Ants In France

Ed (Jimbo) Sauron MMCCCXXVIII came through town, preceded by dread but they were street dancing after he demonstrated proper flaying technique on local bureaucrats.

Ed Grunch. Used to know her. We ate candy bars under the bleachers and then puked on each other. Seemed like fun at the time.

Ed said I'd have fun today. I hope he's right. I'm tired of hanging by my thumbs.

Ed's Very Own Original French Toast: (1) Toast bread. (2) Mail it to France. (3) Kill time or take a nap or whatever. (Ed's OK with that.)

French diaper wine.

Frenchie fried my fangs in foofie sauce. Yet again.

Ants in France. Again.

Mama told me not do do that any more, so I put her in a box and mailed her to France. France — a place I'll never forget, assuming I visit sometime, but I bet Mom fits right in.

So on the lunch menu today is "Stuffed Frances". For only $2.75. And to think that in high school she wouldn't go anywhere near that concept, let alone talk to me.

Albert took the boat. Went somewhere. Meanwhile, the bank repossessed his entire ant farm collection but left the ants to keep me company.

Ants never gamble. Did you ever think of what that means?

Gotta pocket fulla ants. A gift from my aunt. She couldn't eatem all. #LizardsOnParade

I bet ants never get headaches or just, somehow, forget to file their taxes for two decades.

I feel like a doughnut today. Rich. Creamy filling. Dripping with chocolate sauce. Sprinkled with bitsy sprinkles. Attractive to ants.

I've been talking to the ants. Could be a whole new source of information. My feelers are all a-wiggle.

It's noisy in here. Even the ants are dying from the music. Still, I have to say that they have the tastiest soap in town.

January 23, 1886: "Dear Diary, I found more ants in the strong box. That must mean something. Meanwhile, no news from Dick about the thing."

Joe is updating the menu as we speak, according to what people bring in. May be either boiled ants or fried pig. Can't really tell from here.

I made a mistake today. Turned out well though. Entirely composed of previously-composted compotes. And sawdust, but it adds a level of sophistication, and, too, smells like sawdust, which is my favorite ice cream flavor from way back. And then, when I was all done the ants got it, so now it's their mistake. Ha!

 

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Me? Currently between naps.

Lets Fry Some Parrots

"Pollo frito." That's fried parrot, right? Well anyway, that's what I'll be eating, whatever it is.

20 People just came in. Asked what's for lunch. Thinking fast, I opened a restaurant and some cans of tuna.

A guy in a red sweater came in. Was instantly kicked out. No shirt, no shoes, no pants, no service. With a smile.

A frog in the rain maintains it slime with no pain.

A hamster without a bicycle is like a woman without a cantaloupe, except that one complains more than the other. And then there's the lunch angle.

Toast on a stick is another thing you never really plan on specializing in.

Air is free unless they catch you breathing.

If cookies were made of meat, I'd eat more of them, and so would the cat, and our beer would taste better.

I went to climb a mountain but someone moved it. I think they said his name was Moe Hammer or something. Must have beefy arms. No idea where he might have put it. Let's eat.

I found tuna in my slippers this morning. Either the cat is playing practical jokes again, or someone left me a pair of slippers, or something unusual is going down.

Saw trucks full of stuff go by, then they formed a circle and exploded in flames. Only one sock puppet made it out alive. I had no idea that sock puppets were alive. But this one was, I think. At least it did some flopping around. After that — nothing. Aside from a lingering smell of grape jam. Rubbage everywhere. Had a nice meal of tuna, pineapple, fried grits, and chocolate gravy later on, while listening to the symphony orch play John Philip Sousa's Greatest Kazoo Dirges as they executed Facebook executives. I hear that's a thing now.

I found a worm in my salad. I let it eat all the romaine lettuce before making my kill. Poor little bugger never knew what hit him. Next time I'm ordering the fish with flies.

I found an unattended ham sandwich lying on the sidewalk like nobody's business. Well, I made it my business, so I whupped that there sandwich right smart until it quit lying, and then I ate it after brushing most of the skudge and hair off. Still a bit too crunchy for my taste. Result: No more than two stars.

I fried an egg this morning, just after midnight. It had lost its final appeal.

Had a great conversation going with a ham sandwich earlier today, cut a bit short when I lost control and ate it.

In fact, I've never known any ham sandwich to tell the truth, except one, and I ate it anyway.

So a tuna walked into a bar and they made it a sandwich.

 

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Currently out to lunch.

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