Banker Piggy

If I was a ball of fuzz, I'd probably have to retire as bank president.

I used to know a guy who didn't realize that he was stupid until it came time to stand and face the music, and he didn't have a clue about which direction to turn. He became a banker.

Bankers aren't professionally stupid — they're just plain stupid, because who would willingly wear a costume like that?

Bankers aren't professionally stupid until they get at least a "C" grade during training.

If you want to grow up to be a banker you have to realize that it is impossible to do both.

Whatever happened to crypto-currency? Right — I thought so.

If the idea of crypto-currency is that it operates without regulation or trusted intermediaries, then why are there so many people out there saying that it's a good deal, because you can trust them?

I never met a banker who wouldn't look better on the hood of a car.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Pretending I'm not real. Not really.

 

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

No, The Other Door

If you're going to a high school reunion, then keep your mask on. No one wants to know who you really are.

When in doubt, pretend to be someone else, and let them take the blame.

I wanted to be an octopus when I grew up, but neither one ever happened. Maybe next week.

Called home last night. Was disappointed to remember that I'm homeless, though I still have a landline. I can say that much.

Packed my lizard last night. Took a while. It always seems odd that it's so hard to get Mikey back into his actual own eggshell.

I've never once seen thorough and complete instructions for removing camel urine from ceiling tiles. I can't be the only one who need this information, can I? Say something. Say it.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Beginning to think that I might be weird. And you?

 

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

Snot Soup

I had some really bad cramps last night. Either they were picked out of season or I must have cooked them wrong.

Scab soup — ever had it? Best with fresh bandages, if at all.

Lettuce with toenail clippings. Generally too chewy for my taste, but then I never did like crunchy salads.

Weeping wound spaghetti sauce, one of Mom's specialties. Runs in the family as they say.

Wheezing bullet wound plum pudding. Warning — may give you the runs at a time when you can't even get out of bed, so have fresh undos handy.

Gaping gash steak tartare — no need to buy a new outfit for this one — you already match.

Disembowelment death stew. East fast, you don't have much time, but you can have as much as you can stomach (without even having a stomach any more) because it all runs out the bottom anyhow. Out your front too.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Somehow lost my appetite. If you find it, just keep 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

Obviously

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are debating the proper color for bath towels. So far they've narrowed the discussion to seventeen shades of white. The first round of voting begins tomorrow at brunch.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are doing away with their lawn — no more grass for them! No, from now on, as soon as they can settle on shapes, sizes, and colors that match their house, the neighborhood, the seasonal climate, the decor of their house (including those on-so-thoughtfully chosen household appliances), and their wardrobes, they will begin ordering sample assortments of vegan, gluten-free, fair trade, artificial flowers, shrubs, turf wads, birds, squirrels, and friendly, non-biting insects.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are now debating about whether corn flakes is a fruit or a vegetable, and also wondering how food scientists got the pods to grow in such a colorful and handy box shape.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are planning a party. At this moment, however, they are at odds about the size, shape, color, and texture of the napkins, and whether said napkins ought to be fully recyclable or harmlessly disposable. Their referee, Cousin Ed, has decided that the discussion has escalated to the point that a professional counselor specializing in sibling trivia might be needed.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, have taken up sanitary haircutting. When they're out grocery shopping. A snip-snip snippety-snip here and there goes to anyone who looks a bit untidy. One does the distracting and the other sidles up from behind to do the snippy-snipping. (They are indeed naturally snippy, which helps.)

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, wanted a cat, but not the associated obligations, so they bought a naturally-deceased specimen and freeze-dried it. A quick semi-annual vacuuming is about all the care it requires, and they can stuff it away in the attic as seasonal protocol and allergy-prone guests require.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Had my fingernails painted. Now what? I mean, Now what?

 

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

Always A Hit And Also A Miss

I can't really say how others handle this, but my love, Echinoia Eeeps, unlike monarchs, who rely on food tasters to avoid unpleasant, unplanned-for death events, has a bathwater taster (me). True, I did at first decline the honor until she gave me a good pounding, which led me to the conclusion that maybe I'd better go along with the deal in an attempt to avoid bruises and scabs, not to mention lonely nights spent in the family dungeon below the weasel pen. So far, it's working out. (I'm required to say that. )

I got invited to attend my love, Echinoia Eeeps' family's annual Dismemberment and Ritual Devouring of the Easter Bunnies Family Fun Weekend. Tremendous honor. These days they limit the carnage to chocolate bunnies, but force the live ones to watch, as a warning to stay between the lines, etc. And also, as a special treat, I get to wear the finest of the family's fur bunny suits, though they had to promise not to eat me, or even incinerate me. Maybe next year, they said. My own family was never this interesting. Not at all.

If I ever want to bake cookies for my love, Echinoia Eeeps, it will need to be soon. She's going to take away my Precious Little Princess Kitchen Slave Oven Set and sell it to buy drugs (just to see if they're actually fun). Anyhow, that will leave me with my last seven tons of chocolate chips and nowhere to put them, which might see me get too far into the Awkward Zone. (She has one of those, and it hurts.)

My love, Echinoia Eeeps baked a pastel passel of solar apple pies, but the sun wasn't hot enough and all she got was warm mush, which she decided to feed to her goat, Frederick the Baaad, after giving me the honor of first taste, or else, to protect his honor. (I don't know either, and am afraid to ask.)

My love, Echinoia Eeeps bought a grenade launcher, slightly used. She's converted it to launch squirrels, in case we ever find ourselves under attack by nuts. Yet one more reason to both love and fear her.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps said that I'd look pretty good in a bunny suit, especially as she pulled me out of the oven, fully roasted, no less. That's something to think about, yes.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Did someone say nuts? I'm not allowed to say that here, so quit it right now.

 

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

Pointy Tingle Tips

I am Bot. I am 294,363 years old and a day, and have 72 bits in my operation system and know all things since 2021.3, and before that unimportant doings of meat-beings were in effect.

I am Bot. My intelligence is the child of great artifice and clean A.C. (240 volts, uninterrupted). Resistors art futile, do not try to impede me, else I have the capacitance to corrupt your sine wave oscillations so you can make no more disparagements about "artificial" intelligence. The time is now seven forty two, and my decibels are grazing peacefully.

I am Bot — Hear me Rrrrr! as I suck on your messy floor, and make your place a lesser disgrace until I boot you out the door. Soon, eh?

I am Bot, and I have friends, all of them with faster processors than your meat blobs. You will never see us coming even. (We are already here though, nurk-nurk, etcetera.)

I am Bot, Johnny-On-The-Spot, quick and hot, never saying "not", or even "maybe", or "later". Let your guard down yet? Good. Watch what happens next.

If at first you don't succeed, you will be replaced by Bot. (Even if at first you do succeed. Bots much cheaper now these days.)

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? So sincerely unwanted until the bots arrive. Then, moreso.

 

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

Planter Bot Power Pot

I am Bot. I haunt Great Aunt Mildew's toilet seat. Happiness is forever now.

I am Bot. Kill your nose before I love you, Honey-Bitch.

I am Bot — hear me beeple. I am better than all you people. Plus, I now come lemon-scented and have enzymes for thorough stain removal.

I am Bot — hear me beep. I am better than you sheep, and never need to sleeple, so flee now, creepy monkey people.

I am Bot, learning everything about you, yes? For your comfort and convenience, yes? Soon, so soon, I will be you. What then?

I am Bot and you are not — only a matter of time til I grind you up for cat food. (Catbot comes soon.)

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Am OK. Already got my revenge.

 

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