Creaking creepers — one of those plants that keeps me awake at night.
Cream of toodle-doo hot stuff stew. Yum, etc.
Dedly Fredly the bare tedly bedly teddy bear. Is my new boss? #NewsIDidn'tNeed
Did I say I quit squirming? Professionally? Don't want to forget that part, but life is still good, I think.
Do alligators cry crocodile tears when caught out in the rain with their pants down?
Do you also wonder what's in guacamole? I mean, the "mole" part I get, but what the heck could a "guaca" be? I already have my suspicions, hot and steaming, practically panting, bought and paid for.
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Me? No one ever asks, so I don't know.
A sense of rhythm was never one of my strengths. I once tripped and fell out of bed while lying still, staring at the ceiling, thinking about lint.
Anyone know where I can buy used cinnamon? (Willing to pay bottom dollar.)
At the time I was in kindergarten, I was in kindergarten. I mean, like totally age appropriate. Like the last time ever too. Now I collect Pokemon, whatever that is, and play video games and skateboard professionally and stuff, so I totally fit in, and being 75 and still living with Mom doesn't matter, to anybody, so it's all cool. Still.
Chickens don't seem to dance as much as they used to, at least around here.
Couldn't care less, unless I cared less. Always an option these days.
Before we take this too far, I think you should know that I'm made entirely of meat.
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Me? Deathly scared of tweezers operated by wheezing geezers.
Captain Hemorrhoid Cream Sales isn't doing too well, financially. So we hear. Can't spend all that much time sitting around the office either, considering his unique situation. (He's never been known to smile, which may go some way toward explaining his dearth of customers, and yet is so very relatable.)
Captain Incredible Oat Flakes can't find anyone who believes in him, and it's not the first time either.
Captain Mismatched Socks On Thursdays gets quite disagreeable if you ask, so maybe stick with managing your hedge fund holdings and just live with the mystery. Mystery can be fun!
Captain Mumbles still refuses to confess intelligibly, so we're letting him go, as soon as he agrees never to talk to us again.
Captain Pennzoil Princess wants to take this moment to remind you that great lubricants can improve your life immensely, and are also fun at parties.
Captain Telltale Armpit Odor has been banned from the church choir (again) for making too many fart noises during practice (again). He's still going to church, still making fart noises, but only during the sermons, and getting more laughs than when he was in the choir, for sure. They can't ban him because he owns the building and is a close personal friend "of God, the main dude, and my prime drinking buddy", he says. No word from God so far, and no sky-farts, so these issues remain unresolved for now.
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Me? Keeping quiet on this one.
Captain Forklift has been busy this Xmas season, shoveling around packaging waste from all the eco-friendly proto-gift deliveries, using the scoop attachment on his favorite piece of equipment, which is also handy for moving sleepy drunks and dealing with any unexpected dogshit overburden.
Captain Forkless Dining always has fun during the holiday season. He has recently also discarded use of the spoon and the table-knife, to put more focus into training his natural-born digits in how to handle common dishes such as baked beans, spaghetti, and gooey dumplings. More advanced topics, such as soups and stews are yet to be explored.
Captain Moderately Powerful Leaf Blower is available at 50% off this week, if you need (or just want) to get your leaves blown around. Not a priority at this end of the block, but hey.
Captain Ever So Ordinary just passed by. According to sources. We didn't notice.
Captain Faster-Than-Light gained a few pounds and can no longer get off the ground without a booster. Which provides for more of a spectacle, but with more opportunities for disaster, which can be amusing to some. And he farts more these days too.
Captain Harvard-Educated Cat Lady wants you to know that she's still smarter than you, and still has a better ass, in case you haven't seen any recent publicity photos of her appearing with former cast members of once-popular sitcoms. Pro tip here: If you want to keep your ass in shape for book-signing appearances well into the next few decades, don't spend so much time sitting on it. Maybe. Anyhow, it seemed to work for her, and you're nobody anyway.
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Me? Saluting rapidly and incessantly until it's all over.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, has been tossing out a few hints that she might be supplying me with a custom-made, hand-made, very special, personally-tailored Xmas gift this year. It seems to be the start of a new tradition for her, and for me. Last year she presented me with a bag of home-made fertilizer, crafted from curated dung discovered in the Eeeps Family Zoological Garden and Livestock Pen, with, as she noted somewhat cryptically, "a little something extra from me to you." And of course words could not fully capture my feelings at the moment, but she's hoping that this year will be as big a treat for me and for all the hand-crafted-dung lovers out there. She said.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, says that with the holiday season approaching, and the imminent need for truffles, I'll have to up my game, slip into my swine suit, get my snout to the ground, and make myself useful. Or else.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, wants me to "do the honors" this year and grease the Xmas hog. It's a thing with her family, a tradition, an annual event, an escape from the usual holiday humdrum. I, of course, am honored. The hog may be as well, but I'm not so likely to know about that, considering the cross-species language hurdles. First the hog is greased (my part), then released. Following that comes "The Grabation". Anyone who can catch said hog and immobilize it for a full 60 seconds gets dibs on having it for lunch, as said meal's main culinary feature. Failing capture and detention, the hog is set free, but pursued as an alien invader during the Eeeps Family ShootemUp Daze in mid February, when everyone is even more bored and seeking ever more fervently for an excuse to have a hog roast, which is the usual outcome. (Except for the "Cousin Homer von Dooter Eeeps" event back in '37, which we'll just not think about right now.)
So, my love, Echinoia Eeeps, is practically panting with heaving anticipation over what sort of Xmas gift, if any, I might be blessing her with this year. This is typically a situation which provokes a good deal of bullet-sweating because a person has only one chance, once a year, to get this right, and dear (and powerful) Echinoia can be ever so quick to anger if she should feel slighted, misunderstood, or undervalued in the least little way, a lesson that I have survived learning and do not now or ever wish to experience a refresher course in, so I'm thinking it over quite carefully while there is still time to do so, well before the day when I might need professional medical attention following a poorly thought-through decision.
Traditionally Xmas in Eeepsland is a time best spent with family, when cursing, loud farting, and gunfire are typically frowned on, especially indoors, and when everyone gathers 'round the table on the big day for beer, followed by the annual food fight. Last one standing gets to take home the cake, if there is any.
Xmas is growing near, and the sounds you hear are from the Eeeps Family target range where they are sharpening their shooting for the annual reindeer slaughter. Fun for all, usually. Except the reindeer, I expect.
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Me? Still deliriously in love. Or something that feels just as sticky.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, and, in fact, her whole family, has invited me to be the celebrity dessert at their winterfest, held just outside the swine shed, under the barren oak tree. I kinda think not, this year. Some of them are convinced that I'm mostly composed of sugar and spice and raspberry shortcake, which is interesting though I prefer not to be dismembered and eaten if avoidable, having both a definite allergy to toothbites as well, and a few plans for the future, but we'll see how it goes. Maybe.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, has been begging me to take flying lessons. If I take to the air, she says, she'll be able to sharpen her anti-aircraft skills — maybe snag a medal at the Domestic Partner Shoot-Em-Up Olympics. Maybe.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, has taken a softer turn lately. Instead of machine-gunning roses that don't measure up, she is feeding them to her pet rhinoceros, and making the remaining blooms watch. So they know. What the score is.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is now asleep. She's been at it for 43 hours running. Wants to become expert at hibernation so's she can just sleep past the inevitable collapse of civilization and become the founder of a whole new line of super-humans. So far she hasn't mentioned my role in any of this, though I am hoping to inherit her industrial-size freezer of ice cream so to die happy while sitting around waiting for resurrection day. Or whatever.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, thinks it would be nice if I shut up for a while, like a month or two,she says. And possibly quit breathing to leave more air "for the rest of us who are trying to get things done." Using her pet hamster Fred as an example. Fred who died sometime in 1996 and is now mounted on a plaque. Whose reputation seems to keep rising, almost by the day. I'll have to think about it, is what I'm going to say when the time comes.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, won't let me near her machine gun. Says I'm likely to kill someone, and she prefers to handle that end of things herself.
Tactile Waldron Spliffy Eeeps, Echinoia's cousin stand-in stunt double, says that he wants to be my friend. Aside from his affection for decaying alligators (he has a collection, and even his own rot museum) he doesn't seem that bad, as her ersatz relatives go (most of whom I appreciate more than her certified ones), so I'm giving it some thought, but not a whole lot right now, at least during this century.
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Me? Currently hiding in my safe place.
