Trite Gardening (Pat Pat)

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are going to try gardening, beginning with lawn grass. They've heard that it's hard to kill and never gets lonely.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are sponsoring a trip as a business promotion. Pay $100 to enter the drawing. The winner will have their name up in lights over the doorway. P&T will send photos from their Caribbean Cruise, with a special thank-you postcard sent to everyone who chipped in to make it possible.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are starting a farm, as soon as they accumulate enough clean dirt, which is why you see them all over town, with those little lace cloth bags. Any time that they see a little unclaimed dirt that meets their standards of rigorosity, they sweep it up posthaste into a bag and toss that into a carefully-sanitized purse. They estimate that they need only around 179,000 tons of dirt before they can plant their first fresh tidy immaculate crop, using sterile tweezers.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, will be holding an open house coffee shop workshop for interested parties. They have cups. You bring the coffee, and maybe some treats for everyone you might want to befriend. The fun will begin at 10 a.m. Saturday and will end quickly if any hissy fits or fights break out, even if the police do not need to be called to referee.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, want you to know that you're always welcome at their shop, if it's open, but not before. Please inquire by mail, with a self-addressed return envelope. (Postage for two ounces, please.)

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are lobbying for a new national holiday, Ordinary Week. The way it would work is that everything looks the same, and you go about your normal business just like always, and then eventually it's over and you go have a nap. Sound exciting? (Sounds pretty good to some of us.)

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? No longer worrying about it.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Pat Me Tritely

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, have gone into business. Their shop is "These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things". So far it's empty. They keep having huge fights about how often they should sweep the floor. And which is the most average toilet paper.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, not only finish each other's sentences, but begin them too, and forget what they were about to say in exactly the same spots. And repeat themselves, repeatedly, and have five more years until they should be eligible for parole.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, encourage all shoppers at their shoppe (The Little Obvious Shoppe) to dress well because they feel more comfortable dealing with people who know how to follow the rules. And don't forget to bring money.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are always up for new experiences, as long as they embody the familiar, the tried, and the true. Etc. Why go out of your way to poke a hog?

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, claim to have the world's largest collection of paper napkins. I bet.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are sponsoring Cushy Butt-Cushion Spare Change Redemption Week down at their DooDad Trivia Shoppe. All proceeds will be eventually routed to the needy, and everyone donating will receive a 1/10% discount on purchases over $100,000, payable in two years or whenever, on whichever cloudy Thursday first falls on February 29th, in a year divisible by 0.73961.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Plausible, but denying it.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Zoot Fukie Days

Been a little sick lately. One of my legs fell off. Good thing that I have five more.

I didn't really want to say this publicly, but I think I'm in love with your zipper. I know a few buttons who are going to be disappointed.

There are bars of soap, which you can buy, and take home, and do with what-you-will, but there are no soap bars that you can walk into and froth up a good lather whenever you feel a little lonesome.

Alessandro wasn't my first choice of names, but Mom got to the birth certificate while I was still on my way there. So "Alessandro Alekssandr McGillicuddy Schmidkunz" it was. Revenge? I pooped a lot for a long time after, a long time, and she had to clean it up. What a hodknocking moniker. (I later changed it to "Bert Stench". Nice and short. And more like the real me.)

And by the way, we haven't met yet. We probably ought to do that ahead of the wedding, if we're really going ahead with this. I'm the one on stilts, wearing antlers. Probably the only one so attired at this wedding, in case you're not sure. Yes, I have a ring. It's in my nose. It will be safe there until the Big Moment.

And now, a word from our prisoners.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Recently battered and deep fried. Now yummy.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Three Times Pointless

Ed from down in Accounting has started bugging me again. He's got this hobby-horse mounted on springs, and every so often he'll come bouncing right up to me while I'm working. Annoys the hell out of me, which explains the fly swatter. Whenever he stops, parks himself in my personal space, and begins bouncing, I stand up, face him, and swat my fly until he finally reverses and rolls off to somewhere else. And as a backup, I keep a small billy club under my desk.

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

If I could change one thing about myself, maybe I'd fall asleep face down in my soup less often, at least in public, on first dates.

Don't look now, but you're a real dipshit. Also unimpressive at it. My dead cat can do better.

Got my toad caught in a hole. While this may be a euphemism, it still hurts. Can't bear to look it in the feelers anymore.

Humid noodles. Hungry. Waiting for lunch. Six seconds to go, then the munchibeest migration begins, marking the start of eating season. Yum.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Considering fungible fungi. Could I become a fungipus? Maybe, just maybe...

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Captains On Parade Rest

Captain Sitting Quietly on the Porch recently experienced a major fright on losing his favorite toothpick. The police Toothpick Recovery Unit has been alerted however, and there is a better than even chance that the situation will soon return to the status quo ante without excessive panting, or gunfire, if any.

Captain Anonymous took out a loan that he'll never need to repay — he filled out all the paperwork using invisible ink, so they have no idea who the money went to. Currently on vacation somewhere obscure.

Captain Obvious started wearing a sign.

Captain Turbulent ruffles my feathers and I'm not a chicken, even. I just wear a few feathers on my vest to annoy the flies, so why?

Captain Anonymous disappeared again. No one was sure that it had really happened, aside from Captain Invisible, but doubters said that they saw right through him.

Captain Testosterone will be putting on a nose-hair pulling demonstration Saturday, 10 a.m. to noon. Free admission. Bring your own nose and bandages and join in if you dare.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? No longer in charge. Just visiting.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Right Way, Wrong Turn

Farbel the Vortung tried to fly up my nose. Luckily I wasn't there.

He, the King of Self-Importance, was greeted by a multi-carrot salute. Silent smiles were heard.

Songs of utter solicitation tell me I was born to be an onlooker. Could be a case of linguistic espionage.

A can of tuna came up and rang the doorbell. Said it was looking for its Mom. That's really the cat's department, so I gave it a can opener and sent it around back to see Nibbles. Here's hoping that it all came out OK.

You know, I can't remember if I've ever eaten a whole turkey, or if one has ever eaten me. Time to check my notes.

Wherever I go, daylight or not, I always carry a bucket of snot.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Learning to whiffle-snork. It might be fun. But maybe not.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Tootling My Tooty Flute

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, nameless by choice, friendless by habit, solitary by nature, stinky for lack of bathwater. But who then — who — can remain perfect at all times in all situations? Few. True, a coyote or two does mind me, and objects, but only few, only but one or two.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, tall and gaunt, casting a long shadow, and I wear spurs to bed, every night, in case there may be late trouble a-brewing.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, tootling my tooty flute, tapping my toes, taking time off to enjoy the life tension-free, among wild grasses and herbs of the far-distant lonely plains, my home for so many long years now.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting under the starry night's dome, waiting for a sign of life to come and visit.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. You do not know me, for I am an illusion cast upon the projection screen of another's dreams. In fact, you will never even know that I exist, and should I come calling one evening, hoping to borrow a cup of lard, a thimble of thumb-tacks, a bag of bilge water, you will still not know me, but you will have what I need, even if you do not have what I ask for, because you are each and every thing that I am not, except lonesome. True? So, fine.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. Today is the last day of the first part of my life, and the first day of the other part of my life, but given a chance to choose, I would say let me live backwards in time if you will, please, for I already know whatever I have done wrong and what might be attempted to ameliorate it, if I can but reverse it all.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Weaving. Still weaving. (Hey — I'm a weavil.)

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

I See Two

Harvey ain't here today, just me and Herb Chervil and a couple of lonely spiders.

I did consider going to a couple high school reunions, but I have also considered setting myself on fire from time to time, which seemed like it would have been more fun in the end. But both required a high up-front cost, given the potential rewards, so meh.

I got married again yesterday. Number 27 (I forget her name). So far it's working. I have high hopes, but am starting a new list of annoyances, just in case.

I had my eyes examined today. Still have two. One sees in UV wavelengths and the other only watches TV. Neither of them seems to like me very much. May begin interviewing for replacements soon.

Jack Sprat would eat no cats, his wife would eat no beans. Both together among themselves wore just one pair of jeans.

Christians started two world wars. What are they up to now?

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? If snoozers can't be choosers, then what am I?

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Show Me Your Wall Nuts

Ella Umbra, the sashay lady. Throwing shade since forever.

Electricity still doesn't come in pleasant colors. And still — Still! — no one cares.

"Either length witty shade son shall he balls having material believe inquiry tended wisdom?" This was on my licensing test. Looks like I'm getting certified in the right field.

Reference barbarian, reflection refugee, reform school rabbi: The one and only Reginald Wixterhube — that's me!

Saw Dad again, running down the street screaming about something. He never has time to stop and talk anymore now that he's dead.

I did my part — I stayed home and left more room on the street for the other lunatics. They'll thank me later, if they want to, if they can find me. (I'm hiding.)

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Still hanging by my nuts.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

John Thought John

I like wearing a mask. I make faces at people on the street. I talk to myself. I laugh at my own jokes. Nobody knows as long as I keep the cackling volume down. And don't wave my arms around too much. And don't double over giggling. Life in the pandemic era is a good thing.

I lost my tuna. Must have fallen out of my pants. Oh, well.

I spent most of yesterday chewing on a noodle. The outcome was in some doubt for hours, though when it comes to noodle chewing, I'm pretty well indefatigable. Also had my teeth sharpened last month, which never hurts. (Well, actually, it hurts a lot, but now I can rest.)

I used to have followers on Twitter until I figured out what Twitter was. I'm not too sure what happened after that, but I believe I'm in recovery now.

I woke up a little bit late today, but just in time as it turned out, to find an artichoke trying to make off with my pants. I need pants if only to appear human. Things go better when I wear them. I ate the artichoke. Justice has been served.

I woke up at two-thirty a.m. in the morning. Can't stand it. Give me two-thirty a.m. in the afternoon next time, and I mean it.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Feeling smug again. So damn fine smug.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Doofus On The Loose

"Priscilla Fluckpeather" was my grandmother's maiden Name. After her marriage she went by "Robert".

All quiet here. Nothing newsworthy going on, though everyone I see is giving me an odd look. I have a bag full of them, if you need any. Useful for those days when you want a disguise.

All things considered, I guess an advanced case of rabies is a pretty good excuse not to go to work today. More fun as well.

All wood, solid good, however not quite suitable as food. 3¢ or best offer. Willing to trade for used potato chips.

Bought a 27-year-old tiger at the big auction. His name is Tom. He mostly stares and growls — you know tigers. But I need a drinking buddy, and he's more friendly than anyone else. And we both like to eat people, so we always have something to talk about.

Bought a boxcar fulla pine cones. Gonna dipem all in chocolate. The kids around here will lovem. Only cost me $48,000 so far.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Feeling more slippery and slithery than usual.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Reaching The Nibble Tipping Point

I almost invested in scrungebunny futures, but there is no future in scrungebunnies. Another disaster averted through timidity.

"Estofado de res" is not an infection, at least among normal people. But I think I have a case.

A rowboat went by, ferrying a pie. Raspberry, methinks. We both waved. Friends are forever, and you can eat some of them.

A shipment of pollen arrived today. I'm thinking that the bees must have ordered it. They've gotten lazy since they won the lottery.

Got my nubbins buffed. Sue went yesterday to have her nibble tips massaged. Now the cat wants some action. #LifeAmongThePolished

Found a suction cup stuck to one of Clarisse's nibble tips when I woke up. At times I can get frisky even while asleep. Wonderful me, such a fine person to know.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? I keep trying, don't I?

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

There's No Time Like Bunker Time

Shaman Week is the year's major holiday for the Eeeps family. As usual, and by tradition, they've decorated the family compound and even the family bunker with the remains of dead relatives — some fresh and moist, others well-molded, and a few in brine and vinegar, should there ever be a food emergency such as occurred a brief few years back.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, used to be quite a devotee of track and field events. She would track trespassers into one of the many family fields, and open up with one of her machine guns, calling it damn fine target practice to keep her skills up for Pig Slaughter Week at the Eeeps family compound and bunker complex.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, purchased a conversion kit so's she can remake herself into a ladydroid — a merdroid, in fact — and go out merdroiding people. Yes, I have seen this coming for quite a while, and have my own private, well-stocked bunker all set and ready until she tires of it and moves on to the next shiny hobby. (And let's hope that it's not nuclear war.)

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is embarking on a quest to have the world's most fascinating string collection, starting with the ends and working toward the middle. She said I can watch if I promise to behave myself. Otherwise she'll hog tie me and dump me along the old abandoned highway that runs past the north side of the family bunker. Right now I've decided it's time to get back to thinking critically, and most carefully.

It's Shaman Week down at the Eeeps family compound, and my love, Echinoia Eeeps, has been practicing by vaporizing toads with only her thoughts. Plus, she has a flamethrower as backup for the uncooperative ones.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, got a T38 tank for Xmas. Not as a gift really — she stole it. And boy can she ever drive that sucker around the yard. Pretty good shot too, as I discovered while trying to sneak into the family compound so I could surprise her. There's no surprising that lady, not when she's on maneuvers.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Still trying to get the peel off my cotton candy.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Vanessa Vacantall Ain't Here Yet

Portal to the passageway. Closed for now, maybe for then too. Please don't come back.

If my wastebasket is empty, it means that someone is thieving garbage again, because if there is one thing that you can count on me for, it's generating amountains of waste.

Sitting alone, in an empty cafe, sipping a sole coffee, nibbling wafers and whey. #AnotherPreciousAsshole

That noise you hear? That is the sound of the sound of my snoring. Because my head is empty. And it echoes. And you aren't any more interesting neither.

Beaks For Peace, an empty blessing or a vacant threat? Will call back if I find out.

Bimp Limbo — probably a thing. Could be a dance move. Just speculating.

Bought some rubber bands. Will add them to my collection right after lunch, unless I forget. That happens. Well, best eat — I'm empty again.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Still pretty much as you first found me.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Imaginaria Animalium Iterum, Eh?

Imaginary Animals, Again, Eh?

* Northern Latitude Rot Flocker. Not as tasty as you might expect. Somewhat chewy, and rowdy too, after swallowing, especially in large groups ("flockings"), which are hard to keep down. Weirdly attracted to cook pots, possibly with disturbing results. Likes snow tires too.

* Dark Dank Corner Creepy Thing. Hard to describe. Even harder to eat, especially cooked. (They don't go willingly, at all.) Has a call like heavy breathing on the back of your neck, without the excitement of anticipation. More like the stillness of the tomb on a slow Thursday, come to think about it. (No one feels quite right on Thursdays anyhow, do they? And this is much worse.) Most of them prefer to be called "Ed", for unknown reasons, and may bite if teased, or not. Never a whole lot of fun at parties, though they can be surprisingly entertaining after a few beers.

* Hypotheticalamus. The kind of thing you hear rooting around downstairs in the middle of the night on exactly one of those nights when you're sure that something terrible will happen if you go looking for trouble, so you stay in bed and hope for the best, hope that the cat is both able and willing to pull through for you and take care of everything.

* Duckbilled Ashtray Sniffer. You're pretty much OK if you don't smoke, but they're still noisy little bastards. Pray that they don't notice that you have shoelaces.

* Huffy Puffy Upholstered Hissy Fitter. Makes every other beast-form seem tame by comparison, especially goldfish and dust bunnies. Often observed in office environments, all too frequently in a cubicle adjoining yours, with a clear view of your desk and everything you do. Likes to play a radio all day, in case you ever have the deluded idea of inclining toward focus with the intent of accomplishing something important. Disapproves of your socks, your hair, the place where you were born, the way you pronounce your own name, and anything else concerning you, yourself, and your life that they haven't uncovered yet. When not engaged in outright hectoring, may make interminable clucking sounds, interrupted by the all-too-frequent telltale hiss. Dresses like your grandmother. Answers to "Karen".

* Free-Ranging Saturday-Afternoon Mood Spoiler. Never known to be an agreeable dinner guest, especially the ones who habitually steal snacks from the pet food bowl while complaining that the cookout isn't progressing rapidly enough. Gets defensive when asked to identify self, seeing as how no one admits to extending an invitation in their direction, not even once, and no one (also, neither, never, no-how) can even identify same. Never brings food or drinks to share. Tends to fart during the most inopportune interludes. Often mangy.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Trying to huff a pufferfish. (It's hard, really hard.)

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Love Bumps

Mom said she didn't love me any more, until I told her I'd be cutting off her allowance.

Have I ever told you that I love you? I'm really hungry right now, so how about we do it after lunch?

Love is like an avocado in some respects. If you know what those are, please write — I'm always home.

Well, I got through Xmas again with my wrapping intact. Year by year, no one wants me, I never get discovered, I never find love, never get a chance to spread disease or eat any children, so what is there left to live for? Next Xmas — that's what. I've got to get lucky one of these years. Maybe I could get my teeth fixed. A little sharpening never hurt. Not that much.

I just wanted to tell you that I love you but we haven't been introduced yet. Besides, I'm pretty well occupied right at the moment, working on my runny nose problem.

When Mom said she loved me, she was actually thinking about pie.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Bumping. That's all I do.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Fly With Me

I don't know about you, but I'm beginning to run low on chocolate-covered nibble tips and angel fat.

The Devil is in the Badlands. Check the calendar for details.

Associate not with evil men lest you increase their number. -- George Herbert. Party on.

Evil secondhand cookie man came to town last week, but we were wise to that trick. Now we just watch TV.

Honorary Evil, a new merit badge, currently in beta testing. Can't hardly wait. Never like the old wishy-washy stuff.

Found God in the gutter again, last night. A half-full bag of catnip too. Do you really want to deal with life in a universe like this?

If God were an artichoke, that would be yet another good reason to avoid them both.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Still excellent to be with. All the spiders say so.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Ima Ginaria Ani Malium, Eh?

Imaginary Animals, Eh?

* Me. I'm completely synthetic, can be consumed by any vegan, anywhere, at any time, if they don't mind being punched in the face for being the kind of people they are.

* Ruffelosaurus. Eats only potato chips. Farts a lot. Lives only long enough to become annoying.

* Great Horny Flappy Thing. Completely naked in anticipation of events that none of us even want to think could be hypothetically possible.

* Southern Jazz Tromboleus. Loud. Indiscriminately scatters large droppings wherever it goes. Thinks that the Music Age ended with Glenn Miller. Could be right. Who are we to judge? Watch your step. (They're the squishy ones.)

* Radio Frequency Jam and Jelly Fish. Comes with a freshwater tuner.

* Silva Mind Control Chia Pest. Floats like a buzzerfly, stinks like a dung beetle. Sings, but not in tune. Tastes bad, unless you like dung. (Not my favorite.)

* Return of the King Toad Sucker. Well folks, if you've got a toad stuck in your toilet, jamming up the works and preventing smooth moves, then you need a toad sucker, and these are the best. Not safe to use around small children, or if you wander around the house with your pants off (guys). Other than that, pretty mellow. (Does however make a giant sucking sound.)

* Strawberries-and-Cream Mother of God Plush Sleeping Lizard. Your snacking and nap-time pal.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Also a nightmare. (Licensed and certified!)

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

SparklIzzards

Ever try cuddling with a lizard? (Asking for a friend. He's OK, aside from a few scaly bits. Pretty much OK. Usually. Sort of. Has some odd tongue issues.)

I bought a lizard yesterday. Going to name him Chuck. About 12' long. Lots of teeth on one end. Ate the neighbor lady yesterday. Now eyeing me. He likes these staring matches, but I have a good grip on the flamethrower and ain't lettin go.

Lizards on parade — something I'll never get used to. Maybe not them either. Especially the one who had to carry the bass drum. (What's a fish with a drum doing in a lizard parade?)

No, my scaly friend is not a lizard, but you can feed him bugs if you'd like.

Turn off your lizard — now!

Yeah, I'm gettin old. 'S why I have my lizard, Pete. Pete nips me on the butt whenever I get morose. That's what pals are for, innit?

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Practicing for the tongue rodeo. Square knots, mostly.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Pat Me Tritely

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, what a pair. So alike that they can't even recognize each other in the mirror.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, have nicknames. One is "Pat" and the other is "Trite". With nicknames like these how can they lose? Plus, so much less to remember this way.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, bought a cat to match their drapes.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, celebrate New Year's Day on New Year's Day, and the Fourth of July on the fourth of July, and try to keep it at that, with the possible exception of Thanksgiving, or any other holiday, secular or religious, if someone is serving ordinary good food and they don't have to either help out or pay for it.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, would like you to know that they are just average, ordinary, down-to-earth, plain folks but still way better than you could ever be, no matter how hard you try, so you don't have to ask.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, loudly proclaim that they are strong and independent women and then continue sitting on the front porch in matching hard-backed rockers, counting cars, and using their 8X binoculars to scan for homeowner's association violations up and down the street. Or anyone suspiciously walking anywhere.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Occasionally not so obvious as you might expect.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Smile If You're Hungry

I once again have that old, familiar feeling that I'm being stalked by noodles.

I didn't kiss you last night because I'm allergic to nosehair (in large quantities anyhow), and I had to get back to stealing hubcaps.

I didn't see that coming, did you? No idea what it was, where it came from, or where it went. How about you? Hello? Am I alone again?

I don't want to say this too often, but if there is a hole around, someone is going to fall into it, so why don't you walk ahead of me for a while.

I found Sir Edwin Lutyens rooting around in the garden about daybreak today. Died: January 1, 1944 (aged 74). Alma mater: Royal College of Art. Occupation: Wart hog. And he wasn't in a talkative mood.

I bought a clammer today. Got a good deal on it too. It's white. Made by Yang — a Yang clammer. Only $273.46. Now I need to find out what it is.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Ask as often as you like, but I'm not talking.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Prodverbs

Run with the sheep.

A friend in need is like an umbrella without a pickle.

A twitch in the spine needs some twine.

Butt the mustard.

Katy, bar the kangaroo and meet me in court. Hop to it!

Let's get down to brat smacks.

Pull yourself up by your bootflaps, but be quiet about it. Maw is a-sleepin'.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Still learning how to try my shoelaces. (Having some trouble finding the right court.)

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Tongue Out, Eyes Vacant

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, drifting from one dream to another, unseen, unheard, but still prepared. My shirts are pressed, my trousers sharply creased, in tall, well-polished boots, and never without sparkling spurs, or Ed, my sock puppet, who keeps me company through every long, cold night.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, drifting the vacant prairies, a half-dry Sharpie and rusty mind for companions, scratching pointless haiku on bent fence posts. Amen.

I am the lonesome Cowboy, harboring many regrets for a life poorly-lived, choked with regrets since I have known no one, have done nothing, and have never had the chance to make ordinary mistakes in love or life other than that escaped fart at that one funeral last week.

I am the lonesome Cowboy, just sitting here with Lint, my pocket pet, having a quiet, private conversation about the meaning of life, and what kind of fuzz it's best to be, if that's all you can be, and have no friends anyway.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, reclining in place, content for now, tootling by tooty flute, waiting for something unfortunate to occur, as it always does. As it always does.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, riding my unicycle through desert washes and slot canyons, looking for lost change. It's a tedious and slow way to earn a living, prone to endless days of hopeless pedaling, but it suits me just fine, and no one ever asks me why I'm not a barber.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Lost my pet noodle. Dang.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Dumplings Are Mostly Illegal Here

"Chicken labels due in six months", the headline said, but it was a lie.

"Fumarole", not so much a word as a state of mind.

"If it's not one thing, it's another", as my mother used to say. She's dead now, so I guess it finally got her.

"It doesn't matter — I'll live!" he said, just before the monkey shot him.

"Ship To Shore Fellatio" — a demanding art form.

Q: So, the plane crashed, you survived, but no rescue party showed up for a month? How did you get by — what did you do for food?

A: Not hard, I just ate the dead. A lot of them were quite plump — gooey-chewy, healthy-plump Europeans. Would I do it again? Well, the plane crash was frightening, absolutely truly frightening, so maybe not.

"Waiter — there's a fishhook in my spaghetti." (To be continued if time allows.)

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Working on new legislation to fix things.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Post Mortem Isn't Always Forever

Not all serial killers are named Mel. Some of them even live near you. Make food deliveries to your place, and so on.

The last time I saw a decent review for a serial killer, it was about my Uncle Ed, a few years back now, and no wonder. Standards in the trade have radically declined in recent years.

Whatever it was that upset me last night seems to have crawled away and died. I can't tell by the smell though, I think. But something smells bad in here. Maybe the cat died again. He does that from time to time, the little scamp.

Before he died, and was buried, Dad said I should catch him if he ever got loose. I've been doing that ever since, about twice a week I'd guess.

Mom killed and ate a rogue tomato — said it attacked her. She don't mess around, Mom don't. It's how she kept us kids in line, the ones that survived. I'm still skittish around tomatoes to this day. And around Mom specifically.

Saw Dad again, running through the park, naked. Why? He never had this much fun while he was alive.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Still breathing heavily.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

God — Still Fighting Snakes

Well, God happens to be a close personal enemy of mine, as well as a notorious drinking clown, but I've been told that I'm OK as long as I stay way over here with the adults.

The School for the Godly was closed yesterday because all the students were suddenly incinerated without warning. Something involving lightning bolts and a whole bunch of swearing coming in from the distant cosmic background.

Knowing God personally isn't really that great. I once had a pet hamster who was a whole lot more fun, and he fit in my pocket. Didn't stink either.

Have you ever seen God drunk? Not pretty, but there's always a bottomless pitcher on that table, so you might as well sign up for puke patrol if you get too close.

God and me was down by Wally-Mart again last night, checking out the babes. Not as many as there usta-was, mostly gettin' older too, averagein' around 58 I'd guess, and no more young ones comin in — somethin' like MySpace. Could be time for Rupert Murdoch to buy it and put in a Hooters every here and there. Anyway, me and God gotta find somethin' better to do now, assuming I still want to hang out with him. Maybe not. I need a life.

If I had to choose between God and a jar of decent peanut butter, I wouldn't even need to think about it. Peanut butter leaves no guilty residue.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Started thinking about stinkweed again.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Willowy Anne Enchantress

I am a noon witch, not that funny without my feelers.

I tried watering my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Wicked-Witch-of-the-West, and it did not turn out well.

Before we get too far into this, I should inquire politely — is this your first time drowning in quicksand?

I'd like to ask your name, but people get spooked when houses talk, so I'll just button up and quietly digest you.

Every day you look lovelier and lovelier, and today you even look a bit like tomorrow.

Webbly Weezer here. Glad to meet you. I'll be on duty until three. That's my nap time. Around dusk I transform into a werewolf and eat stray children. What can I say? It's a living.

Yesterday, today, tomorrow, like some moronic street gang. They keep coming at you because they don't know any better.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Not eating worms. Not any more.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

I Am The Nummber One Dumshit

Communications from my reader.

Subject: ALL YOUR DATA HAS BEEN HACKED AND COPIED TO MY SERVERS. INSTRUCTIONS INSIDE
From: India Fitzpatrick <jerkwork@dumshit.come-on>
To: Me!!!!
Date: 2022-07-11

Hi There.

The following is the very last notification.

I broke into your system using the Wifi router you were connected to.

Several months prior, I easily accessed the devices that you previously used to get online.

All of the information from your own gadgets & devices has been quickly copied to my machines.

I can take advantage of all your messengers, social networking sites, emails, chat history, & contact information.

My virus regularly updates its signatures (driver-type), for that reason it remains not visible to anti-virus tools. I guess at this point you see, the reasons why I remained quite until this present day

Whilst gathering infos about you, I noticed that you are a huge fan of adult web pages and even more. You actually like to stop by porn websites & view filthy vids whilst getting an orgasmic pleasure.

I've already created a web cam shooting videos of you jerking off. The cropping and editing of the video clip you were seeing at that moment & your masturbation. Your own face is clearly visible. I do not believe this particular information would be really good for your profile.

I can easily direct this video footage to every person who realize your identity.

I in addition have no challenge with making all of your discreet data open public on the web. I'm sure you know what i am talking about.

It may be a huge disaster for you.

I am able to mess up your life forever.

I really think you seriously don't need that to occur.

Now let's fix it in this way: you transfer me 1200 $ (dollars) using Bitcoin equivalent at the moment of transaction), and I will asap get rid of all of your information from my servers. After that, we'll forget about one another.

My btc address for transfer: andifyoufallforthisyouaredumberthaniam

If you don't realize how to transfer money and what Bitcoin is. Simply just key in the Google "Get btc".

I give you two business days to send the funds. The timer launched monitoring automatically once you opened this email. I'll receive a warning when this letter is exposed.

Do not attempt to search aid, as the wallet can't be monitored, email the letter is originating from & can't be tracked either & generated automatically, hence there isn't any point in texting to me. Don't try to get in touch with the authorities & other protection solutions, & should you choose to do, your own data will undoubtedly be revealed.

Switching security passwords in social networking sites, e-mail, and devices won't help you, as all the information is already downloaded to my servers.

All the best and don't do something foolish. Think about your personal future.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Shaking in my booties.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Caught Without Armholes

"Pssst - hey, buddy, you got arms?" It was a voice I hadn't heard before, and coming from outside my head this time. A building was talking to me. A building. There are lots of them around here, so I looked. This one. Here. Huh.

On a pillar on a facade, there, here, a face. Faint. A faint face. It was looking at me. Like it knew me or something. Almost familiar.

Because it should be familiar, if I had seen it before, because I had walked along this street many times but never noticed. But maybe I had.

So maybe I had seen it and not noticed. Maybe we even knew each other.

Possible. So?

I forget a lot. It's one of my specialties, forgetting. Not everything though, mostly important things. I forget significant, important things and all too often retain the junk, the residue, the unimportant impressions, the mistakes, the embarrassing things. But that's beside the point, isn't it?

Because today this building was talking to me. A part of the building. A part at eye level, close by my ear. It was looking at me and asking me a question, this question: "Hey, buddy, you got arms?"

Of course I do — can't you see? Of course it could, this pile of masonry — it has eyes. So it can see. As well as talk, I guess.

Yes, I have arms. What you need?

"I dropped my cigarette. Fell out of my mouth. Can you pick it up for me? Put it back in my mouth?"

Sure, why not? I'm not a dick, at least not this morning, so not always. Sometimes though, but not at this moment.

So I pick up the smoldering cigarette and carefully place it back into the mouth of the face on the wall of the building right here, right now, this morning. And then I go.

That's about it.

I don't talk about it. Not often. Not with everyone.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Now I got something stuck in my ear.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Creeping The Stairs

I collect stains — keepem in a box under the stairs, next to Grandma's lint and shrunken head collection.

We had a small earthquake today. Someone upstairs farted or something.

Uncle Wally Walpole's wife left him. Tired of having to use a stepladder. (He used to be tall.)

It was as quiet as a shadow falling through an open door. Whatever it was. (Didn't see it either.)

Go back to that crazy dark cranny, Granny. Rest your feelers. Cool your mandibles. Preen your pincers. Time is on your hide.

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.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Just got my feelers waxed.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Honk If You're Indubitable

Black house paint covers well and won't rub off. Saves loads of money otherwise spent on makeup, which I don't wear anyway, so by not painting myself, I save loads.

Try making house payments with cookie dough. I'll watch and take notes.

Sam came by for a visit. Asked if he could sleep in the doghouse. I have no idea who the hell he is. Don't have a doghouse either.

Tried to redo my house with that milk-based paint but a swarm of houseflies came and flew off with it.

International House of Pancreas. Now open, 4:00 a.m. to 3:59 a.m., retroactively. By invitation only. Free nibbles for pank rats.

Mom traded me in for a slightly used hamster as soon as I was born, but I was pretty good at crawling for my age and beat her home from the pet shop and sold the house out from under her. Got custody of the hamster too. Now it's just Fuzzy Bob and me.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Tongue still frozen to the flag pole.

All I Know Today

"Doink." That's all I know. May have something to do with the cat's piggy bank. (He's saving up for a house of his own.)

I got a snake tattoo at Bob's House of Wigglies. Then I took a nap. When I woke up, the cat was gone. So was the tattoo. The only clue was a note on the kitchen table, with one word: "HISS". This will require more research. #NowIHaveNoFriendsAtAll

If rats were as big as houses they'd never fit into the traps. And if rats were as big as houses they'd never come in through the toilet either. (Scares the snot out of the cat.)

Mom doesn't clean house any more since she's dead. Doesn't take care of the cats any more, because ditto, and they're dead too, so it's been up to me. Not that bad, especially since I'm the only one using the litter box any more, and the cats are easy to walk around.

Smoked my mother last night. She didn't want to be buried or incinerated like a pile of wet garbage either, and I couldn't agree to letting her "beloved cats" feed on her carcass either, so I just propped her up in the smokehouse for a month or so, shrink-wrapped the result, and now she's a garden gnome out back of the house. Pretty good at scaring away squirrels too. Not to mention some of the neighbors.

I built a house for my hamster, but he only pooped on the floor and disappeared into the heating duct, just like my wife. Ex-wife I guess I should say. Presumably. We'll have to send little Ralphie back into the HVAC system to do one last sweep of the system, and then I'm moving out. Take that, Melissa and Fuzzy-Butt.

I wrote a poem yesterday. I haven't done much of that lately. Then it farted and stunk up the whole house, so now I remember why.

 

---

See tabs at the top for definitions and books.
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Would be house-poor if I had one to be poor in.

Passing Sand

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, after-hours rogue, who silently crawls behind the newspaper stacks to nap and wakes, in solitary fashion, hours after the library has closed for the summer. Left uniquely, unqualifiedly, non-gregariously, non-socially alone, a complete singleton with dust on my pants and books in my lap and no one in sight for months, all silent and still. Yippee, my friend.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, counting sand by candle light. It is a pleasant occupation, not meant for hasty or impatient folk, but often quite the exact thing to pass a long night alone, as so often happens in my life. Two.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, letting my subscription to Better Homes & Gardens expire. It seems about the right time, don't you think?

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, on the beach at midnight, in a pouring rain, wet through, the only way that I don't feel so alone.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting here with all I own — two boots and a saddle. Even my horse has moved on.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. If you have seen me then you have not. If you have heard me then have heard only silence. If you think of me, ever, then no, you have not. I am but the lost memory of a vanished flicker of thought, one that cannot be visited or held in the mind. I am not stationary, or reliable, and my name does not appear in books, or on plaques or monuments. I am evanescence itself. Now, if you please, I must go. It is time to miss lunch yet again.

 

---

See tabs at the top for definitions and books.
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Recently ignored by everyone.

No Cat Faith

God and me went bowling last night. I won again, because I actually exist. Score again for the benefits of reality.

God came by last night, to borrow ten bucks, The fucker still owes me from last year, but what can you do? Just stands there, waiting, and there's that whole eternity option hanging like a deep cloud.

God farted last night. I hate it when that happens, even from the other side of the universe. Tactless bastard.

If God was any good at jumping rope, I wouldna lost that bet last night. Fucker.

The cat doesn't believe in God either, but cats don't believe in anything.

And God Doesn't have a pet. God has you.

 

---

See tabs at the top for definitions and books.
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@nullabigmail.com
Me? Tried tossing a few lightning bolts. Not bad.