  “I don’t deserve to be so happy, but I can’t help it.”

I suspect that if you are reading this, you are wealthy also.  You don’t think so??  Ok smartypants, lemme ask you these:  Do you have a car?  Do you have enough to eat?  Friends?  A warm, safe place to sleep?

You are wealthy.  OK??  Much wealthier than those whose lives are consumed with the poison of chasing power and wealth.

So please, all of you, have a most Wonderful New Year of 2012 with New Millipedes under every log you roll.  Love your brethren and your cistern.  Love your father, your mother, and your Mother (Earth).  And above all, be kind to yourself and other living things.  You just never know how you will affect those around you, so try to be at your best wherever you find your nose (and the rest of your body).

AND LET US NOT FORGET… 2012 IS THE END OF THE WORLD!!!  OH GOD OH GOD!!!

There are times in this universe when I get so inoculated that I am motivated to write a very short, yet silly story

Here goes:  Once upon a time… THE END.

There.  A very short story.    If you took too long to read it, you should really enlist in the Merchant Marinara Sauce Brigade Platoon for Wayward Wives and Stepfathers.  There you will be shown how to involve very small dirt particles in happy games that require colorful shirts and rooster licking.  Of all the meetings I’ve never attended, I enjoyed the weekend of the 33rd of Octember.  Now that was a cranberry stomping episode I’ll never forget!!  It’s almost as if the Chiclets were let out of their cages thirteen minutes earlier than last year.  Santagoopa certainly knew that all the clock fizzlers would be found guilty of lentil crushing.  But that could only have resulted in electric shaving incidents.

Seriously, can someone please tell me why I have to brush my tooth with fossil strings every weekend??  I’m sorry, but I fail to see the winking radioactive clouds that bring this custom to KalamaKazoo.  The residents of Abracadabra don’t even have any slots for the rusty washers that all clowns pay for parking with… how could these gentle jelly citizens of Okeefenokee be expected to change lanes in a soup throwing contest?

On the other hand, you have doable.  Some people actually use that as a word… they say, “DO-able.”  Well I’m sorry, they are wrong.  Doable.  Since it’s spelled with oa in the middle, that would be pronounced “oh” kinda like boat or toad.  So doable, as it is spelled, looks to me like it should rhyme with “noble.”

Sometimes politics and corporate shenanigans make me want to barf on the floor and find an elf in the pajama closet.  Too many people sniffing bricks and licking stop signs, if you know what I mean.  Their opossum doesn’t have enough cheese to make the baloney go to the top of the elevator sandwich.  They are just a few bottles of cellophane short of a complete truckload.    The toilet mechanism is just waiting for your approval.  Do you get my wind?  Do you understand where I’m arriving from?  Have you gotten the clue of my talk noises yet?  Listen carefully:  do you smell something??  I CAN’T SEE IN HERE WITH ALL THIS NOISE!!!  If you carefully touch all the bugs you see in one day, you will probably want to live with them.  You might even be able to train them to sing worm songs.  You just never know.

Well, one of the twelve or perhaps twenty five things I know for sure is this:  if anyone gives me a lot of money and expects absolutely nothing in return, I will be greatly amused and toasted inside with a blue sugary coating of genuine American Cheese flavored bicycle tire pumping rituals.  In other words, I’ll drive as quickly as I can straight to the nearest Kentucky Fried Chicken Laxative Emporium and set all those poor coleslaws free so they can find their way back into the wilderness.  I will also find special homes for the mashed potatoes and gravel.

Well my fiends, I must leave you all with this important symbol:  which of course represents the true tolerance and love our Creator designed us to have.  The symbol also represents what happens when you smash a pair of binoculars to yank the prisms out and then you put them in your windowsill and force the sunlight to make ha ha rainbows on your walls.  This is the way of refraction.

Be well, and may all your coleslaw be free and may your mashed potato gravel be found only under the sink with all the other cleaning agents.  Enjoy life and love your fellow humans and other animals, for you never know when an aardvark will be your boss.  Tell Frinkle I said hello.  Eat marshmallows.  It’s fun!!

I’m really getting sick up and fed with all this job stuff. I try to stay grateful to be working, but Holy Mahlooka it gets on my nerves sometimes. May I be retired now please with zero debt and lots of spare cash?? OK, thank you, that’s very kind.

I have the privilege of joining my two offspring at a They Might Be Giants concert this coming Sunday. That will be very good medicine in the realm of stress relief. I try to make my job as much fun as theirs seems to be. It’s all in the mind you know.

I’ve been taking work Way Too Seriously Again Lately.  Some of the things that go on there and around the world in general make absolutely no sense.

Therefore, in an effort to make even less sense, I offer this profound yet utterly nonsensical invitation to escape your inner knives and harbor no further garages against your fellow mange.

As none of you have heard frequently, Toyden Amookalobbnis of Quality Infusions, Inc. will be arriving soon to inspect the cambernackles.   Please ensure that all edible click wrapper standards are well concealed and thoroughly hyphenated before Toyden’s infestation.  

During this exercise, please note that cambernackles will be inspected on the 3rd Tuesday of each week, twice monthly, with liberty and justice for all.  That information may be shared freely with any and all individuals whose names rhyme with “lumberjack,” as they would appear when divided by the pertinent day of the month.  

For example:  on the 1st Tuesday of 2019, the week begins with the letter R.  Therefore, you may share this with people like:

Reek Cumberjack

Rum Cambersnack

Rink Snanderjunk

And of course Roopy Wofflenick.  

Note that the inverse modification standard never applies.

If you have any questions regarding this modulation, please insert two nickles and eleven dimes.  After all, your toaster is probably orange with chrome bide flenders.

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.

I ate a bug the other day.  It had very little flavor, and really was not as pleasant as one might surmise.   This required minimal effort:  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” the 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 am 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 go there 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?  We really need to talk about your compulsion to slide wildly through the Baked Apple / Rhubarb Fritters (BA/RF).

OK.  I really must go to the store now.  They have metal objects on sale, and one can never have too many metal objects.

Thank you for not licking my car.  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.

Thank you,

Norvis Pimpleburger

Supervisor,

Feline Antler Inspection Dept.

“If you want something done, don’t remove the cat’s antlers.” – Milton Wildpockets
 
“And now for something completely different,” as Mr. Cleese of Monty Python would say… Never heard of Flip the Frog before but here he is from 1933.
 

Dear Ninks and Semmerflubens,

I am writing to all of you from the back yard where no children are stuffing bread into the worm holes.  This week has been especially stressful at work, and a lot has been going on in the news.  Therefore, in the interest of clam flavored desserts, I feel the need to remove my corporate tortellini.  Those of you who know me are aware that some stressfully sprinkled donuts prompt me to write letters to fire hydrants.

Let this past century of my work week be no Oldsmobile to that incubation.

I was walking through the factory the other day, scowling inside my rib cage and doing my darndest to ignore all the noisy dirt.  Soon I found myself saying, “hey Self!  For why you are so poofely??  Don’t you agree that your employment status brings gas to your table and puts food in your car?  Are you not, indeed, a very fortunate person who no longer requires adult supervision at most Twinkie eating contests??  And c’mon man!  Get with the gratitude awreddy.”

My Self agreed that grouch makes ouch.  I decided I really ought not allow this job to remove my ventricles or extinguish my lapis lazuli.

The following morning, I smiled and decided not to be El Groucho inside my brain world any longer.  At least not for 27 minutes, then I could reevaluate and perhaps even continue another 14 milliseconds.  By golly, that may have actually worked.  I tried hard to not take work too poisonously.  Sure, since my friend Reebo has retired and I inherited an extra work load my job has become inflamed with large pickles that fly violently in all directions.  And yes, there is really no way to keep up with the demand, unless I find a way to successfully clone my onion rings before Hubert The Closet Painter arrives from Denderflaven.  If he gets here before the sauerkraut capsules are fully declawed, there is absolutely no guarantee of the existence of any newly sharpened Jell-O forks.

And we all know what that means!!

So, I’ve decided to just be happy until I feel grouchy again, which seems to come quickly when people at work allow their children to surf the web on their work computer, and then they come crying to me because they can’t get their computer to do anything except offer to fix horrible computer problems that don’t exist, and then I get to spend many minutes trying to kill the bugs when all they had to do was forget to allow their kids to surf the web with their work computer, and then I end up blasting the hard drive anyway so I can write run-on sentences with increased vigor and lengthy applesauce.

After all of that new grouchiness, I start my day over again with a new happy and grateful attitude.  Then I get grouchy once more, but a little less, and keep practicing the gratitude thing.  Then I go between buildings and sing happy songs like:

Leave me alone or I’ll bite you.

Your ears are made of sticks.

Why do you talk to ME like that??

I’ll send you cat logs in the mail.

This of course is sung to the tune of “Leave Me Alone Or I’ll Bite You.”

Then I laugh at my silliness and life is once again refreshing and full of new opportunities to enjoy fruit and perhaps even the occasional flying insect.

Sometimes I restart my day 479 times or more.

So, how was YOUR week?