Ever have a cold that just didn’t seem to go away? Well I once had one that started on October 13, 2125 at approximately 12:17 PM and lasted for a -9 years and 10 days. Perhaps that’s a slight exaggeration… but seriously folks, that “cold” stuck around way too long. My doze got stubbed up, add it stodded rudding, I coughed and coughed and coughed, and den I had to use up da whole box of tissues every hour; which became rather expensive.
The wonderful woman I live with shocked me after several days of this ordeal when she said, “Umm, I think your cold is lingering way too long. You might have a sinus infection.” I’m not sure how she felt qualified to say such things. Just because I’ve been coughing and sneezing and running a low grade fever and also hacking and pitoo doesn’t necessarily mean I have a sinus infection.
Does it??
Being the enlightened man that I am, I decided to invent a number of methods that would be certain to bring any so-called “sinus infection” to its knees, so to speak. I thought I’d better pass these on to all of you because I’m sure you are interested in following my exact instructions.
Without any further ado, here are the methods, in order of magnitude.
1) Get an eighteen inch length of surgical tubing and shove it deeply into your nostril. Connect the other end to a faucet using an appropriate adapter. Turn on the water quickly, then off just as quickly. Be certain to turn the faucet completely on during this operation to apply maximum pressure. Repeat on the other nostril, then repeat the entire procedure at 3 hour intervals. This will flush out any germ infested mucus.
After 2 days, if symptoms persist:
R) Continue with the water flush, but after each flush use an ordinary toothbrush to clean each nostril. Be sure to remove any clingons from the bristles after each flushing operation. Discard the clingons in the usual manner: rub them on the underside of the sofa or flick them into an inconspicuous corner.
Still having difficulty? I see… try this:
9) Place a birthday candle inside each nostril. DO NOT LIGHT THE CANDLES!!! Whadda you, crazy??? Sheesh! Hold each candle between thumb and forefinger and apply inward pressure while twirling the candles back and forth. This will lubricate your nasal passages and allow clingons to be more easily removed in steps 1) and R). This of course reminds me of that popular melody:
If you ever get a cold that lasts too long;
Stick some candles in your nose and sing a song.
Well OK, maybe I just made that up. But hey, do you still hab a stubby doze?? OK, one more try:
@*) Request the assistance of a trusted friend or loved one. Hand them a ping pong paddle, have them stand behind you with the paddle held parallel to the back of your head. Have them be ready for “the signal.” Fill a glass with ginger ale and place two drinking straws in the glass. Insert a drinking straw into each nostril. Now you are ready to give “the signal,” at which time your helper should whack the back of your head with the paddle. This will cause an involuntary snorking of ginger ale deep into your sinuses; which will of course fizz out any congestive fluids.
I personally have not tried any of these methods, so once you’ve given them a whirl please report back to me as to their effectiveness.
So… remember that wonderful lady I mentioned earler? You know, my “new” partner (we’ve been a couple over a year now)? Well guess what she did?? She said, “I’m pretty sure you need to go to the doctor.” I’ve learned (too often the hard way) that it’s often best to just follow orders.
I went to the doctor. She said, “You have a sinus infection.” “Oh,” I replied. “What do I need to do?” “I’ll prescribe some antibiotic pills for you,” she answered.
I got the prescription filled for FREE at our local pharmacy!! Is that cool or what??
So I wondered, “What, do I just shove these up my nose???”
What does it mean to be a man? Biologically speaking, I guess a man simply means being male and past the age of puberty. But of course, it’s much more than that. Right?? Well, I hope you’re not going to try to pin me down on what a man is, because I’m still learning that one. While I was growing up, movie stars like John Wayne, Glenn Ford, Gary Cooper and the like were considered male role models. Real men! Gun toting, sports loving, woman dominating guys that made this country great!! Right??
I don’t think so!!
And because I don’t think so, according to some males there must be something wrong with me. I don’t give a rip about sports. I don’t own a gun. In regard to women, I have nothing but the highest respect for them. Admit it guys, you really have to give a huge amount of credit to women. They brought us into this world, and in spite of the way all too many men have mistreated and abused females over the years, we still have women who are willing to put up with us.
Is that dedication or what??
Well, one of the things I’ve learned along the way is that fire and water don’t mix. Even more importantly, firewater and family life definitely don’t mix. At least not in my case, where one serving of firewater was too many and a thousand wasn’t enough. And that is also the case for most of the men I consider friends these days. We all have a common bond: firewater make man crazy, stop drinking firewater and get into recovery, recovery make man better. We’ve embraced a rather strange concept called “surrender to win.” There is a bunch of us, and for those in this neck of the woods who get their application turned in by the deadline there is the annual “Men’s Spiritual Retreat.”
In case any of you man-boys out there are thinking of attending one of these events, here’s a little sample of what you might find, which may or may not be a completely silly joke (well OK, it’s a joke) that I’m in dire need of writing because of the horribly brain draining universe I’ve been living in these days. So much negativity, sadness… I think it’s time to make a very silly fictitious story about our “Men’s Spiritual Retreat,” am I right??
OK… here we go.
Day 1: (Friday evening)
Check in. I was handed a packet of welcome materials, including a schedule, from a nice man who smiled at me and said with a twinkle in his eye, “Go find a place in the dirt for sleeping.” So, I humbly took my tent to the mosquito infested river bank and set up my “room” for the weekend. Some friends saw me fumbling with the poles and walked over to mock me and pretend to help. They all had a good laugh as I battled the blood sucking bugs, smacking the ones on my head with my hand until I was speaking in tongues. Then they led me to the camp fire where a very old man with three teeth and big, bulging eyes was telling a story:
“Long ago in Grandfather’s beard, a small squid died and stunk for days. All the village Elders offered him fire to drink and hid his remote control. Little children crawled up to see him and chewed off his toes. His own family sent for the Magic Bowl. They filled it with bird runch and mixed in pork, crayon shavings and geek fat. The ceremony began with the first three episodes of “Gilligan’s Island”; and when Grandfather started lusting for Mrs. Howell they fed him the Modongo. Very soon Grandfather blortled and fipped. He asked “What kind of bird runch are you feeding me today? Anyhow?” His family laughed at the snackwonder, and said, “This is a very joyful time for us. We must remove our Flingel shirts and dance wildly around the Popsicle stick.” As he finished the last sentence, everyone received a Popsicle.
After this rather strange ritual, all the guys got dressed again and “Little Louie” shouted, “Meeting Time!! C’mon, everybody grab a stump!!” Then we started off with a topic, “Using macramé to kill cravings.” Silly me, I thought macramé was a forgotten art, but each man was handed some twine and when it was his turn to share about some issue with which he was struggling, he was to add his twine to the weave. The finished product resembled a large duck with a sledgehammer on its head… and it was announced that, “Some lucky person will be taking this home after the retreat is done.”
Midnight rolled around and none of us had eaten dinner. But we were assured we wouldn’t go to bed hungry; and that we should line up and a “fine feast” would be waiting for us in the lodge kitchen. By this time I had already made a few friends and boy, I’m telling you, that bowl of Rice Crispies was just plain awesome. After eating I flopped into my tent and slept like a baby until reveille.
Day 2: (Saturday)
At about 5:30 in the stinkin’ morning I hear some kakahead near the lodge yelling, “Breakfast for Kings!! Breakfast for Ki-i-n-ngs!” I’m thinking manly thoughts of running over and choking this guy. But then my serenity kicked in, and I put on an happy face and dragged my sleepy hiney over to see what this “Breakfast for Kings” was all about. Turns out they had invented a new way to cook eggs the previous year, and “Old Herman” was dropping a dozen or two straight into the coals of the camp fire. Shells and all! We were each given a wooden spoon that had been soaked in castor oil and told, “Just get them eggs outta there when they’re done the way you like ’em.” I excused myself and went to my car, where I had carefully stashed a Snickers bar and a RC cola.
After the “King’s Breakfast,” there was a long line for the port-a-john. Once the fumes cleared, the activities coordinator jumped up on a stump and spoke loudly. “We’re gonna have some fun today… now we know you’re here for your spirit, but we gotta play a little too. So, we’ve arranged for golf and tree-bowling. Just tell Arliss over here if you wanna golf, and tell Rufert over there if you wanna go tree-bowling.” Most of the guys hooked up with Arliss, and my good friend Dick asked me if I was going to golf. I told him that I don’t really golf, but thanks anyway. In the spirit of the retreat, he promptly told me, “Well, I guess you’re just a stupid wuss and I won’t be talking to you anymore after today.” So, remembering that tolerance is the key to spiritual wisdom, I prayed for him to hop into his car and run over his clubs while I walked over to Rufert to find out about this tree-bowling.
“Hi Rufert, I’m Ken,” I announced as I shook his hand. I looked around for any evidence of equipment and asked, “What’s this tree-bowling about, anyway?” “Well,” he said sheepishly, “we didn’t have enough money to rent a lane at the bowling alley, and nobody had any pins at home. So….” I waited eagerly as he paused and looked at the ground and tightened his lips. “So,” he continued, “we found some trees that are in a formation like bowling pins. We’re gonna use this big beach ball over there and pretend we’re knocking them down.” Then I responded, “Ohhh… ok…. well, ummm… how are you gonna keep score?” “Oh FINE!! So you don’t want to play, huh?? What are you, some kind of wussy?? You better go before I lose my patience here,” Rufert snorted.
I decided to relax by the river and read my meditation books while the rest of the men played their very important games. I don’t know about any other men out there, but one of the most helpful books for me is, “Daily Meditations for Men Who Have No Self-Esteem and Are Not Likely to Get Any.” I believe it’s one of those Hazelnut publications. Interesting, because in light of what was going on around me that day, the reading fit it to a tee: “You are surrounded by dogs. Remember that you are also a dog, and if you step in dog dirt your Higher Power will help you clean your shoes.” How profound!
Well, when the men came back from their fun, it was time to eat again. We were all amazed that we were eating so early… 10:47 p.m. and we were all famished. “Old Herman” had outdone himself this time: marshmallow pudding with peas, and deep fried salami sandwiches. I was totally unaware that you could deep fry a whole sandwich, but “Old Herman” pulled it off. I asked him later how he managed this feat, and he very humbly shrugged and pointed to the minnow trap in the corner. When I turned my head to look, I saw that the wire trap glistened with oil droplets. Then I turned my head back toward “Old Herman” and he gave me a wistful wink and nodded his head. Then he abruptly excused himself and made a bee line for the port-a-john.
After dinner I scraped the grease off my face and slid back into my tent and enjoyed indigestion rumblings and numerous trips to the port-a-john for the rest of the night. Maybe part of my inability to sleep was anticipation of the next morning, which was the wrap up session for the retreat.
Day 3: (Sunday morning)
No “King’s Breakfast” this morning. Ah well. Instead, we got instructions on what wild fruits and edible plants were available in the area, and also a hand-drawn map on where to find them. As we all set out to forage, I made a loop through the woods and got back into my car where I had some Little Debbie snack cakes tucked under the seat. “Old Herman” spotted me and invited himself in, and the two of us shoved snack cakes into our faces until the rest of the poor souls returned with thorns on their lips and burrs in their clothing. We were all invited to circle around the camp fire to say a last group prayer before departing. “Old Herman” and I gleefully burped often and blew the scent of Little Debbie snack cakes into the nostrils of our famished neighbors. Then we all did the secret handshake and called each other vile names, hopped in our cars, and gunned our engines to get the heck out of there. Each of us abused our transmissions and kicked up globs of dirt with our tires until there was nothing visible but a huge cloud of dust over the lodge. And I think I saw that poor macramé duck thing along the road as I drove home.
So as you call can see, this story about the men’s retreat was completely fabricated. But hey, I can hardly wait till next year!! I’m sure I’ll be going, but I’ll make sure to tell “Old Herman” I’ll be a little late.
Gotta stop at the store for survival snacks on the way…
Well my friends, here we are again in another election cycle. Way too much money is being spent on ads for this candidate or that one. All this money could really be better spent helping those of us who are less fortunate. Lots of opinions flying around the interwebs and the Twitbooks and Facepages. Some opinions are based on facts, some are making up “facts” as they go along. All I know is, if someone is very sure about themselves, there’s not much I can do to get them to look in a different direction. There was a time in my life when I felt it was very important for me to try however; and all that accomplished was hurt feelings and sometimes the loss of a friendship.
A very dear friend of mine used to say, “You know, we can disagree without being disagreeable.” As I grow older and moldier, I try to practice that philosophy. Sometimes I fall short, of course; because what can I say? I’m human. In tough times though, I’m finding that peace and harmony are much more important than getting on a soap box.
Does all that mean that I’m OK with injustice, hatred, and environmental insults to Mother Nature happening in this world? Of course not! I just need to be careful not to spit out all the “My Way Or The Highway” platitudes. There’s certainly enough discord in this world without me stirring up more. However, anger can be stirred up even when facts are presented. An example: I remember posting a complaint about the actions of a government official on the Bookface. A torrent of comments ensued, some agreeing and some not. I was saddened by one of our leader’s actions and I spoke out, but I was not prepared for the sniping that my post generated. Then, unfortunately, some name calling ensued.
My response: I deleted the post. I could no longer bear the sniping.
All of us have the right to our thoughts; but when discussion morphs into anger fueled rants, communication is sabotaged. Name calling will not promote harmony; which is desperately needed right now. I’ve come to realize that any negative thought can be harmful. At the very least, negativity causes my Serenity Alarm to loudly clang between my ears; but my professional opinion is such thoughts are harmful to the Universe in general. Lately I’ve been working much harder to keep my thoughts as positive as possible. An exercise I’ve been reading about insists that any negative thought must be immediately replaced with a positive or at least neutral thought. This applies to situations, places, things, and of course people. Instead of bad mouthing any him or her, I instead work to pray for the person to be happy and healthy all the day long. This isn’t always easy, but the result has been much greater peace of mind.
I’m pretty sure God (whoever they are) wants me to live that way. In fact, I’ve come to believe that God wants me to love everything and everyone. Years ago I stumbled upon an anonymous quote which stated that “Nature is God’s reflection.” Holy Wazooky!! That means everything from molecules (or smaller) to galaxies and beyond!! Although I have no idea of the origin, it has become one of my favorite quotes. Then a friend challenged me by saying, “So Ken, that means all of us are part of that reflection, right??” Of course I had to agree. So I do my best to love everyone, even those who I will likely not invite to dinner. It’s just better that way.
To quote a favorite artist of mine, “What’s so funny ’bout peace, love and understanding?” We actually enjoyed him in concert this evening!! Life is good… so long as I remember how blessed I am.
So there we were, at RiverEdge Park in Aurora, Illinois, about 600 feet above sea level (I looked it up), when a rock band called Cheap Trick (heard of them?) emerged from the prehistoric times of our youth to play for all of us old people. OK, there were some young people too, but not very many. Weather was perfect. Sound system was top notch. Unfortunately, however, Rick Nielsen was not doing so good.
According to the interwebs, Mr. Nielsen is known as the band’s lead guitarist and primary songwriter. He’s 77 years old right now… and his age seemed to be catching up with him during the concert last night. If any of you pray, please wing some up for him… he had to leave the stage a few times because he wasn’t feeling well. In spite of those interruptions, the rest of the band did the very best they could without him. It was a noble effort, but I’m sure it wasn’t one of their best shows.
Prior to the concert, we were checking in to our hotel and gabbing about our plans to go the the concert. When we mentioned we were there to see Cheap Trick, all but one of the folks at the desk were familiar. The youngster at the desk asked, “Who’s Cheap Trick??” We replied immediately, “They’re a rock band from the 70s. Old people music.” “Oh, OK,” he said, nodding; but it was very apparent that he had no clue who they were.
Such is the plight of ancient beings like me. I still actively listen to tunes from the 60s right on through to current artists; although I admit my familiarity with much of the current music scene is pretty limited. Heck, I even like stuff that was popular way before I was born. Some of that 20s, 30s, and 40s dance music really rocks my socks! Some from the 1950s even!!
Yes, I am officially an old fart.
Ah, the 70s… no not the music (although that was a good time), I’m 72 now… holy high blood pressure / venous insufficiency / metabolism changes, Batman!! My blood pressure is managed with meds, my venous insufficiency is managed with compression socks, and my metabolism has changed to the point that if I even look at an ice cream cone I gain 2 ½ pounds. Oh and yeah… those socks are so awesome. They keep my feet from getting swollen due to circulatory changes; but they are a total pain in the hiney to put on and take off. I am getting some resistance training from donning and removing socks!! A younger friend of mine saw them the other day, and said, “Wow Ken!! Cool socks!! I need to get me some!!!” I smirked and emphatically replied, “These are medicinesocks!!”
Oh well, I keep reminding myself how blessed I am. I’m retired, have no debt, and all things considered I am in very good health. And yes, I’ll continue to listen to old people music. It’s like… far out, man!!
Here are a few examples for your listening and viewing pleasure.
May I be the first one to wish you Happy Friday!!! The world is still flat and all the flaming custard pies are of course round as the day is long. Smothered in onions and dripping with gravy, the happy toast salesman changes his underwear more often than a bread flavored pair of zircon encrusted tweezers!! If any of the sentences in this paragraph are not complete!! Please use the localized amnesia to invigorate the invertebrates!! These superfluously punctuated exclamations not to be endured!!!!!
Now there may be a time when time is short, and at that time, please try either thyming or rhyming, depending on the length of your very own noodle fasteners. There may be hours of whistling ahead of each and every one of us. Just pucker your lips and kiss the lightning bugs before they turn left at that silly USB port over there. I don’t care if they insist upon recharging their hineys!! Don’t they know that bio-luminescence is fortified by part of this delicious breakfast??
Huck. Hucka Hucka! Apply Hucka Hucka fastener jelly each and every midnight on the bread and Holy Cow eat the darned thing before the dogs catch a sniff. I’m sure you all know what happens when sniff fasteners change lanes during a staple storm. In order to avoid the obvious need for renting electric staple removers, I wrongly suggest not using electric stables in the first place. After all, electric stay bulls will merely insight a rye out when Victor, the Prize Bull of Lockawanna County takes a whiz on that electric eel you so cleverly dressed as a butter sniffing clown.
Now I must go. Please don’t ask me to explain any of this. I merely had too many burrito molecules lodged in my sandals during the last 14 episodes of “Melvin The Mailman Makes Marinades.” As I’m sure none of you are aware, this week’s episode finds Melvin licking telephone poles and other small animals in search of that elusive Marinade Holy Moly. I’m sure once he discovers the incorrect ingredients, a very unsatisfactory Mystery Marinade will make even the sleepiest Great Blue Heron stand proudly in the swamp. Then, when his guests sample the finished product, there will be intestinal volcano in epic contortions. All will be delighted to induce vomiting during commercials.
In conclusion my friends, as I’ve often screamed: please remember that it’s always better to be you than for you to be me, and although you can count to it, eight is a word.
Please pass the gravy,
Kibble G. Wibnerdort
a.k.a. “Freebert Firesauce”
And now for some audiovisual amusement: two videos to store in your smiling cabinet.
Although it seems to be getting increasingly painful, I read the news. Did you know that some idiot that lives in the White House just declared that Lake Ontario will be officially renamed to Lake of America?? It makes me to barf on the ground. First the Gulf of Mexico, now this. And the billionaires who support him are marching in lockstep… Apple maps and Google maps both display the “Gulf of America” even though Mapquest still displays the correct name: Gulf of Mexico.
Oy yoy yoy.
Well maybe we could really mix it up. You know, like maybe we could all just start renaming people, places, and things to whatever the heck we want them to be. I’ll begin, then any of you who wish to play can join in. We’ll call the game “I Hereby Declare…” The only rule is to use an example of the new usage in a sentence.
I hereby declare:
Hot dogs are to be renamed radishes. “I’d like two chili radishes and some fries please.”
New York City is to be renamed New Orleans, and vice versa. “We’re really geeked about seeing the Empire State Building during Mardi Gras. Then we’re going down to Louisiana for some famous New York style jambalaya.”
Dogs are hereby renamed lamprey eels. “Yesterday I took my lamprey to get it neutered. It didn’t seem very happy because it chewed up the pillows on the sofa while I was at work.”
Red will hitherto be referred to as orange. “I’m sorry officer, I didn’t see that the light was orange. I’m sure I hit the light when it was yellow and I probably should have stopped… but I continued on and pulled over because my lamprey eel was eating a chili radish and got a mess all over me.”
Beans will now be called fartpoppers. “Mmmm I’m hungry. Hope there are some left over Boston baked fartpoppers!!”
And least but also last:
Seconds are now to be called as years; and years shall be called decades. “Yes I know I’m 72 decades old, but just for the fun of it I learned that my new Toyota Camry LE will go from zero to sixty in just 10.3 years.”
OK that’s probably more than enough. Not sure what we can do to stop the madness that’s oozing out of the White House these days. Seems like November is too long to wait.
Anyway, as Mr. Cleese would have said, “And now for something completely different.”
So here I am, working at what I’ve always worked for all my life, being retired, not needing to take any jobs to make ends meet, and now that it’s been a little over 6 years and I can really relate to what the “old timers” used to tell me: “I am so busy now I don’t know how I ever had time to work!!”; and now I wonder do I put the semicolon inside the quote or outside because this run-on sentence is big but I needed to include the exclamation marks because hey, I wanted to emphasize that I often find myself with no time!!
Whew!
I had no idea what retirement would bring. My only goal was to be able to coast as long as possible without “working for the man” (or the woman) (hey I’ve had a few female bosses) (and now there are too many parentheses) (but I don’t care). So far, I’ve been able to be just fine without doing any work stuff for supplemental income. I am very grateful!!
Something is wrong, however. The days are zooming past my nose with great zippy fast kaboom all gone the days of quick time passing already!! And that may or may not even be a good way to describe it!! But I don’t care because I enjoy using words to make funny!! So there!! I mean, it seems like only yesterday it was COVID outside, and recently I was able to hug several friends at a gathering without freaking anyone out.. Another example of how time has flown.
My career as a “techie” has paid off in many ways, but it has also posed some very interesting challenges during retirement. After having endured many system changes and upgrades of networks and replacement of equipent I’m being a bit rebellious and I’m holding on to devices that work just fine but I sometimes get mocked by friends who have much newer stuff but when I tell them my “brand new iPhone 8” works just fine they look at me funny and maybe even wonder why I really need to make such a long sentence describing all of this when I could probably be quick about it; and if some of you are annoyed by the length of this second run-on sentence, well I just need to tell you something.
Tough beans!!
On the other hand, you have the vegetable garden. Makes my hands very dirty and I love every minute of it. I am an organic gardener, meaning I do not use any manufactured fertilizers or pesticides. All the soil building materials come from the dump. Yep. I put garbage by the trailer load in my dirt and wait for it to stop stinking. NO!! No, that’s wrong!! I do go to the dump (the politically correct term is transfer station) for fertilizer: free mulch in the form of leaves and lawn clippings. After 42 years of adding these to what was basically beach sand under the turf, I’ve been able to convert very sandy soil into a rich growing medium. And no, there is no such thing as “bad leaves” for the garden. When the worms are happy, the soil is happy.
Anyway, gardening can be very time consuming if you want to get a decent harvest. It’s always been a labor of love for me; and before retirement I had grandiose dreams of having a picture perfect garden. Guess what?? Uh uh. Nope. This year in particular, the amount of plantings has been scaled way back due to travel and other time consuming (but fun) activities. But hey, I’ll still get food: beans, potatoes, tomatoes, Swiss chard, garlic (lots of garlic), popcorn, hopefully some squash. But there are some unruly corners of the garden that are infested with catnip, milkweed, lambs quarters, purslane, even some clover. But you know what? It’s very OK. If I had nothing else to do, my garden may (or may not) be free of weeds. People think I’m nuts when I tell them that “weeds are guardians of the soil.” It’s true you know. Their root systems prevent erosion while adding organic matter to the soil. Weeds provide habitat for spiders and other beneficial creatures. And when the catnip is flowering, pollinators of all sorts come a-runnin’. Ever see a hummingbird moth?? So amazing!! And not to forget the milkweed that feeds Monarch butterfly caterpillars. We’ve even enjoyed the fact that plants like lambs quarters and purslane are very edible.
Since we are social people, our calendar has filled up quickly. That’s good, right?? Better to be wanted and loved than to have people shudder at the mention of your name! Of course there are lots of other things that keep me occupied on this 5 acre homestead of ours. Maybe someday I’ll even get brave and clean up the clutter bomb that exploded (very slowly) in my garage!! Or do something really radical like declutter my office!! Are you picking up on a clutter pattern here?? Oh well, retirement really is awesome. And yes, “I’m so busy now I don’t know how I ever had time to work.”
And I really like it!!
On the other hand, you have Dinosaur Dinner Theatre…
I’ve been very busy thinking about the world and all its problems. In doing so, I’ve become increasingly aware that I cannot solve much… but what I can do is try the very best I can to improve the environment I find myself in at any given time. I try to be kind and loving to every soul I meet. I also do my best to respect Mother Nature. So anyway I feel I’ve learned a few things over the years; and have gathered some words of wisdom I wish to present to you at this time for your reading pleasure.
I may have made some of these up…
0!) First rule: don’t sweat the small stuff. Second rule: Everything is small stuff.
z) Don’t sweat the petty things, and don’t pet the sweaty things.
L) You can pick radishes before they are ripe, and they will still be red.
6) I’ve learned to be grateful for my big nose… it keeps my feet dry when it rains.
@) If life gives you lemons, make lemonade. If life gives you peaches, make applesauce.
14) Listen… do you smell something?
8x) I keep my snacks in folders so I can organize them according to calorie content. However, some snacks are not easily folded.
&) Some Of The Most Delicious Snacks In The Previous Entry Item (8x) Are Capitalized To Enhance Their Complete Lack Of Nutritional Value.
Bu) Only the best Yo Vonkeny may be stored under the Mizzlepop Trees.
r9) I really need to quit stuffing donuts in my ears. But they are so soft!!
Woo) My window snakes can’t jump anymore; but on a scale of 1 to 34 it smells like root beer is my favorite color of the alphabet.
And finally, that age-old proclamation of mine:
It’s always better to be you than for you to be me; and although you can count to it, EIGHTis a word.
Thank you for enduring this horribly inflammable laundry hallucination. May you always be cheerful and incredibly crinkly during your remaining Earth years.
I’m going back to bed now, but not until after the video.
This letter is to address the desire / craving / need you never expressed regarding a cool yet refreshing beverage that is both fluffy and indigestible during working hours. I’m happy to report that I have invented a new and irresistible dust flavored soda made of wholesome, all natural components we have all learned to tearfully disintegrate.
I’m calling my new drink “BOOF!!,” which must always be spelled with inverted angle iron bedazzled with very appealing frost covered pebbles. “BOOFF!!” gets its amazing flavors from only the most exceptional, fruity, crunchy laundry water which is carefully harvested from environmentally sanctioned veterinary noodles. The texture of this amazing drink is in no way similar to cotton candy that’s been uncarefully blended with fermented popcorn. However, the swirling purple strands gyrating in the bright orange liquid is truly convulsive to even the most die-hard soda pop guzzling professionals.
We’ll be packaging “BOOF!!” in only the finest recycled dish detergent containers. This method has been found ineffective in destroying harmful bacteria and other toxic organisms, especially those named “Piffy” or “Zonikula.” An added benefit is, of course, the flavor enhancements that are derived from the hyperpolysyllabic cultural centers of Bonkyootalvoningabibnia and Haverstanky-Wofflekaboomerang.
Nobody ever goes to either of those imaginary places.
So my friends, please do not remind me of what I was actually supposed to convey here. I’ve been writing this important announcement in my sleep and I do not wish to be disturbed by any regurgitation noises after you’ve finished drinking several gallons of “BOOF!!” Why you would even purchase such a product is a complete mystery to me. Of course, I also am profoundly mystified by thoughts of how many fingernail fragments I’ve discarded over the years.
Is there a container large enough in my garage for all those clippings?? I just don’t know!!
Please be well. Oh and by all means, please remember: DON’T DRINK “BOOF!!” It is likely to make you to barf on the ground.
Insincerely yours,
Vorgnoot Jibbleflapper
Your very pungent neighbor
This may be EXACTLY how “BOOF!!” is made. Or maybe not at all!!
I’m not sure where to begin with this inflammatory bag of indecent composure. One can only imagine the amplified indigestion that crackles loudly during The Urinary Festival that never takes place under small slices of cheese. The hundreds of port-a-potties rented during the festival are clumsily decorated with used corn and horribly undercooked radio vines. This of course gives them their adorable yet pungent odor that will curl your eyebrows from a distance of at least 334.
On the other hand, while choking on festival foods you may require the Hind Kick maneuver, which is totally disgusting and miserably ineffective. It’s also possible you could receive the Hand Lick maneuver on both hands. If so, please don’t go around calling crayons bad names. Your piers may not even want to try it. And of course, if you add an “L” to “piers,” you get “pliers,” and that’s what Herman the Zinc Miner will use to pinch your septum every single time the Three Stooges investigate the Twighlight Zone.
An important event that never occurred reminds me of the time I opened the window and several nonfurry checkbook carriers escaped and ran through the intersections. As I saw this, I twinkled my toes and exclaimed, “Holy Photonic Calibration!! There go four of my unused satellite receivers!” If you see them, it’s likely they will be traveling with soup and perhaps even potato cartilage. This flavor based combination will intimidate even the best of all your political cappuccino. Why anyone would even attempt to varnish tomatoes is way beyond my constitution.
Clang clang clang go the whistles, enjoying help from Above and Oh my God my socks are draining again. Above refers to a place higher than me, where birds, helicopters, and dragonflies enjoy friendly “Hey let’s watch The Exorcist again” parties. If you happen to be near such a gathering, please run from the wildebeest and leave a trail of Poppin’ Fresh doughnuts so we can find you when it’s time to do the dishes.
Are you trying to annoy me with that cheap imitation of a screen door you call “Lermick??” Well, just so you know, you’ll never make any Cracker Barrel Surprise with that silly rubber spoon you’ve hidden in the sofa cushions. I beseech you, never attempt to wave your antler hammers at my pet goat fish while she’s washing the television. This never happened before, and probably will never happen again at least 43 times or less. Unless, of course, the bread turns left at the next power pickle.
Someone stole eleven percent of my brain. This makes the chore of even normale typeikng vyery diffiddicult indeeded.n Sol I lleave youoyou noww, bbefoorew I cane nlwo longerers type * at # Alle.’
By buy,
Nivnick Blastfinkle
Strontium Inspection Specialist
3003 Ozone Olympics
P.S.: Soon I will buy you some string you can use to persuade insects to do fancy tricks.
Unless your name is Bimbo and you are trying to join a fraternity…
