Gerslabe: A Story of Two Smiggs
\nBy Hyram C. Gilmore<\/p>\n
ONCE upon ago there was no use in telling it, the lamps had not but the others did. King Homar knew it was too late to wash the frogs; so his wife made dust for lunch. They both knew full well that large green funnels would soon fall from the sky. Without warning the Merbs cheated each other out of their Volkswagens; making it difficult to play records with the toaster. \u201cGive me no wrenches. My birds are smiling!\u201d, said the young snitch. \u201cRun down there and slap that tree so we can twirl our fruit in peace!\u201d<\/p>\n
Noodles remembered that there had been strange sounds coming from the click-poonkler not two hours before. It was widely known that click-poonklers were largely to blame for the rash on the kitty; but there had been no ugly yard things lounging around the Taco Bell today. Therefore, of course, the roofing cement became airborne and struck three birds on their way to the movies. No one would warn them that the giant marbles would be the next dessert at the Holiday Inn.<\/p>\n
Creeps, jerks, and stupid-heads filled the hall with their singing:<\/p>\n
\u201cO give me some meat
\nThat has sat on my seat,
\nAnd I\u2019ll show you some meat
\nI won\u2019t eat.\u201d<\/p>\n
This was sung to the tune of \u201cHome on the Range\u201d, while people barfed rubber bands through their noses. I don\u2019t want to visit there anymore. I\u2019ll never use rubber bands again. Don\u2019t ask me to go there, because the dogs change their underwear with the lights on.<\/p>\n
When we got home, we discovered that the new tires were now in complete control of the TV. All they wanted to watch was \u201cThe Jetsons\u201d; and they peeled out all over the brand new raisins. \u201cO my God, I can\u2019t believe you don\u2019t know the answer to this!\u201d, they hollered. So Poable yelled back, \u201cYou jempergleens! Do you mean to tell me that a glandular disorder can actually issue traffic warnings? There\u2019s a big cruncher out here with your names on it; and I\u2019m not eating until that woodchuck quits picking his nose! Take his new pajamas away so he won\u2019t try anything funny!\u201d The woodchuck took great offense to this and tried to drown his sorrows with Twinkies and tomato juice.<\/p>\n
By this time the reader must be a bit apprehensive. If this is supposed to make any sense, my goat is a sump pump. Well, of course this is not supposed to make any playdoh out of broken clocks. But if things are fun to read, people may be inclined to forget that they left their hairballs in the pizza mix. Life could become more cro-naybley! Glue could be served to science teachers as a nutritional supplement! Real value could be found in small pies! Planetary travel could really be screwed up! At best, laughter would fill the 5-gallon conatiner. Maybe even the container! Ispelgudyup!<\/p>\n
Ever wonder what would happen if your typing fingers got lost from \u201chome row\u201d? It would probably lppf sd ig yhr eotfd ertr noy mskinh drndr! ;p. look as if the words were not making sense! ;p.<\/p>\n
Always smiling, the two Smiggs (Remember those two Smiggs? This is a story of two Smiggs!) landed with a thump on top of the Empire State Building. They looked over the view and stared at each other, shaking their floaglits. Mogney asked Bloonk,\u201dWhoa! Don\u2019t these people know how to lick their eyebrows? We\u2019ve been here for three biggles now and I still can\u2019t read their fire hydrants!\u201d \u201cMaybe they are deaf, and can\u2019t see us waving our teeth at them\u201d, replied Bloonk. \u201cOllee ollee, oxenfree!\u201d Mogney yelled, honking his boadler as hard as he could.<\/p>\n
\u201cListen here, you boadle honker! We can\u2019t act as if we own the place! I mean, the yellow pig food is really starting to agree with my outlook on life,\u201d said Bloonk. Having said this, he and Mogney jumped from the top and ran to the nearest bystanders. The poor folks took one look at them and began reciting every Devo song they knew. The Smiggs tapped their dretzels to the beat and hummed along just as loud as they could. Very shortly a policeyman arrived and asked them all what the @#$% they were doing. They politely stole his hat and made funny faces at him; and offered a chance to win a shiny new dime for guessing the best soup in the world. The policeyman said thank you very much, but he had already had enough wood particles for one day.<\/p>\n
Now, if you look closely at the facts, you will surely notice ants in your undergarments. Disturbing as this may seem, many cultures are now changing their approach to fried hammer handles. Long lists of edible plastics have been sent to the local governments, but the representatives still insist that it would be better to shovel candles into a small motorcycle than to tax the bug doo-doo upon which we walk. They seem to think that by grinning when folks belch, a new and more receptive attitude can be cultivated in the inner regions of crayon boxes.<\/p>\n
For myself, I have always known that zebra mussels are very yummy in cake. Proving this has not been easy; but when I have friends over for tea and slobberfood they smile sheepishly and say \u201cWhat\u2019s crunchy?\u201d When I tell them they are snarfing down thousands of little zebra mussels in each bite, they say \u201cO\u201d and excuse themselves out the door very quickly.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m quite certain they are rushing home to make their very own Moobi-Moobi!<\/p>\n
Thank you very much, O-K!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Gerslabe: A Story of Two Smiggs By Hyram C. Gilmore ONCE upon ago there was no use in telling it, the lamps had not but the others did. King Homar knew it was too late to wash the frogs; so … Continue reading