Kakahead

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”

————————————————-

“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?

Dear Lumpflatteners,

Please enjoy the clam sandwiches currently available at the Old New Dehli Deli.  You will find the sam clandwiches right next to the Belly Jellies, in the frinkle sauce department of a clibbik store near you.

You may qualify for a package of used cheese.  Please do not write to the following address to see if you have entered your name in the North American Bilge Experience (NABE):

Log Turner Contest

24Cx Bugsnot Blvd.

Chiclet, MI  44404

Please call 1-800-555-1212 for the number.  Ask for Phlegm.  Be advised that all pickles will be collected by a rodent during the coming drainy season.  Do not worry about any plugged drains, for as we all know if a plain gets drugged there are more than enough socks to prevent the chafing with the rubbing and the ouch and the hoy hoy hoy awreddy.

Now of course you can be happy to know that I have more paper for sale than ever before.  Some of it is useful.  If you want some, send $23.70 in dickels and nimes to my

pet dirt clump over there in the hedgerow.  Upon receiving the money, I will send you your 43 tons of compressed paper. Make sure the car is not in the garage that day.

If any of this makes sense to you, make sure you contact your local EAP representative by July 27, 2019 .  Be aware they cannot dispense medication but they do know some really cool recipes for Dust Salad.  There are also community resources on which you can rely, such as the Office Of Pie Stashers (OOPS) and the Ceramic Octagon Plucking Society (COPS).  Neither of these entities will run to your aid.  Therefore, if you derive meaning from any of what has been written heretofore in this letter thing, you are basically toast.

Enjoy toast with all your might.  Remember, the toast you crave may be on loan.

Happy Bortinkulars to you.  I’m certain that you and your family will enjoy the customary Baseball Bat Surprise which can only be found in specially marked boxes.  Please, don’t chew with your mouth full.  Go fourth in peace… 2^nd or 3^rd simply will not do.  May your friends welcome you with open storage containers.  May your kitchen sink never be lonely.  May the sands of Greenland never fly into your cereal.

My eyes are lamps,

Kebbic G. Fefflewonk

a.k.a. Harvey Ticknoodle

Please to enjoy now the following live action recorded audio video combination doohicky by viewing it with the vacuum tube operated device of your own choosing yes OK fine thank you. (Be careful though… if you recognize any of the characters you may be admitting you’re as old as me!!)

Here in the U.S., We live in a very rich culture. This is illustrated by the number of different foods from which we may choose. Of course, our huge number of choices has also blurred the definition of food. Some of the things we eat are a far cry from the types of things Grandma and Grampa grew on the farm.  What has really happened, unfortunately, is this: the definition of food has been transformed from that which we eat for survival and health, to anything that we can eat without dying. Some “foods” we consume these days are interesting, to say the least. The origin of these interesting foods is at best mysterious, so this manuscript attempts to unfold some of these mysteries.

One example is Jell-O brand gelatin( I’m obeying the trademark laws by writing it that way). Interesting stuff, Jell-O is. Where does it come from?? Of course, it comes from mines. Deep in the caverns of the Earth, “jellite,” the raw material from which all dessert gelatins are made, is found in huge deposits in naturally cooled ice boxes.  Jellite miners are a happy lot, as they are constantly smiling and even laughing aloud because of the strange physics involved in harvesting the stuff from natural deposits. Imagine if you will a large mass of wiggly gelatin acting as if it’s trying to jump off your shovel!

Years ago, miners would eagerly look forward to lunch time, when they could indulge in a sport named “jellite jumping.”  Miners would find a tall jellite cart and dive off into the deposits, sometimes falling into the bouncy goop, and sometimes bouncing right off. Big fun. Food quality standards and health laws, however, brought a quick demise to “jellite jumping,” especially after the renowned case of Groznyk vs. Jellymines, Inc.; in which Frubert Groznyk sued the jellite mining company after finding shoelaces in his dessert.

Moving on, another interesting food item is corn flakes.  Corn flakes are, of course, corn dandruff. Specially selected corn plants are given shampoos far too frequently, and when the scalp dries to excess, corn flakes fall to the shoulders of the plant. Corn Flake Collectors (CFCs) are specially trained individuals who know exactly when the flakes will fall, and are ready with broom corn brushes to wisk the flakes into brand name containers. National cereal chains spend large amounts on their dandruff containers, sometimes even including reading material on the back. But flakes are flakes, so consumers can save a bundle by purchasing off-brand corn dandruff.

Chitlins are considered “soul food” by some folks.  Well, that’s a bit strange to me. We have two chitlins, a boy and a girl, and I don’t see myself going hungry enough to eat either of them. Unless of course they try to move back home. Not really! They’d be way too tough, anyhow. I’ve heard of folks eating anchovies on pizza and other dumb things, but eating my chitlins would be even Dahmer. Just never you mind about eating chitlins. OK?

Hot dogs have been an American staple for many years.  They have a very bad reputation, and are given pet names like “mystery meat,” or the ironically affectionate term, “tube steak.” The ingredients used to make hot dogs is a closely guarded secret, although it is said that any part of a meat animal that can’t be used otherwise is found in hot dogs.  Lips, noses, earlobes, and worse have been speculated as possible ingredients. Hot dogs also contain large collections of preservatives and flavor enhancing chemicals that have been linked to various digestive disorders, and may also affect the central nervous system.

At this point, I must digress a bit to refute these claims. My mother served us hot dogs often when we were kids. They were used instead of more expensive meats as a main course. Hot dogs, macaroni & cheese, and spinach.  A simply magical meal that covered the three main food groups inexpensively.  In fact, I’ve carried this tradition on to my family, and we just had a nice Hot Dog Surprise Casserole for dinner. Neither I, my family, nor my siblings have ever had any digestive problems; and our central nervous systems are completely intact with the rare exception of vivid hallucinations and strange speaking patterns (oh wait, maybe that’s just me…).

Anyway, as far as central nervous system problems, aside from the occa#i0n9l typ1n6 error$, my brain and nervdes are fine, JUST FINE, OK?? Nice hot dog… come sit down here and we’ll watch TV. I’ll play you a song on my Oscar Meyer Wiener Whistle!! Say hello to Mr. Broccoli. Die Mr. Broccoli!! Die!! You better run!  I throw your face in the macaroni and cheese!! Ha ha ha ha… nice Mr. Broccoli.  Please pass me some more Hot Surprise Dogfood… Thanks!  So, now you all know how food mysteries prevent broccoli from removing sodium gronkulate deposites in jellite pig holders. Until next time, keep smiling at the candy wrappers, and be sure to invite me over when you folks have dot hogs. Or even florn cakes! Jellite for dessert, please; hold the shoelaces.  

Whoa! It’s after eleven o’clock! Do you know where your chitlins are??

So here’s a weird one… did a search on hot dogs for a cartoon and here’s a VERY old one from 1924… I though it was fun, hope you do too.

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!”

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 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??

OK.  Step awaaay from the rhinestones.  We will glue them to your armpits later, after you’ve washed 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.

Horizontally Yours,

Kreb ZooZookena

P.S.: Something tells me Betty Boop would understand exactly what I never said…