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.

 

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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'.

 

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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.

 

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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.)

 

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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