Lady E Strikes Again

All things considered, my love, Echinoia Eeeps has been pretty good to me this year, so I guess I'll be dressing up again in the Merry Prankster End of Year Sacrificial Muskrat suit for the big Eeeps Family party. So far I've managed to escape alive, but everyone's aim is constantly improving, so we'll have to see how it goes.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps has next week penciled in for artillery practice. Luckily for me the self-propelled tank target is out for repairs. Extensive repairs. (Her aim is improving.) So not only won't I be driving but I don't need a note from my psychiatrist explaining why I can't help out this time.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps heard that I was taking a bath, so she barged right in with her stepladder. She likes to sit on top, about eight feet up, and use a rubber band to shoot paper clips at me. I don't know why, but I'm not complaining, as long as she doesn't return to using rabbit pellets as ammo. Even then, it's iffy to start complaining, given what happened last time, and even if she did run out of moose turds, she could always just pound me again.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps insisted that I sleep over New Year's Eve. Quite an honor. We've been a hot item only about six years so far and this is my first invite. She's even put fresh hay in the dog house for me, so I'll be quite the comfy little fellow. And of course I'm all tingly just thinking about what we might get up to. Fetch, perhaps? A few rounds of fetch? Maybe? Anything can happen around her.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps is trying her hand at cheese making, and since this is all new to her, she's going to keep it simple, working on Swiss, and starting with only the holes.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps said I'm a keeper. I think she may be planning to have me stuffed. I only hope that I don't live long enough to find out how it feels.

 

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Me? Lying low. Very low.

The Duckies Of Saint Lorenzo

Saint Lorenzo of the Rubber Duckies is retiring soon. Watch for lots of bath toys showing up on eBay, or at Saint Optimist's Recycling And Tyre Center.

Salmon P. Fishfart was the third US Secretary of the Treasury and Keeper of the National Aquarium. His nickname was "Bubbles", as you might have guessed, and he wore shoes to work, most days, but sometimes flippers.

Saturday afternoons are the best, because it's Saturday, and afternoon, and it's the one day of the week when nobody ever tries to set me on fire, all of which is good, from my perspective. Your thoughts may differ in some respects, but you can't say that I still don't love you.

Sister Jensen attacked another pyramid yesterday. Meanwhile I, sitting here in the dark, counting my toes, never seem to get the same answer twice.

So a chicken walks into a bar and they shoo it out again. Pretty cool trick, eh? This is no joke.

So I hear that there is a giant comet out there, newly discovered, at least 80 miles in diameter, doing nothing in particular. And what am I up to? No one ever asks, even though I am so much less dusty.

 

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Me? Give me a squeeze and find out.

Captains Barf Along In Harmony

Captain Outrage is pissed again. Happens every Monday in non-leap years. Also Tuesdays in leap years in all months of more than 17 days.

Captain Automatic says: "Never smoke cigarette butts you find in the gutter. It's much better to smoke something else, like fish."

Captain Automatic seldom does anything deliberately. Prefers to wing it on autopilot.

Captain Bruce Lee Lookalike wasn't, not really, according to those who consider themselves to be experts in the field, and there are some, though few of us care to validate these presumed facts.

Captain Projectile Vomiting took home the gold last weekend, scoring 98 out of a possible 98.6, including several bullseyes, and only one slight mishap that temporarily hospitalized one of the unofficial scorekeeper's pet rats.

Captain Rainbow Nose Hairs released a new press release releasing all of us from all responsibility for anything accidentally released into the air before, during, or after tonight's Thoughts On Spots And Sparkles press conference and potluck dinner. Free rainbow nose combs will be handed out, weather permitting, if we have any. So be there or be elsewhere, and please remember to comb your nose.

 

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Me? Have never barfed, not even once, except in public a few times.

Cat Fraks

Cat food should be legally available to all children on a need-to-know basis.

Cats don't drink much. At least when offered butt lube. That's what I heard anyway when I asked around. Got some funny looks too.

I dreamed that I was a meatball. Then I woke up and realized that I still am. And am still hiding from the cat.

I finally found out what the cat does all night. Sleeps.

I touched a pussy today, and then it bit me. #EverHappenToYou?

I was only 15 seconds late with my rent and the cat still got all hissy about it. If this happens too often I'll have to remind him who has the opposable thumbs around here, and the driver's license.

I've really fallen behind in posting to my blog. My dog ate it. Then my hamster ate the dog. (Good boy, Nibbles.) Then my cat and the hamster hit the road on my riding lawnmower. (I didn't have one, but this makes a better story.) One of them must have souped it up because I couldn't catch them, but at this point in the story, who was driving and who masterminded all this don't make much difference. So that's why I'm behind, and anyway I need a nap, and maybe a beer.

 

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Me? Strictly believing all of this, now and forever.

Captain Whatsis Strikes Back

Captain Adult-Onset Ennui was not always soporific. Really. No, really, etc.

Captain Anonymous, your pal in any emergency, but hard to identify. Not to worry unduly — he's around here somewhere.

Captain Excessive Bonus Points ended up being disqualified for bragging about the size of his bonus. The rest of us know when to keep quiet.

Captain Fernando did in fact change his name from Fernando Poo for that very reason. He is now a full professor of disposable navigational charts at First University of the Missing. He doesn't like that very much either, but he's gotten away from most poo jokes.

Captain Infinite Loving-Kindness was last seen at the firing range, blowing up everything in sight. No one goes there any more. (We have all suddenly become latte-drinking pacifists.)

Captain Mrrflburp got an updated tongue prosthesis which hasn't seemed to help much, but his pointing and grunting skills continue to improve, boosting him up to Level C (third to none, up from second to none last year or thereabouts). There is always hope, eh?

 

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Me? No longer saluting.

Fuzz Buzzing Quietly In The Corner

The judge was Nice Kitty Fuzzybutt, so I knew I was home free.

The lady who usually sits in this chair didn't show up today, but if she does I'll let her sit in my lap. Maybe she'd even like to come along home to play with my private little spider zoo. I have hundreds now. Made little uniforms for most of them, except the ones who have been naughty — they'll have to wait. Meanwhile, lunch has arrived.

The future is over there, under that bush.

The forecast for today is mostly sunny with scattered nuclear wars, turning cooler and slightly less noisy by early evening.

The floor in this place is so clean you could eat off it, but that's true everywhere, depending on your standards. As long as they sweep it every month or so, I'm good.

That sound? Did you hear it? like the universe giving out a long, frustrated sigh? Maybe it's had about enough of us — happens every now and then. Good thing I have a bunch of nuts in a bucket. You can never have too many nuts, which is why I invested heavily in buckets, so I'd have somewhere to keep my nuts. Works for me.

 

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Me? I'm like that too.

Dirt Is Cheap This Week

The peasants are back in town, as is their lord and savior, The Noodle Demon. Fun shall ensue, methinks.

The Peterborough Pansies — despite the name, you're better off not messing with them.

The rats are attacking again. And it's not even Thursday.

The sound system in here is turned up so high that my knickers are knotting. And I don't even know what that means, but it uses up some "k" words, which seem to be appropriate, given the circumstances.

The Leonard shortage continues — now into its fifth day and counting. Please don't wake me until it's over.

The music is playing, the night is young, and I feel like dancing. Too bad I'm an umbrella stand.

 

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Me? Sure...

Welcome Practice Banking Excursions

Wilderness banking excursions, on foot or in boxes.

With but a little practice in their proper handling, much fun can be had with paperweights.

Woke up from a nap and couldn't find my pants. Must have left them on the bus.

Why do truck tires never come in bright, festive party colors? Neon pink for one. And how about fun fruit flavors? Opportunities, opportunities.

Why don't ostriches attack rutabagas? Other than chaos in the produce aisle, it would seem to be the perfect match up.

Why is a welcome mat in the place where you wipe your feet?

 

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Me? Recently tried some banking in my underwear.

Wistful And Wrinkly At Large

Wistful reality — something like wide-awake dreaming, but tastier.

Why isn't there a Laundry Channel? I would do it.

Wordpecker - the word processor for those who are hunt-n-peckers

Worldwide Toe Webs. (Reduced membership this week only.)

Wretched Slimy Mess was my third grade teacher. (What is a grade anyway? What does it have to do with school?) To get out of that early prison cell, we had to make a collection of nuts and seeds, or one or the other. I was quite partial to slime molds at the time, inspired by our teacher, but instead decided to go with shoelaces because they were easier to steal. I was headed for a failing grade until I figured out a way to prove that shoelaces, if planted, grew into shoe trees. Everyone bought it, and I was subsequently hired as groundskeeper and paid in walnuts.

Wrin-Klee Forsken, my high school geography teacher, has a new book out. It's about how to obey and be subservient to authority, using himself as an example of authority, based on his 47 years of telling 16-year-olds what to think. The good news for him is that my home town abolished firing squads for anyone who spent at least 45 years in the local school bureaucracy without going objectively crazy, running amok, and slaughtering people at random with a machete. He never took that much initiative, and it's doubtful that he could tell which end of a machete was the effective one, and for what. But anyway, go Wrin-Klee Forsken.

 

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Me? Yes, wistful, and also hungry right now.

Happy New Year Dear Friend

From: AISHA GADDAFI Monday, January 4, 2021 6:13 AM To: Undisclosed Recipients

Assalamu Alaikum!

Dear Friend,

I am sending to you my special greetings and Happy New Year from Oman at the city of Muscat.

It is just a Day one gets in contact with someone either by physical approach or through correspondence and by chance I got your email address on frantic google web search and by choice i considered you as my partner and I need your acceptance to stand on my behalf as my Project/Investment Manager/Partner.

My name is Aisha Gaddafi from Libya the only daughter to Former President of Libya Late Col. Muammar Gaddafi. My beloved Husband (late Col. Ahmed al-Qahsi) was killed during the civil war along with my Father and I have three (3) Children with him.

There are available investment funds worth "Twenty Seven Million Five Hundred Thousand United States Dollars" ($27.500.000.00 ). I need a trusted person to be partnered with to invest the funds on my behalf as my Manager,my current asylum status here in Muscat Oman has restricted me the freedom to handle the management of any investment by myself, however, I am interested in you for an investment project assistance in your country, maybe from there, we can build business relationship in the nearest future.

I am willing to negotiate an investment/business profit sharing ratio with you based on the future investment earning profits.

If you are willing to handle this project on my behalf, kindly reply urgently to enable me to provide you more information about the release of the investment funds.

Your Urgent Reply to my private email ( mrsaishagadafi314159etc@qmail.com ) Will Be Appreciated

Best Regards Aisha Gaddafi Email: mrsaishagadafi314159etc@qmail.com

 

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Me? Could probably use the money.

Yeah, Lord - That Would Be Me

I am the lord of the universe. My name is The High & Mighty Thwadmeister Buffletwink. If you displease me I will zap you with my zappy thing, assuming that it's working today. If not I can always step on your tail, That works too.

I am the lord of the universe. You might know me by my other name, Fred, from down the block, but don't let that disguise fool you. I am a mean puppy and must be obeyed, etc. So, if you will excuse me now, I have a can of beans waiting for me on the stove. (Yum!)

I am the lord of the universe. Yo — How's she hanging? Got any idea where I can get my shoes shined?

I am the lord of the universe, and I mean it. You don't think so, eh? Well gimme a minute to get organized and change into my costume and then stand back, cuz Ima gon show you a thing or two. Betcha.

I am the lord of the universe. My middle name is Bob. Yes, I have a middle name, and it's Bob. I tell ya — you don't want to mess with no Bob. Bobs are not all warm and cuddly like the usual Twadmeisters, at least where I come from, but if you behave yourself I might let you buy me a beer next Thursday afternoon, weather permitting.

I am the lord of the universe and I'm not that good at checkers. Does anyone play checkers any more? I haven't really kept up on the latest in the world of table games, but I'm still a mean S.O.B., except around my pussycat. After a busy day of throwing lightning bolts around and all such-like, I really enjoy coming home to my friendly pussycat. His name is Elmo. We eat pizza and have a few beers and watch cartoons on TV. Pineapple and ham pizza, and I dare you to make a face, smartypants, I just dare you.

 

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Me? Having fun. Never tried this before.

Father Bother

There are many benefits to becoming a father. So I hear. Please send me your top 10 list in a stamped, self-addressed return envelope so I can send it back to you without messing with any of the stuff inside.

I hear that there is a thing called "Father's Day". I have been, am now, and plan to remain completely ignorant of everything that entails, especially all of the secret rites and rituals. End of story.

That guy across the street? The one with the paper bag over his head? No the other one — the one hiding behind the bush — I hear that he's a father. Seems to have it figured out. But I don't want to be like him either.

Mom asked me if I want to grow up and become a father. I asked if she had anyone in mind, and she said "No, but definitely not like you-know-who." Yeah, so maybe I'll stick with growing lettuce.

If I were to become a father, there would be only one more bad example to point at, and what sort of future is in that? Another guy riding the bus all day, maybe, muttering to himself. And that's what I do now anyway.

 

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Me? Nope.

Eee Ell Eff

Dear Diary: I've decided to become an elf. You might have already heard about this, so I shan't write down all the details for you. The tailor says that my outfit should be ready soon, except for the feathers, but I'm hopeful.

Dear Diary: I finally remembered to wash between my toes last night. Still feels a bit strange down there.

Dear Diary: I think I'm glad to be as tall as I am. If I wasn't this tall, how tall would I be anyway?

Dear Diary: Today is the anniversary of the day I graduated from kindergarten. Sadly, things have not been the same since.

Dear Diary: Did you hear that sound? I'm not sure if I did. One of us should probably go and take a look around.

Dear Diary: I wonder if toilets ever get lonely. Just a thought. I'll probably leave it at that for now.

 

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Me? Already got my pointy cap on.

Lonesome Alone Always

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. Never been kissed, save by blowing sand and dust, always alone, drifting like a thin haze, habitually silent and still, waiting. Waiting for "her", or for what, I perhaps cannot say, but waiting, ever alone. Still.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, hair on my head, hat on my knee, sitting here against a tree, shaded by uncaring leaves, humming a simple tune while waiting for the night, my single friend.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, reminiscing, remembering all my friends throughout the decades. I do believe I had a mother because I must have, though I know little beyond that. Nothing in fact beyond that, being only a supposition in itself. And now, here and into the future? Not a glimmer, my friend. Nothing at all to light my lonesome life.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, startled awake by a sudden sharp noise. I should know by now — only a horse fart. Time for a tune-up then. So it is back to sleep now and up early then to face another day full of emptiness and nothing to do.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, walking alone by night, content to move by candle light, scuffing the earth in my heavy worn boots, giving now and then, on my flute, an occasional toot.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. Any time I suggest to my horse what he might do, he only votes "nay", as if we both indeed had such a vote. That is why I try to stay off by myself, even when I am alone, which is always.

 

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Me? Yes, I am. And you?

Invites d’Eeeps

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is the real deal. She had me dig my grave yesterday so we'll be ready when the big day comes. For now though, she's using it as the temporary Eeeps Family garbage pit and cat litter recycling center. I think maybe I can hardly wait.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, has been a bit sleepy as of late. While she naps I am required to lie on the floor at the foot of her bed and shoo away the rats. (They love her dearly, possibly even more than I do, but they cause her no end of sneezy fits.)

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is flying a flag of truce. Once she gets it properly aired out and is sure that all the spider nests have been shaken free, she wants me to wear it for a while, or at least until I offer to surrender. Until then there's a good chance that she'll probably keep shooting.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, invited me to the Eeeps Family ritual end-of-year pig immolation. It's quite a thing down at the Eeeps Family compound. (And no, they don't actually burn any pigs. These days they just show their "grand prize winner") a photo album of days gone by and generally receive complete compliance. Instead of a ritual bonfire, the family forms a ring and dances around the lucky porker while holding aloft an array of flaming torches. After they're all tuckered out from the dancing, they slaughter the pig (SURPRISE!) and roast it, so some things haven't changed, but at least the agonized squealing is a thing of the past, and the meal is pretty much as good without any of it.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is experimenting. She wants to make strawberry shortcake with wheels, for people who prefer their dessert to go. One distinct obstacle will be training desserts to follow simple commands like "go", "stay", "serve yourself", and so on. So far, she's gotten a dog or two to cooperate, but they don't taste good, even with whipped cream. Still...

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, wants to build a new home for her pet budgie, Hermann the Terminator. She wants this thing made from common and natural materials like dirt, twigs, and dried elephant droppings. (Natural to her world, more or less.) I'm supposed to be in charge, since my appearance doesn't usually frighten Hermann, though it can at times send him into a homicidal rage, which is the story of what happened to the local kindergarten teacher a while back, if you remember those headlines. But luckily we have a lot of elephant turds around here, and my body armor is all polished and up-to-date, budgie-wise.

No Pants Today

I came home early and caught the cat driving around the living room in his tank. He knows that he's not supposed to be doing that. (We have a formal agreement on this.) He does know, yes, but it is his house, so I try not to nag too awful much.

The cat is going on vacation, so I'll have to be doing all the napping for the next couple of weeks. At least I won't be having to eat stale dog food this time, and I know where the catnip is hidden. Wish me luck.

All suggestions relating to staffing changes must be approved by the house cat. No exceptions. Catnip bribes will not work this time either, but if you want to try licking me, I'm game.

Are pharmaceuticals hard to make? The cat doesn't think so. I may go into business. Anyone ever try depressants? Seems like there could be unrecognized pent up demand for something like that. I'll get around to it when I feel a bit more chipper.

Dear Diary — Poop on it. Poop on it all. Except for Merton. No poops on Merton. He's my P'Cat Overlord and does not accept poops on his self. So OK then — Poops all around but only for the ones what can handle it.

I just got off the phone with my bank. They don't like my money. They say it's too old and dirty, and no, they won't give it back, because. Just because. And if my attitude doesn't improve, they're going to repossess my pants and take away my cat, Fred. Fred says that he knows nothing about all this, though I happened to notice that his suitcase is packed, and he's wearing my pants.

 

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Me? Can't seem to keep my litter box clean any more.

Been That Done There

Captain Anonymous spent the afternoon at the Captains' Table with Captain Automatic, reminiscing about old times, after which they went back to their jobs as contract janitors.

Captain Desperate respectfully requests you to send money, starting now. Or sooner.

Captain Doofus is claiming to be my father, which sounds about right. Mainly he wants to be sure that he will have someone to inherit his rubber band collection (the world's largest, he says). I can't wait. (Ummm — though maybe I can, come to think of it.)

Captain Hemorrhagic Fever isn't usually invited to weddings and such, but still, surprisingly, does manage to get around and have a lot of fun, sometimes with people you already know.

Captain I Ain't No Dang Sissy bit a snake, and then the snake returned the favor. We all cheered. The funeral is tomorrow at 11. (Nobody is going.)

Captain Mumblebunny really went to town yesterday. He's been threatening to do just that for years, and now here we are. First thing, we locked the gate behind him and turned out all the lights, after hanging a "For Sale" sign on the fence. And as soon as we get a few minutes of free time we'll plant a bunch of land mines around the perimeter. That should hold us for at least a few days while we gather our thoughts. So we hope.

 

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Me? Having ever longer talks with the cat about the real Meaning Of leif. Lefi. Lief. Life. Whatever.

Decidedly Unsure

Captain All Frilly In Lace was discovered to be an actual female person, though it's still true that no one likes the way she smells. Yes, with her nose, but it's the other sense of the word that really has been commanding our attention lately.

Captain Automatic had some new parts installed (at a quickie 24/7 outpatient while-you-wait surgery joint). Now he can perform wonders in the passing lane (without breaking a sweat, I hear, or wind). Must ask Captain Anonymous what I should think about this.

Captain Erratic didn't get invited to the party because he bounces around too much. They're talking about revoking his exercise permit. Maybe then. Give it a week.

Captain Largely Incoherent committed a fairly significant blooper this week, upon making an utterance that everyone agreed was reasonable and modest. He has now gone into hiding until the profound silence slowly dissipates.

Captain Moldy Underpants blames it all on his mother, but won't define "it". (We too remain skeptical. No one has ever seen this "mother" thing.)

Captain MTF Trans is confused again. OK, fine — this is a no-fault gathering of nominal equals, but I'm still not paying for the insurance.

 

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Me? Not really.

No One Will Tell Me What I'm Worth In Nuts

I asked my chiropractor what I should smoke to make me feel better. He said "fish". It worked. Who said that chiropractors were just quacks? Yes, he quacks too, but only when he's in a really good mood. And now the cat and I are too. We really enjoy sitting on the floor together, snacking on smoked fish, and watching old movies. Yeah, so who said that tigers are no fun? (His name is Fred.)

Two wrongs don't make a right, but six or eight wrongs make a felony conviction, under the right circumstances, if committed in a bank while waving a gun around, if you're unlucky enough to pick a bank that has a silent alarm system and a limited sense of humor.

A pile of dead leaves followed me home today. Nothing for it but a quick cleanup job before it got really messy, so I jumped right on it.

Did you ever wonder how life would be if you were a crocodile? I mean, like in kindergarten you got hungry one day and ate all the other kids? Would they send you home? Call your mom in and she got mad and ate the principal and maybe the school nurse too? How would that be?

Did you know that fashion models are not made of plastic? So I guess they can't go in with the rest of the recycling.

Have you ever dreamed of being a disease catcher? Well, your time has come. Due to the recent outbreak of explode-and-die fever, we have several openings, in all salary ranges. Full benefits, including disposition of remains, if any, as you wish, according to your exact specifications. Burial? Yep. Cremation? Covered. Mulch-&-compost? Not common, but we can handle it. Sauteed and stewed? Who else but us? And there are so many more options, like being fed to buzzards, being left to rot in an open field, becoming a carpet of fungus. The options are truly limitless, all in the service of a noble cause, because if you don't voluntarily contract a terrible disease, someone else might have to, involuntarily. Think about it for a while.

 

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Me? Call me Wally — Wally Nuts.

You Never Know

Captain Amazing Parlor Tricks can play the piano with his nose hairs. He asked if I'd like to be on his cleanup team, which would be a great honor, to be sure, though I have a standing appointment to police the cat's litter box, and he gets real cranky if I don't keep on top of that. Always try to stay on the good side of a Bengal tiger is one of my life rules, and so far I'm alive, so let's let Captain Whosis work out the snot problems on his own for the time being.

Captain Mucilage was evicted for a lapse in manners when he liquefied and flowed under the wrong door. And anyway, he was overly stinky.

Captain Nasal Farts still, after all these years, retains a monopoly position on nasal farting.

The talk delivered by Captain Brief Intensity lasted 1.3 seconds, as near as we were able to determine, though we were unable to locate anyone who paid attention during the event.

Captain Twelve-Fingered Toes can count like nobody's business, if you're impressed by that sort of thing.

Also, try not to lick Captain Hairball — you never know where he's been. And mostly you don't want to know were he's from either. Mostly where he's from and how he got here and what you might catch from him.

 

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Me? Never been saluted, not even in jest.

Bush Music

Captain Bushy Nose Hairs came by and asked if I had any shampoo he could borrow, he was all out, but I could still see some foam in his nostrils so I knew something was up. Never did trust that guy. Gave him half a tube of dog wash.

Captain Smelly Butt hasn't come around for a real long time and you know, it's getting so I prefer things this way.

Captain Lawn Clippings thought he had a pretty good deal going I guess, until I caught on to him, and let the cat pee on his new pickup truck a couple of times, so we'll see how he likes that one.

Captain Full Thrust Nozzles has been on vacation for a few weeks, out there bothering someone else and we are very happy back here.

Captain Amazingly Stupid will be coming here for lunch. And we are all hoping that it will be right before we set the place on fire. Got our lawn chairs set up already.

Captain Amazingly Inappropriate Music insists on tootling his nose flute at company dinners. Since he owns the company and pays for the meal, there wasn't a whole lot we could do besides farting along, in unison. Somehow, to our great relief, he ran out of gas first.

 

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Me? Trying to find a good kazoo mechanic.

Octabulus Has His Eyeballs Pointed Your Way

Nice to see you. According to Wikipedia, you have hair growing in unusual spots, like under your porch, right?

Nice to see you. Are you always this color?

Nice to see you. Can I have your shoes if you die before we finish lunch?

Nice to see you. I've heard about you. Your hobby is selling paint, right? Well, I admire paint. Maybe we should talk about something.

Nice to see you. That's some amazing skin you have, especially the saggy wattles. I used to know a Saggy Wattles. She worked in Accounting.

Nice to see you. The two of us together weigh exactly the same as a large bag of chickens. How about we dance and act crazy and have a yard sale?

 

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Me? Got my tentacles all warmed up and ready to tango.

What Smell?

I didn't want to say anything, but I won't.

I didn't want to say this, but I forgot what I was going to say.

I didn't want to say this, but [_message deleted by administrator_].

I didn't want to tell anyone this, but I forgot what I was going to say. Still chuckling about it though, whatever it was.

I didn't go there, and didn't do that, though I did buy the t-shirt.

I do remember the 60s. Now my high school class wants to reassemble and pretend they amounted to something.

I don't know about you but I think I look pretty good in my new squirrel suit.

I don't know what you were thinking, but based on your smell, it was obviously something stupid.

 

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Me? No, I really didn't do it.

Uh

Attila the Dentist. He's real! (Don't go there.)

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...

Dogs+Electricity = Fun!

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.

House Music

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.

Flying The Thursday Flag

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.

Wally Bird

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.

Butt End Musings

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?

Hey Turd Brain

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.

Face Plant Now For Fun Fall Harvests

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?

Makes Me Squeak A Little

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.

God Used To Be Less Fun

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?

Captains, And So On

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.

Terms Of Amusement

"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.

Flats For All

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.

Fortunate To Still Be On The Loose

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.

Any Day Now For Sure

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.

Random Pleasantries

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.

Stupidity On Parade

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?

Flat In The Pan

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?

Fart If You Like Freedom

"Boo!" Said the winkle to the wonkle, whatever that was supposed to mean. (I don't live around here.)

"It could be a lot worse," they said, and they were right. It is now.

Are you for real? If so, please send proof. I need to know how to do this. — Armies of the unwilling

Fruit flies have started following me around, and I'm not even ripe yet.

If I was made of cellulose I could be my own toilet paper.

My goose is cooked. Finally. Now I have some peace and quiet. And dinner.

 

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Me? Still waiting for my free kazoo-cleaning kit.

Our Once And Forever

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.

I Cant Believe It Yet

"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.