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.

 

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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.

 

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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.

 

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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.

 

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Me? Tried tossing a few lightning bolts. Not bad.

Dirt Does Not Taste Good

Don't eat dirt. It tastes bad. Too dry. Gritty. May contain greater than trace amounts of dog shit.

Found some dog poop on my shoe. Attached to a dog. Big one. A bad day for me.

Fred said he invented a perpetual motion machine and then it crawled off while he was napping and ate the dog. So I might buy one.

Grandma's AK-47 tuneups & target practice — free if you bring your own target dog.

I bought a stick yesterday. Fine. Strong. Perfectly-engineered. Thought I was set for life. Then, wouldn't you know, right away along came this growling dog, and I had to throw my new stick at it. And now they've been discontinued. And I have a dog that won't leave me alone.

I got a dog yesterday. I came home with it attached to my leg. Now, if I could just get some women to bite...

 

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Me? Been there but haven't done that.

Looking Looking

Dicky Pickles: Pat dry using napkin. Stuff into pockets. Go for a walk. Feel clever while looking stupid. #Yep.

Found more lint under the refrigerator. Something is going on around here when I'm not looking.

I got past the police again. But only because they weren't looking for me. Close call. #TheTrialsOfAnonymousJoe

I was looking for love, but kept getting redirected to OKStupid.

I'm not rich or powerful, famous, interesting or good looking, which means that Donald Trump and I have at least one thing in common besides nose hairs.

I'm much better looking in person than by postcard though.

 

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Me? Thinking about getting wheels.

Reupholstery For Minors

Saw another one of my relatives publicly executed last week. I don't know what it is with those people, but I'm really glad I changed my name and got that face transplant while I was on vacation.

Speaking of face transplants, seriously, take a look in the mirror.

Speed chunks blow past really fast.

If I were not a brick, could I still have eight corners?

Had the cat reupholstered. Tried Naugahyde this time. Cleaning only takes a quick wipe with a damp cloth, which is handy because he wore his tongue out trying to home-shampoo the carpet last year.

Little Big Man:

Old Lodge Skins 1: There is an endless supply of white men. There has always been a limited number of human beings.

Old Lodge Skins 2: Do you see this fine thing? Do you admire the humanity of it? Because the human beings, my son, they believe everything is alive. Not only man and animals, but also water, earth, stone, and also the things from them like that hair. The man from whom this hair came, he's bald on the other side, because I now own his scalp! That is the way things are. But the white man, they believe everything is dead. Stone, earth, animals. And people! Even their own people! If things keep trying to live, white man will rub them out. That is the difference.

 

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Me? Will write you from jail.

Sad Apples Of Paradise

Two sad apples came to lunch. They were sad, and apples, and I ate them. Ask me again later.

Now I broke my pen. It was blue and wrote lovely sad poems for me. No more, Mr Poopyhead.

I had another mucilage attack last night. If you don't show due diligence the stuff just sneaks up on you whenever it's in the mood.

Moodles Analytical says I'd be depressed today. Got pissed. Canceled my subscription. Then got depressed not knowing what's coming next.

Mom always wore earmuffs and only got angry whenever I asked her about them. The autopsy report said "persistent fungus", which may explain her short tenure in corporate sales, and It's always handy to have a convenient excuse on hand in any event.

Although — I have also been attacked by donuts, albeit mentally defective ones. Just to be clear, I didn't eat any of those. Only licked a few. (About a dozen. Before I put them back. So when you bought them you could have the reassurance of knowing that they had passed inspection.)

 

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Me? Still deciding. Stand back.