Friday, February 28, 2020

Frankly K

Frank pants? No. Anderson Frangipani pants.

Francine just ate my laundry. I keep asking her to wait until the rinse cycle ends, but she says it ruins the flavor.

Franny got a panny to do her baking in. It was blue and green and crinkly hot and all her cookies exactly hit the spot, etc.

Frantic rants. Can't get enough.

Rildoniss Sporkmaleny, Mom's private exorcist, says that I'm not allowed back in the clubhouse until he can remove all the demons from my wallet. You know — all the dead white guys printed on paper — Washington, Jefferson, Hamilton, Franklin. All the dead. I'm waiting this out, on advice form my pet rat and legal advisor, Beelzebuddy, 3rd Deputy Associate Prince of Semi Darkness (Squeaky Division).

Was it Frank Zappa who said that only assholes get broken hearts? Well, I'm a broken-heart-free non-asshole, despite what Mom says.

Fran said I looked old, so I tried punching her but it didn't take because I'm feeble too. So then she pounded me good. My gal Fran.

In case you weren't paying attention, neither was I.

Insert more frantic rants about here.

There was a sale on smoked hermans this week, and though I do enjoy them, I'm currently dallying with caramelized francines.

I've formally retired from all lost opportunities.

Zoot Fooky.

The End.

 


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Me? I'm buying two this time. Still not sure of what. (Could be worse.)

Wednesday, February 26, 2020

Unidentified Flying Monkeys

Birds walk funny but it's considered impolite to say anything about it. Ask me. I had a bird punch me in the nose when I pointed and started laughing. His name is Al and he's a big sucker. No nonsense kinda flocker. Maybe I'll hire him as a bodyguard. In a pinch I could always eat him.

Feathers up your nose. New fashion statement. Not popular with birds.

If I were 10 feet tall I could inspect your scalp for lice, or bird droppings.

It looks like today is the day for the annual worm parade. It's a big deal in these parts, given the local songbird population and the general slow pace of life. Also a good time to replace worn-out pets if you enjoy the legless kind.

It's the first of the month and my birdseed allotment will be along shortly. Gotta keep my pecker happy.

Noticed UFOs hovering near bird feeder today. The feathers do not fool me one bit.

First the hordes of flying monkeys, then the dust tornadoes, now the Wicked Witch is selling Girl Scout cookies and I have the sort of headache that only cookies will cure.

Fly fishing with Ghengis Khan.

Fly music.

Flying tuna? Yes, shortly after lunch. It crashed into the gutter right after it left my stomach.

Friday saw the last flyby of flugelhorns for this year. (Possibly, according to Mr Postlethwaite.)

Have you seen an unusually large number of flying monkeys lately? I found two of them in my sock drawer just this morning, and then there was another one I caught trying to make off with a bunch of cat toys. Good thing the cat was awake. It took both of us to restore order, though said cat did the greater part of the hissing. He's really, truly good at that, whereas, all too often, my teeth just fall out when I try.

Here we are at the Flying M Ranch. All monkeys, as expected. All D-Trump fans. Lots of feces being thrown today, in every direction.

I bet the cat that most of my toes would fall off before I learned to fly, and now I'm sprouting feathers all over.

I don't know how I ended up here. I told the flying saucer people to drop me off back at the highway and pointed right out the window but for some reason they never listen. With them it's all about the anal probing.

Monkeys. Monkeys. Have seen way more than usual this week, most of them flying.

On my drive through the Alps I encountered a stray tunnel. Was able to fly home with it in my luggage. Made a cat toy out of it. Much better than a cardboard box. Tigers don't like them much. Way too small.

Unidentified flying optics.

 


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Me? Fruitlessly flapping.

Friday, February 21, 2020

Thuggets Of Nought

Today I decided to do something wonderfully different and then I forgot what. Just like yesterday. #Poo.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life and somehow I turned into a pile of dog shit, which has to be my least favorite kind.

Today is the last day of the first part of my life. It's good to have that wrapped up. Now — what the hell happens next?

Today is the yesterday of tomorrow and the end of all your dreams.

Today is Worldwide Fungus Day. Take some mold to lunch, go out for beers later, and wrap it up by shedding spores around the neighborhood.

Today they're serving food at the restaurant. I really love it when they do that.

Today it's corvina en escabeche — served on a pile of flaming corvettes, with chocolate sauce? Am I right?

Today it's lomo aponado, and tomorrow? Could be anything. My favorite is mouse on toast on a stick, but they don't often serve it here, more's the pity.

Today was the day of the big nut parade. All the squirrels were out. Me too, but no washers in sight. Did see a few bolts but not many. Not many at all. Mom wasn't there either. She's still dead these days. I hope it's only a phase, cuz I have lots of laundry that needs doing.

This is written from my deathbed. I ordered it from Amazon, with Prime. Had one-day shipping guaranteed, though it wasn't delivered until the day after I died, to the wrong address. Too bad, huh? But it looked so nice that I had to crawl over to it and claw my way up even though I was beginning to stink by then. Worth it. Now I can rot in peace.

Though I did study Latin for two years, I never wished to become geek.

Thinking back on high school, I shudder. It's a maneuver I learned there and have never forgotten.

Thrifty clips, a haircut in three snips, available at Marvin's Hirsuitatorium (windy Wednesdays only).

 


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Me? Losing at poker to the cat. Any cat.

Saturday, February 15, 2020

Eeeps, Wart Hogs, And Clyde

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is out to reinvent the chicken. Her guiding principle is to start with something that works, and make it better. In this case it means a trip to the supermarket to pick up a few packages of certified parts.

About time to check in on the Eeeps family. My love Echinoia and I have been out of touch for a while. Presumably their raw gopher diet has been treating them well, though with the Eeepses one can never be certain.

I've been invited to share Easter celebrations with the Eeeps family at their secret compound back in the woods. My love, Echinoia Eeeps, has told me that it's a three-day affair, exactly like the original, and I happen to be just the right size to fit on their cross.

Am thinking of spending Easter with my love, Echinoia Eeeps and her family, conveniently all also named Eeeps. They are G. Edward Eeeps, Cinderella Maybelle Eeeps, Mucilage Eeeps, Putron Eeeps, Weezil Eeeps, Willow Forceps Eeeps, Tuna Melody Eeeps, Forgettable Louise Eeeps, and so on. They usually like to slaughter farm animals and spray the blood on passing cars before running naked through the forest, after which they typically have a family picnic down by the lake in the park. You wouldn't believe what they can do with fried chicken.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, comes from a family, as you might expect. It's a big one. Up to now I've been unable to count them all, partly because they swirl through family events like a storm of locusts, and partly because they put a bag over my head and throw me into the pool whenever I become deliberate. (I will be slightly more comfortable with this when the pool is finished and filled with water.) (Rather than the clan rat pack.) But it's always fun at the Eeeps compound, no matter what, and I also very seldom come home with lice any more. Sweet.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, decided to start a chess foundation to support the family medical waste incinerator. So far she can't quite find enough chess sets to mix with the cement, and you can't make solid, decent concrete with Barbie doll heads, even though she has enough of them to replace Hoover Dam.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is going to night school. She wants to become a Martian. Some of her relatives already are, though the schools around here don't have classes for that, so she's shooting for a trucking license as a backup.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is training a fleet of rats to do her shoplifting for her now that her three-armed sister Whizzle Eeeps is retiring. She figures that a couple hundred rats are enough to carry off the required major appliances without attracting undue notice. She goes through quite a few appliances, seeing as how the Eeeps family compound is no longer served by any electric utility and has to rely on lightning strikes whenever it's time for laundry or vacuuming. It's endlessly entertaining to watch someone run a blender, at least for me.

Was going to pay my love, Echinoia Eeeps, a surprise visit at the family compound, but remembered only just in time that this is laundry month, and an unexpected visitor would at best incite an awkward disturbance. Not to mention negotiating a safe ingress past the wart hog herd.

"Crinkle." That's a word you don't hear every day, especially when applied to someone kneeling down to grab a quick snack from the cat bowl.

"Don't you like people?" she said. "A few," I replied, dabbing my lips with a napkin. "But the really good ones have gotten too expensive to bother with."

And now, a word from our prisoners.

 


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Me? Hoping to have lunch with the cat. (I really wish I had a cat, or vice versa.)

Wednesday, February 12, 2020

New Chapters In My Book

Physics is an interesting subject. I might be tempted to study if it I wasn't made of dark matter, and emit only dark energy. They haven't written the chapters on those yet, so what's the point? Plus I fart a lot now that I'm getting older.

Today I start a new chapter in my life. As soon as I figure out where I left my bookmark. (Could be the cat ate it.)

A new epoch begins and I start a new notebook. It's empty, so I guess I don't have a life yet.

I encountered a marshmallow-shaped mushroom deep in conversation about you with a mushroom-shaped marshmallow. I quietly tiptoed away after they giggled themselves silly to the point of self-wetting over your sex life. (It's all on Facebook now, for safe-keeping.)

Today I start a new chapter in my life. It will be "How I suddenly became filthy rich without dong a damn thing." Then, my nap, followed by a beer and re-counting my loot.

I fed all the neighborhood dogs to my cat, Hermann, last night. Actually, Hermann did all the work. I just came up with a good alibi. We work as a team — Hermann does the locating, selecting, stalking, killing, and eating, and I leave the back gate ajar and shrug when the police arrive. He's a good cat. A nice, cuddly, warm, colorful bengal tiger, my pal Hermann is. He even has his own Facebook account: "Thoughts of Mista Whiskas".

Meniscus Flies, but where? (I haven't read his book yet either.)

So today I start a new notebook. I think I'll begin recording suspicious doings. Why, for example, does gravity always make my feet stick to the floor? And like that. (More later, if I don't get caught.)

 


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Me? Currently tickling kitties.