Baked ham, I can tell you, has few to no conversational skills, at least the one that I ate last week, I didn't really want to, but what else could I do at that point?
Become a potato for a day. You can do it, I know you can.
Bee juice: I take no responsibility for this, not now, not ever..
Diaries on fire, and about time, too.
Frenly Denwat's School of Freestyle Tango. Recently repainted. (Smells better now.)
Fried cream, better tasting than fried ugly. For most of us, although the frightening fish of Frisbee Flats may disagree. I personally rely only on fruit-based safety techniques.
I -uh- didn't want to say this to your face, but -uh- never mind. You'll find out one way or another, eventually. And if you're lucky, it won't be too late by then either.
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Me? Uh...
Been feeling a tad cranky lately, so I went and chased the neighbor's dog around the block a while, and bit his ass a few times and eventually got some relief. I feel good for a change.
Dog festering. Nothing unusual there. Just put a bandage on it and come back next year.
I had a chili dog today, for a while, until it ran away with a bowl of munch nuggets.
It looks like another big soccer championship is in progress. They seem to have one of these every day of the week — guys running around and doing a lot of kicking. They all used to have dogs, but balls are more popular in the modern age. So now they kick their balls.
What do dog catchers do with the dogs they catch, and why are there no cat catchers? There has to be demand. Grab a pussy and give it some love rubs, for crying out loud. At least once in your life.
So the power is off again, and just as I was about to electrocute the neighbor's dog too. Go figure. No fun around here, so I guess I'll just have to unleash the alligators instead. Lesson for life there — Always have a backup. (And don't fucking bark all night either.)
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Me? Just exploring hobby options.
They got this music playing where I eat lunch. Slows me down. Keeps knocking me out of my chair. Yes, it's loud, but it's free, for as much as I can stand.
Cheez Whiz ain't my idea of a great musical instrument but I guess I really need to wait until I hear the whole orchestra before making a final decision.
Let's set everyone to music. Gravy music, cholesterol music, plain water music. Whatever — let's just get on it.
I never listen to music any more, since they stopped putting it in Cracker Jack boxes, around 1953 or so.
I never listen to music unless I find some in my pocket, mixed in with the lint.
I never listen to music unless I happen to get some as change.
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Me? Patiently listening quietly for the mouse flutes.
I saw Dad on Thursday. He was coming out of a church, riding on someone's coffin. He just can't get enough of that recently-post-dead stuff. Maybe they'll bury him deeper this time.
Due to climate change I'm no longer wearing clothes, except Tuesdays and Thursdays, if it's snowing somewhere.
Every other Thursday afternoon something happens. I personally don't get out much, but have been informed about this by those in the know.
Harmless Thursdays were invented by Harmony Handles and her alter egret, Harmony Honkweezer. I don't know the rest of the story but it's time for lunch anyway, so just drop it, OK?
I got attacked by rats yesterday, which was a bit off. They usually do this only on alternate Thursdays in July in years divisible by 437, so something weird is definitely going on around here.
I really don't have much use for Thursdays any more, so I've decided to sell all of mine, but I can't seem to find the right category on Craigslist. Any suggestions out there?
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Me? Having less fun than I expected to.
If you see a guy put both of his hands over the top of his head, it might be because he forgot his hat, or maybe he's expecting some incoming bird poop. Or both, I guess. Could happen.
Captain Attention Deficit & Hyperactivity Disorder was distracted by a fly and took off after it. They're now engaged in a dogfight over Philadelphia.
Caught a fly in my soup, taking a poop, over the side of his sloop. That's it — after today I'm never eating here again. (Little fucker wasn't even wearing a Coast Guard approved life jacket.)
If pigs could fly, I'd never buy a house near the airport, but if hamsters could fly, I'd start my own air force. Because fun!
Flightless Farnsworth, the Man With No Aeroplane. Appearing by appointment only. (Thursdays.)
To demonstrate the Coriolis effect, I loosened all my flaps and then spun around like crazy. And then I forget what came next but it was probably pretty cool.
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Me? Keeping my flaps polished from here on out.
At this very moment, snow is falling somewhere, but my underwear is staying up.
Harvey Wishbone and his Dancing Memorabilia. I had a dream about this once.
Has anyone ever attended a 100th high school reunion? I think I'm going to miss mine. Prior engagement, and probably some decay going on about then too.
I guess I'm not sure how you feel about all of this, but I'm not required to care, so just sit down and have a grape. The first one is on us.
I had a dream last night, but it got away. Ran under the bed somewhere and I can't find it now. I do still hear it squeaking from time to time though, softly. So softly.
I had my butt removed late last week. I don't remember why. Feels weird, but then it always did, which might be why I had it removed.
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Me? I don't always talk this way. Sometimes it's through my nose. Want to come and watch?
I was born an only child and hope to die that way, unless other arrangements can be secured. Of course, a lot depends on how my sister is feeling then.
My sister had a doll. Dad ran over it. #AbruptStoryCollection
I've never wanted to be a walrus, unlike my sister, but we're distinctly different people, and she floats better. Or maybe it's because she farts more.
Got a call from my sister last night. She's on Mars — says the bus service is terrible so you're stuck either walking everywhere, or you have to buy a car, and the shipping fees from earth are totally crazy. So, good place to avoid, at least for now.
My sister came over last night. "Hey, turd brain", she said, affectionately, while shooting snotballs at me with a rubber band. She does that to catch my attention, but it's getting kind of old. She's 46 this week.
My sister reports being harassed by a local crevasse. Says she can hardly get out the door anymore without it chasing her around. I thought maybe she should get a dog. The world will be a better place when more dogs disappear down giant ice cracks. Until then, a crevasse makes a dandy place to dump garbage and dispose of grass clippings and unwelcome relatives, which is one seriously good reason why I never visit her anymore. Too tempting, for all of us, in so many ways.
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Me? I'm not really like that. I'm like other stuff. Like chocolate. I'm like chocolate a lot. Mmmmm.
What sort of avocado has hair on it? One may have walked past here, earlier. We'll investigate the surveillance videos and get back to you once we have an idea. Maybe after lunch. Next year sometime.
What kind of world would it be like, you might wonder, if horses had two legs? Well, they do. They have two legs and also spares for when those first ones go flat. In case you never thought of it that way before.
Wendert Fimml was my 7th grade spatula-handling coach. Fell into the batter one day and got made into a waffle. Somewhat greasy, we all thought, but he was always like that anyway.
Well, I'm learning to compromise. If I do have to pay rent, then I guess I have to do it with money too. But it's still annoying.
Yes, it is that time of the year again. I'm beginning to sprout new buds and turn green all over.
I washed my wombat again. At least that's out of the way for another year, and one of us is actually happy about it.
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Me? Too busy dreaming to end my nap yet. So buzz off, 'K?
Yes, I did eat the cheese from your mousetrap, and it wasn't all that good.
Yeah — everybody said it was all right, but I still got arrested. Am now doing 10 to 20 with no chance of ice cream on my pie. No pie either, but I do get to keep my teddy bear, and have a pet cockroach if I'm a good boy.
Wombats on parade — seen any? Not around here, though I do catch some faint drumming noises late at night. #MakesYouWonderDon'tIt
Why didn't I bring my earplugs today? Now I'm stuck listening to you eat.
Why do chipmunks get to have all the fun? (Asking for a CEO.)
What's a ventriloquist without a vent? I bet you don't know either.
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Me? It's a thing I do. The squeak. I squeak sometimes.
I found God drunk and passed out in the gutter again. There was a church across the street — lots of people inside, howling up a storm, except for one guy shaking his finger and giving God a stern lecture on cleanliness, sobriety, and godliness. Didn't seem to have any obvious effect, but when God came to, I did some serious washing down with the garden hose for a good two minutes, and then we went and had pizza and dripped dry. Pretty decent day overall, with the entertainment and everything. Decent pizza too, and God actually paid this time.
Does God masturbate or what? God, the ultimate he-man, but no wife or even girlfriend, and no candidates in the known universe, except for that one human woman about 2000 years back who got knocked up and then abandoned to the care of her actual husband, and what the hell was his true role in all this, really?
God never wanted to be God, as I heard it, but was promoted as the last one remaining on the job after all the talent left for more rewarding options.
Got to check in with Satan one of these days. It's been a while. Have to do it in person though. Satan never answers emails, etc. You know how it is with the old-timers.
I hear that God is contemplating putting out a line of self-branded beer. Like, doesn't that sort of just happen? "Let there be house beer!" Etc? May be another clue that things are really seriously eftup around here. Seriously.
Me, I'd say never trust any god who has never bathed. (And demand proof of any statements to the contrary.)
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Me? Just waiting for the universe to end. Finally, right?
Captain Obvious flew over the garden party, dropping handfuls of cornflakes on everyone. Some described it as a cute gesture. Others fired back indiscriminately. Another reason that I avoid the obvious whenever possible.
If price was no object, then Captain Price-Conscious would be out of a gig, but really — how many of us does that apply to?
I am Captain Anonymous, explorer, searcher of lost horizons, single bookend, timekeeper, muffin rancher, and all-around guy, or would be if anyone knew me. Hah!
Captain Trud frequently got into unfortunate altercations over either the spelling or the pronunciation of his name, which actually means "poopyhead".
Captain Tenuous Attachment to Reality just got fired from his shoe-salesman job. Again. He'll be back though. When you need a men's size 7 1/2 EEE, who you gonna call? A little disjointed on-the-job raving is to be expected from genuinely unique staff, so OK.
Captain Painful Rectal Itch was unhappy yet again. All day. Go figure.
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Me? This might be why I never joined.
"If you really loved me, would you go so far as to set yourself on fire?" asked my love, Echinoia Eeeps, as she gently pushed a box of matches across the table toward me. It so happened that just about then she had also gifted me a set of fireproof underwear, for my birthday. There must be meaning buried somewhere in here. Makes a person wonder though, doesn't it?
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, has been unusually quiet for an unusually long time now. We're expecting the inevitable eruption at any moment, which is how it goes. I've already got my helmet on. Been wearing it for weeks, in fact.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, told me to get lost. (She likes to hunt me.) I now have six minutes to hide in the forest.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, said I'm a dick, or should get one, or something else that maybe I'm not quite clear on. Maybe she meant "duck". Or "deck", but if she meant "dock", then I'd probably need a boat to round out my outfit, though she didn't offer to raise my allowance to pay for it, so maybe she did say "deck", but that in turn raises whole bunches of other issues, which leaves us at "dack", which I can understand, sort of, because it makes no sense at all, which is normal around here. I'm betting on "dack" then. Wish me luck.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, rented a mouse from the mouse-rental people, "Skweeks-R-Us". She's going to try it out as a cat trainer. She has cats, don't you know, and some need training and some need refresher courses, and if you want a good trainer, go get one whose life depends on knowing their shit, because they need to get it right the first time. The only time — do or die, right or rot, launch or lunch. And if you rent-a-mouse it's not your problem, is it? Only thing is no one trains the mice for this, so that's where I come in. My mouse outfit arrives in a day or two, and I have to wear it to convince our rental mouse that I'm its big brother and know all about this. The cats are already laughing, especially Clem, the Bengal tiger. He's nobody's fool, is Clem. Me? Not sure yet. I guess it depends on if my mouse outfit is the right size this time.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, said she's giving up small arms and tactical training, and going back to knitting. Will give it a try and see how it goes, she said. I myself am not so sure. I do have to admit though that she's the only person I know who can knit an entire wire mesh fence in one afternoon. Pretty good at arm wrestling too. And she bites. (That was one lesson that I had to learn the hard way.)
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Me? Just trying to stay up to date on my squeaks.
Dear Diary: This morning I farted right after breakfast. Not much else of note today. Time for lunch soon.
Dear Diary: I had the TV on this morning to catch the latest news. Somebody said something that sounded important but I didn't hear it. Maybe next week. I'll let you know. For sure.
Dear Diary: Am I the right shade of green? I can't always tell, and when I stop someone on the street to ask about this I sometimes get confusing responses. Please help me. I know you can.
Dear Diary: Today I noticed that I have no hair between my toes. Overall, I'm happy about this but have been unsure if it means that I'm not really a hobbit, or is something even more strange going on?
Dear Diary: The guy down the street seems to be watering his lawn an awful lot. Makes me wonder if he has nothing better to do. I'm going to keep watching in case something happens.
Dear Diary: Mom said that if I ate all my vegetables I'd grow up to be big and strong like her, but I didn't eat them, and now I'm all grown up and don't know what comes next, and Mom won't talk to me any more. So. Something, OK?
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Me? Recently rediscovered how much fun flatulence can be.
You want advice, just ask. But not me — I'm closed today for therapy.
Yeah, I never dated much. Never dated at all, in fact. I just got old.
Who invented dents?
Why are chickens so funny? I went to a party last night with a bunch of them, had a whole lot of beer, and ended up wetting myself after hearing the best joke ever. (And I thought I'd already heard all possible variations of the old "crossing-the-road" story.) Even had some stuff come out my nose, which, of course, one of them immediately began pecking at, which wasn't all that funny in itself, at least not at the time, but thinking back on it — well, you know, maybe.
What if I tried selling myself as dessert? Would anyone bite? (I do however prefer gentle nibbles, if you're OK with that.)
We had some rain recently. The survivors were the ones not eaten by crocodiles. I didn't think that we even had crocodiles here. I guess the rain brings them out of their burrows to feed. Will have to remember that.
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Me? I bet you never wondered.
Dear Diary: I made an entry in my diary today. So, that's about it, I guess, unless you have something to say.
Dear Diary: Today I was crowned king of Sweden. Ha Ha! No, just kidding — it was only a threatening email about impersonating Swedish royalty. More on this later maybe. Gotta go poop right now.
Dear Diary: I don't know which is worse — one thing or the other. Will have to wait and see. Nothing else happening today. Tuesdays are always slow — more so when I can't find my pants anywhere. Hello?
Dear Diary: If I came out publicly as an acorn, would any of the other nuts be jealous? (Asking because I have nothing else to think about at the moment, and this seemed almost like something.)
Dear Diary: Today I turn 42, and with a bit of luck they'll let me leave high school pretty soon now.
Dear Diary: I'd like to take up competitive arm wrestling but I'm still afraid of fingers. Any thoughts? I know you don't have any. Do you? Please say no. Pleeease please.
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Me? Poop on it and see what happens.
Achtung, people — it's that time of year again. Warm up your adults-only napkins.
Am I real? If so, then I'm probably not imaginary. But there is still the option of being a hallucination, and I'm all for that, as long as I can afford it on my salary. (I train analytic squirrels.)
Been there, haven't done that. (Napped through it.) Beezer goo, if you want to know. It was beezer goo.
Carrots come in all sizes but only one smell. Why?
Dirt does not make a good pet. (Won't stay in the cage.) Cheap though. (And never needs shampooing.) May be misinterpreted when given as a wedding gift.
Doorknobs at the zoo have all received warnings about a doofus on the loose. (Doorknobs were not made for love, or actually any long-term relationships. Their heads are far too easily turned, is what I hear.)
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Me? I can't remember. Come back next week and we'll see.
Ms Opel Wintry is resigning from the board of Weighty Watching because Americans prefer injecting magic obesity-defeating potions over living.
The gummint is incompetent. The gummint is the people. Therefore Americans can't govern themselves. Too late for the Brits to take us back? At least some of us?
Try doing the wrong thing, and if it doesn't work, then keep trying. It's the American Way.
Tweedle, recently bought by an idiot, who could instead have given every American $8k in cash. I know what I'd like to do with my share.
Yes. I did escape from America. Just in time. Don't tell nobody, especially that Waldo Dumpfcker. (A delusional ignoramus can still be dangerous, even if only through incompetence.)
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Me? I'm not, are you?
My goal in life is to outgrow ugly, or begin to smell good, whichever becomes possible within a reasonable amount of time.
Oddly enough, rowboats do not fit in church pews, which reinforces my decision not to row to church, or even get anywhere near such a place ever again.
OK, folks, "Variations on a Theme" is today's exercise, and today's theme is "Shoelaces". Warm up your kazoos.
Old guys are generally pretty nice. They've "been there, done that", unlike guys from 12 to 32, who are long on urges and short on experience. Other than impending death, and the increasing failure rate of various bodily functions, being of advanced age can be somewhat pleasant at times.
Sometimes I notice that the cookies are watching me too closely. It gets creepy after a while — doesn't seem to matter which disguise I wear either. Maybe I should ask Aunt Bess. She used to handle security for a bakery. That's something.
Stream of Consciousness Ed here, for Ed's Stream of Consciousness Emporium and Live Bait Shop. Stop by and stream with us. We have worms.
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Me? Honestly, what did you expect?
Once again we find ourselves approaching the middle of the week. No telling what might happen next.
Once in a while the wheels fall off of everything. It happens. That's why you see so many loose wheels out there in the street. That's what they tell me anyhow.
Once the smoke cleared, I found that I was alone again. Or maybe I was on loan again. Sometimes I have to ask to be sure.
Once upon a time there was a magic ant but somebody stepped on it. #ShortPointlessStories #AbruptStoryCollective
Once upon a time there was this big giant giant thing that went stomping around and trumpeting and making all sorts of menacing moves but no one paid attention so it eventually went somewhere else and they all lived happily ever after. The end.
Once upon a time something happened, and that's how things got to be this way.
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Me? I'm just like that.
"Are you a believer?" she asked. Not wanting to belabor the palaver, I waved her offshore. Been pretty quiet here since. (Found a bit of lint in my navel though.)
Had a mouse eat the socks right off my legs. I believe it was the same mouse that ate the car yesterday. Small car, but I'm still glad I was prudent enough to lock my feet in the closet overnight.
I haven't ever heard of a high school reunion that resulted in so many deserved deaths as my last one. Which I also, as with all the others, avoided like the plague. Which, if I am to believe the news reports, was what did the job. Bacilli — so small yet so satisfyingly deadly.
I won't talk to Alice. I not only don't know her but have never seen her and have no idea who she might be, so I believe that I've made the right decision this time.
If I were ever to start working again, I believe I'd want to be a tooth fairy. Not a macho job, for sure, generally having low expectations, and I could pretty well set my own hours, so maybe.
It's been a long time since they turned out the lights. The rats are becoming agitated. My bag of corn puffs is, I believe, at risk.
This is bring-your-pet-to-work week, and the same thing happens every year. No one believes I have a tapeworm until I pull it out and show it them. And then they get all weird on me.
When is Clam Independence Day? I just noticed that it's not on my calendar any more. It is a thing, right? I believe so. I do.
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Me? Still waiting to be worshiped more widely.
