This is something called New Years !

It's true , i heard it on the radio ; some clown was happily screaming , "Happy New Year !"
I think maybe he'd been drinking -- or sniffing the purple markers that he'd been writing 'Happy New Year' all over the walls with .

Come to think of it , he had to have been high ; because later i turned on the news and saw the same guy , you see , i recognized his voice , wearing a Christmas tie and bright pink pajamas dodging Toyota's on the by-pass while trying to scribble 'Happy New Year' on their white walls . He still had the purple marker but it was hanging out of his left nostril . His new implement of glee-infection was a bright orange marker . Of course orange has been shown to cause depression in some people , so maybe he was trying to come down a bit .

I think tomorrow i will be reading his name in the paper under the obituaries , then i will know at least who this lunatic is ... perhaps i'll also find out what this New Year's thing is and why i should be so darned happy about it .

Toodles ; talk at you next year .

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day tripleX , Peace-Aye , Aye !

Alert , a lert : a continuation of the already over-prolonged serial tale of lust and greed in perpetuity and aggravated by killer bees with bad knees in the land of Oz ! Lions and tigers and bears ...

Stop ! Delete the preceding message from your memory , already saturated with the mind-numbing jingles from breakfast commercials , hold the pickles , hold the lettuce . My dog has fleas .

Stop !

In our last episode of Willy meets the Nine Pin Emperor and Harry the Corrupt , Willy had a cow , then went to the bank for a withdrawal and instead found himself in a series of hilarious adventures based on the life of Tom Bombadil .... stars the cast of Friends .

Stop !

Reset ... go back ... further ... 4 posts ... stuff and nonsense ... check check check ... restart ...

Escape from the Land of Hobo , and Special Effects , and Mind Blowing Conversations !

..... with the plans scanned into my digitized orb sensors and a stack of pencils that i pilfered off the pseudo wood-grained table top , i tripped over a tripod that was conveniently in the way and discovered the entrance to a passageway ; possibly the exit to freedom ; a way out of this hole i'd stumbled into ; a shaft of infinite possibilities but probably in actuality merely the automatic doorway that my host had earlier escaped through , leaving me stranded but in sole possession of the plans to cast a wrench into the system ... a tool of peace or of the downfall of all inhumanity .

Whatever that was .

The plans that the half human , half machine man , or was he a HOBO !!!!!!?

Commercial break ... conveniently use this break to obtain a burrito ......................................................................................................................................................
....................................................................................................................................................................
....... ( encoded within these dots is a device to cause thirst in a camel ... avoid staring directly at the dots as they will if stared at by lower life forms precipitate a severe drop in the water level of Lake Michigan ) ...........................................more dots ..........................................................................

Flashback ! the Hobo plans have mysteriously integrated with the memories of an innocent childhood , in which i frolicked in the peafields beside the freeway , and off in the distance the car-relics could be viewed in their circuit of the model cities where the lifeforms were kept for our amusement . "Mother , i see the turkey-float with its shining turrets ! " I tremble .

Mother : "Do not be afraid , the Turkey is prowling but will discern your feedback and leave you with virtual stuffing ; it is manna to your water-coolant , and delicious !

"( 001100101010001001001000101011110101010010100100
1000001110101010101011110) ".

Oh No ! the lifeforms are revolting !

My circuit board mother and wrench applicator always told me so , but now the lifeforms were leaving the sanctuary and absconding with the pea-gels and turning them into tubes of viscous travel paste and behaving like the nearly eradicated field weasels ; burrowing into the hills and snatching and running and wreaking havoc in our suburban refuge . The bolts and screws that we left lying about for our enjoyment were being borrowed and fitted with booby traps and harnesses and frequency devises that shrouded our wave intelligence and broadcasted our rational operations into the ether where mother nature watered them down and spread the output wide over the landscape so it could drip into the caves where the once prized lifeforms could obtain them and use them against us ... a virus was spreading throughout the metallic foundations of our earthly home ....

These plans that i had innocently uploaded were now viciously rerouting and assimilating into my reflex servers and knowing this i knew i had but little time left to flush the newly introduced input , so i winched open my palatal doodad plate with an L-wrench and t-boned my a-drive with an m-phatic and n-thusiastic elbow twist then sighed as my system rebooted to yesterday's schematics because everybody knows that pie are square , except in the ancient picture books of the goddess Betty Crocker , who's recipes are pasted onto the aluminum walls of the depot to be mock salivated over during Purposeful Fridays in the month of Lubrication and Waxing .

Now , to leave behind this hole and deliver the whereabouts of this locale to an electronic brain-wave sensor unit high above the air in orbit . While my neural transmitter was yet unclouded .

I followed the tunnel out , the air smelled gooey and organic ; on the perspiring rounded shaft were framed prints and one was pleasing to my orb-sensor and i paused to scan the lines and rivets and the memories it invoked . The
image seemed to frown into my rudimentary voltaic conformity and when i rotated what i saw was a happiness that flipped on the pulsation-soul-tubes and i could feel my innards warm with the radiant heat that the glass tubes produced , and the vacuums that had rested so long in stasis now switched on the fans and propelled the heat into the conduits and i could smell the dust burning off the elements and filling the air about me with a pleasant static .


A renewed sense of urgency surged in my circuitry and i followed the tunnel out , finding another wooden door that creaked rustily as my hydraulics forced it open and once again i was standing above ground , in an overgrown field and shaded by an ancient tree not yet plucked and used for fuel by the floating gunship cities that orbited and harassed the

Land of Hobo !

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXXsix

If you looked up into the sky last night , and if you saw Santa Bug and his team of flying miscreants , and if you didn't slide off the icy road , and if you hadn't just quaffed half a bottle of Zinfandel , and if now you're wondering just exactly what you did see last night in the skies flying over your head , than have a very merry Christmas !

... first of all , i have had that kind of a day !

bleep bleep bleep bleepity bleep .

Let me tell you about it :

bleep bleep bleepity bleep bleep bleep .

Also , bleep bleep bleep .

And , then , bleepity bleep bleep bleep .

That's not all , Jackie came around the corner and bleep bleepy bleep bleep bleepity bleep and then bleep with bleep and i ducked , but then bleep bleep bleep , the frozen turkey slipped ( bleep ! ) , i swear it was an accident , bleep bleep blurp hello officer , squeeling tires , bleep bleep bleep , pothole , ice bleep screech , got away with it , bleep , bleep ..... Merry Christmas to all and a happy new year , too , bleep bleep bleep .... i think i'd better start thinking about my New Year's Resolutions . Bleep . Peace , out . *****

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXXIV

Coming soon , to a theatre near you , unless you are a caribou , The Hobo Sleeps Alone ! starring the fresh face from Taiwan , Joe Shmo as the sheriff of Hoboville ; he's the new Rambo ; he's the guy who steps up to the plate ; he's the guy who is all-American and above all ; he's the guy who can do what the president hasn't been able to do ; he's the guy who has the answers !

Yes , it is the 4th installment of the Hobo Chronicles , the one in which the anti-establishment and retro Luddites , aided only by wooden spoons and a mule , bring down the world of technology and vow to grow potatoes !That's right -- the long awaited sequel to the cliff hanger in which director Pillow Von noDoz reveals that the world is now scabbed by metal , and machinery rules ; where the only refuge is a network of underground tunnels ; where organic matter barely clings to life , drying in the cracks of a computerized civilization grown rabid and drooly . People , thought extinct , now exist only as flesh and aluminum riveted together , and our heroes slink from hole to hole trying to piece together the myth of a world gone gray and dying as bombs and flak fill the cold skies . Now , after Weasel-bot discovers the Luddite plans for dismantling the all-powerful corporate machines , will he destroy the plans ? Will he smuggle out the plans ( complete with diagrams and coded instructions describing integral circuitry and proper screwdriving techniques ) ; will he be stopped at the border with illegal contraband ; will he run low on windshield washer fluid and run off the road into a rotting trove of ancient tumbleweed copper wire detritus ; will he get the plans to the secret Luddite council and be summarily disassembled and used for spare parts and then placed covertly into the master machines central nervous system only to fail because of an overlooked lithium battery but heroically save the day by discovering a reserve power in his eyelash flickering system ? Can the love of his life and object of machine lust weep at his sacrifice only fail to do so because of her innate tendency to feel no remorse ?

See it , the movie , starring the cute robot man that is eventually revealed in the final 3 minutes of .................

Hoboland and the Gears of Justice .

rated PG-13 for violence and naked monkey parts and some illicit robot love filmed through a smoke filter so as to assume a cloud of incongruity and unpleasantness's incurred by the wrath of the Bruce Willis society for the protection of lugnuts and their like .

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XX10+iIi

... and the devil took his elevator up from way down lowwwwwwwwwww ,

... and it said .........

... all this can be yours ,


for only ....






this is what early morning t.v. viewing can do to you : ruin your personal optics , transform neurons into moron conductors , create slogs of corpuscular sludge , kill your initiative , alienate your cohabitants , maim your sense of right and wrong , destroy your faith in the world its people and the belief that God exists because how could He allow something so immoral to go on and on and on without sending down an all-new-fangled plague and maybe a big flood , too ? Well , maybe perhaps that will happen next too and also so .

Really , but do i have to give you my phone number or e-mail address or anything ? because nothing free is actually worth it ... or it wouldn't be free ...

...guaranteed satisfaction , or your money back !

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXten+II

3 brief trifles , born of ice , dying of inaneness :

Then the ice came , the ice i say , the ice ; and the ice lay heavy on my body , my cold inert body , like your whispers lay on my broken heart ; your crass murmuring ; your heartless jests ; the barbs that you flung my way stuck fast to my heart like the icicles now form on the tip of my nose , and only because i am thoroughly tongue-tied can i not throw back the insults you have laid heavy on my lethargic and blue heart ; the muscle that once beat strong feeding on the warmth that ebbed from your spiritual being now drubs on like a weak and broken tom tom ; a toy drum because i guess the love never was real , it was phantom-love , a pseudo and generic thing doomed to poop out and melt to a puddle , like the ice that encases my freezing body will someday , maybe next spring , with the thaw , my body ... frozen ; my love forgotten ; it will melt away , and i will defrost ; rot and seep into the dirt ; become one with dirt and forget love because love is hard , crueler and harder then the teeth that gnaw the dirt , the worm teeth of the worm i have become !

__________________________________________

Needles ... spiky green needles , and they are right there , now !

Only , when you are in a hurry , and the needles are a detriment , then for the love of giant extinct sloths ! cripes ! The damned needles .

Of course when you need a needle , a spiky green needle , there never is a one . But now , needles ! Everywhere . Save us from the needles ; go and needle another and leave me be , you cursed needles from hades ! Ahg , another needle !

__________________________________________

i love you , Filbert ; i will watch you grow in distortion ; you will be green and twist about yourself unsure of direction , but the fun is in the journey not the destination ; you will spread and you will flower and you will attempt immortality by way of your precious catkins ; others might grow taller , straighter ; but none will be closer to heaven or my heart .

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXXI

...another warning to the already pre-warned and perhaps those who missed the first warning and all of those who never seem to heed warnings and of course all of those who prefer to just stumble ahead blindly , all willy-nilly and such , oh heck and dern , never mind . What , what'r ? I think i am trying to say that this post is a further continuation of the continuing adventures of -- actually i am not really certain of who or what -- a former blog post that began some many days prior ... dot dot dot ( epsilonish of me , yeah ? )

Again , consequently and so-forth , More Adventures in the Lands of Hobo !

...so , narrowly escaping the cataclysms that had begun outside of the weedy door , i now looked about at my new surroundings , much more serene than those former surroundings that were still ringing in my ears , what with the gunfire and bombs and all .



The door was shut , but a dim light shone from down the tunnel and i could see well enough to be worried once again . The entrance was above me , and the solid door from this side appeared a dull metal , quite solid and maybe locked ... at the moment i was willing to leave it be and worry about making my exit at some future time ; after the battle outside passed for sure .



The tunnel appeared to be bored out by some magnificent huge drill . It was supported with imposing metallic rings at distances of four feet which made it look like i was inside of a segmented worm . It sort of smelled that way , too .



I walked , stooping at every ring .



Toward the light at the end of tunnel .



Go toward the light ...



And there i saw it leaning over a table , poring over some aged and torn documents , a strangely disheveled relic of some sort of bipedal creature , obviously alien as it had hair springing from its ( i can only assume it is some sort of a head ) top , and also a sort of pallid and somewhat porous body covering , mostly covered with multi-colored soft skins . The only indigenous parts exhibited on its person were a forged arm , spiked shoulder protrusions and a mechanical pencil .

Disgusting , and disgusted i felt an incredible urge to slink away , but the thing observed me from its jelly-like orbs , positioned at the front of its head-thing , and it spoke a gibberish . I will not even try to reproduce the gross sounds it mushed forth from its squishy , expectorating oral cavity . Yccccchhhplbbbbbbbblalalala . Yeesh !

Perhaps realizing it couldn't possibly be understood , it motioned with its good arm , the metal one for engineering's sake ! to the documents and schematics at the table top . And a hole opened at its pedestals and down went the creature into the abyss , with no word not even a gesture of farewell .

The drawrings were quite satisfying , but lit

tle could i know of their importance ...

whatever , it is snowing now .

The snow , the snow . The snow . Snow snow snow snow snow . Snow .
Snow is a funny word , now that i look at it . All alone . Look at it ... alone :


snow


Who comes up with these words !???

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXIX

. be warned , this post is a vast continuation beyond the realm of the previous post , and it is much more frightening . If you are afraid of worms or the color yellow then perhaps you ought to cower now .

As i was saying , the humongous mechanical thing was odding me out , and i thought i might join the Ghostie under his tree and point too . Perhaps its pointing was a defense mechanism , but i couldn't think how it would help , nor did i want to be within spitting distance of a Ghostie ; it is rumoured that their spit is globular and can cause slime to accumulate

I turned tail and ran .

Apparently the government was alerted to the situation , because over the next hill i fathomed a battalion of flotilla , dune flotilla , accompanied by heliocopitors and stray u-fos . They were aircraft carrying worm trawlers that trudged via treads over the plains and dunes and tree-lined avenues and they waved huge metallic cannon guns and felt out the oppression with air feelers and ravaged the farmer's crop for its fuel guzzling coffers .

Being between the raging worm trawlers and the floating hell-machine was maybe the craziest thing i had ever done , and not consciously done : my brain was contused ; drugs were in order . I looked about for a way out , maybe a hole to fall in to , or a ditch to convalesce in and ride out the storm . I relished not the flying armaments and the flotsam it would inevitably havoc on my body ... i wished my pieces to remain in intimate conjunction to one another.

The worm fleet neared , it was cresting and the other-worldly gargantuan -gadget -dripping- floater approached from my rear, borne by the wind ; i saw gun-toting saucers exiting through a rear sphincter and begin their circling maneuvers .

I tripped maniacally awash in afear , and so i stumbled . As i fell i saw it before my eyes ; a door .

The door was covered , thick with vegetation and mildew , and who could know what horrors lay beyond its rotting jams . No way out , because the guns dipped and steam whispered out from their maws . The saucers spun and coalesced into tight vees then swept forward in formation attacking the land-crushing worm army . I pulled at the weeds frantically and tugged at the door handle ; it was rusty and slimy wet and my fingers could find no purchase .

It was doom awaited me ... doom , but the hinges complained and the ancient crust that held the door gave way just as the hell-machine dove and let loose its thunder at the earth .

i fell into the hole i'd made , and the door slammed shut behind me .

Adventures in the Land of the Hobos .

I was warned of the Ghosties , but the day was so gloriously bright , and the leaves jumped green from their stiff , playful stems that i forgot the threat . Nay , i refused to heed anything of dearth , of darkness , of regret . Instead i documented the flutterbyes , the way of the skeletal monoliths and their sensory appendages , how they swayed with the wind , borne on the westward follies . The happy Hobos played their games , nevermindful of the ever present alien warships and their inefficient death rays . All of this and the root-tube melodies lulled me into a pleasent lethargy ... until the Ghostie spoke -- and pointed to the sky :

...the thing came over the horizon , was it a dream ? First I thought it might be a storm , some sort of cloud formation blowing in from the west . But then i realized it was a demon , some tragic mechanical sprung from the endless void and dripping machined fragments from its tubes , the vapor receptacles that dangled clanking from the Gargantua's undercarriage . Flotsam spewed from spring-loaded cannons at its summit and the displaced air was hazy and distorted where waste heat exited the exhaust and pushed the hellish contrivance overhead .

.

.

.

TO BE CONTINUED .

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXeight

I was out walking and found myself way out by the gigantic big Happy Birthday sign on Marvelous Bob's Hill last week . You know , the hill where Bob rolled the Guiness record ? He was contused for a month . They named a hill after him and on his birthday erected a huge sign kind of like the Hollywood sign , only smaller . There was a lot of activity going down as i wandered there so i took out an old card i had in my pocket and sat down and sketched this scene , right down to the aliens that were hiding behind trees to the guys in the hazmat suits . I like Bob's Hill , especially all the plastic bushes and fake flowers ... it is a place you can enjoy ALL YEAR LONG ! Even the astro turf is green ... and there are sun lamps . You should see it ; give the county notice and they'll clear out all the bums for a couple hours .Enjoy .

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day ex-ex-vee-i-i

Hens & Chicks; Chicks & pennys; Oh-- on a Rock ! YES: I AM A CAMERA !!! (YES< YES) This Brit penny is now worth 12 American dollars...yesterday i stopped at speedway and filled my tank with just this one Bristish penny--because it's value doubled 6 times in an hour--AND i topped off some guy's SUV who i didn't even know !!! It was incredible--if you have any of these British pennys then don't accidently spend them at walmart or ditch them at cracker barrel as a tip (like i know you used to do with all those Canadian dimes !) because these British pennys are gold. The penny above it, you know ol' honest Abe, that penny costs more then 3 dollars to produce and is worth about as much as dryer lint--at least with dryer lint you can collect it and knit it into a blanket to keep you warm this winter in your cardboard box. If you move your box into the landfill the rising gasses provide a minimum of warmth, so the lint blankie is a sound choice...or a nice red lint-sweater is good too, and stylish. By the way, these hens&chicks can grow to the size of volkswagons with a lot of ozoneless gamma rays and the right amount of toxic fertilizer and they make excellant windstops for your box, or boxes if you had an addition put together with weather proof duct tape. I like the colored stuff...camaflouge is good--helps to confuse the hobos. This Just in, some Middle Eastern zillionaire just traded in all his british pennies for onehundredbillionSusanBAnthonyDollars which lost half their value after he stopped to tie his shoelaces and then he bought SouthDakota and turned it into a SuperKmart/GoCart tracklotionOnYourKneesUnderAFantasticTreeSucculantPerenial/SushiBar/
OffTrackCamelRaceParlor/DiscountTeaHouse/DiscountCigaretteBurnYourUpholstryFunhouse/
FlipFlopsAreGreat/PoliticianGetAwayStripperClub/BowlingAlley&HotWings&StylishShoeMart/
ShoePhoneOutlet/OhNeverMindThisIsGettingStupid!!!!!!!


...one more wasted page, a near empty sheet ripped from the machines sanguine grip and crudely ovined, discarded to the circular file...
















Once, in his youth, when the days seemed longer and life hadn't begun to pull at the worn treads of his trademark loafers, Edgar bummed a pickle.

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXvI

The Mysteries of Life explained , in code :

I have kindof blindly cruised through the Blogland and found that most Bloggers in the land of Blog are foreign speaking , that is speaking a different language other then English , or twelve . I have no ability in reading anything except English , and also I am not twelve . Therefore I have decided that other Bloggers in Blogland hold no interest for me . I am alone . Of course , that means that the other-than-English-speaking-Bloggers and the twelve year olds have no interest in me , too . Either , also and for-too-so .
.

Whew , I am relieved ; now I can just blog on and on about stuff that I have always longed to , and not keep forcing myself to write only what I thought other Bloggers wanted to hear . This , because I now know nobody is reading this : the twelve year olds could care less and the other-than-English-speakers cannot read it anyway . To them it looks like this : 90833588#%%2537897&*&(?:LLKOug9jifjii woof woof duck , turtle.
.

First in my arsenal is the fact that I have trouble reading tea leaves . I drink a lot of tea , so of course I think I should really be good at this . It would be great to start the day off with a cup of tea and then know what will happen for the remainder of the day . Like : watch out , there is a box that will fall off onto your head , so be sure to look up . Or : that lady who drives you bonkers will do it again today ; you should just turn around and go the other way . And : ho-hum ; it will be boring from around 10:30 to 11:45 so maybe sharpen your pencil and do a crossword . A 5 letter word for cavort is frisk .
.

I am starting to experiment with the tea reading . It is sort of difficult , because I prefer Lipton tea . Not many leaves . At first I tried Maple leaves from the yard . Then I just dunked some Frosted Flakes from my bowl into my teacup . That was sort of messy , but tasted better than the Maple leaves . Have I peeked the interest of any twelve year olds yet ?
.

I have decided against reading tea leaves . Of course , it was a success , but in retrospect , knowing that you will fill out multiple reports and receive several venders and post bills and log this and log that and order a couple of these and some of those just isn’t the sort of thing a person wants to think about at 4:30 in the morning over a cup of mushy tea . I prefer sitting in my socks and moaning for a few minutes . Ahhhhhhhhgggg . Uhhhhhhhhhhg . Blluubbbbblubuh blublabuhb . Zzzzzzzzzzz .
.

So far this is the most accurate account I have blogged of my life , and it is all because I have stopped writing for the masses and instead for only myself : the only person in Blogland who is reading this . So there , all you plfff wobum speakers and twelve-sies . Goodnight , and good luck .
.

Who said that ?

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXFive

This afternoon's daily rant of the hour ( disregard if you have had your own rant in mind ; however if you are in the mood for a daily up-to-date rant , but don't want to think of your own , then feel free to consider this one ) .

Today , as it snows ( see snow , below ) I contemplate a heroic tale . I am making this up as I go , be warned . The world needs a new hero , a super duper hero , someone like Batman or Aquaman who has the people’s best interests at heart . Someone , or something , who isn’t in it for the money or fame or even the plush surroundings of a comfortable lifestyle . Someone who doesn’t live life around fun or wine or women ( or men or insects ) or what’s on the telly tonite or who’s going to the super bowl . We need a hero devoted to our values and our lifestyle and committed to putting a fuel efficient automobile in every one’s driveway or garage or alley or curb or underground parking lot . Yes , we need Bill , or Warren or any other number of super rich gazzillionaires to step up to the plate and give every man women and child a handout . Because we know the government is too intent on giving away all of our tax money to the richest people in America who have already had a chance to spend their money wisely and consider the future , but who instead decided to line their pockets and get theirs while the getting was good .

Now , you’ll see , it is the hardest working people who will suffer while these fat-cats hoard all the money and buy up the best of what we’ve got to make themselves richer and fatter .

Now , on a lighter note , wouldn’t it be nice if we could also all have ice cream ? And fried chicken ? And mashed potatoes ? Every professional athlete making more then one million dollars a year should buy food and snacks for a designated community as often as possible instead of wasting their salaries ( getting paid millions to play a game ? ) on guns and strippers . There are people out there who had to actually pay for their education who are not making anywhere near a million dollars a year . Can you say 30,000 , or 20,000 , or less ? Geez Louise ! How do they afford T bones and caviar on that sort of green ? Some of them can barely feed their children , let alone 6 dozen mistresses and a colony of bodyguards and childhood friends all driving large black SUVs .
Isn’t the snow pretty ?

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXIV

…in my defense , I did not see it coming . First was one thing , just going along , minding myself , nothing further than one step then another , and so it happened : the occurrence . Whose fault , doesn’t matter ; you will worry and fret , feel bad . They’ll say , hey , one of things , not your fault . Maybe , but one second the world is good , everything is moving along ; the next out of the blue everything is changed -- different . How can one second , one misstep , one look away matter so completely ? The birds don’t mind , the traffic won’t stop , disease and famine and the moon won’t deviate its orbit , nor will the planets or the suns or the universe …it is life what is life what’s it matter who knows nobody .
You see , i am already thinking about new additions to the garden , next year . On my roof i have meticulously spelled out : "Aliens Welcome , Bring Cookies". Because guests always feel better when they don't come in empty handed . Or gadgets would be nice if they don't bake . Laser beams or fancy intergalatic beverages are always good ... but really , how many Goofluvian Batmaster Drips can you keep in your cupboard ... just one shot and you have to use up all your vacation time just to pry yourself off the ceiling ... i still have the popcorn-spray imprints from the last time . What i really need are some glow-globes for my garden ; they would look nice by the purple smoke tree , the one that Meister Phlintmatrix brought from Z-9 eleven last spring . The tree is really doing well , other then that incident on Independence Day when it ended up competing with the city fireworks and burnt down all the houses on the other side of the street .

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XX@2(add ONE)

So, the day is here , that special day Thanksgiving , when we all thank the indigenous peoples of our land , the Indians , who have graciously given us the turkey and pop corn . Without all the good stuff we have been given , surely our species would have perished from the earth altogether . And from the noble Indian , we gained our love of feathers , which we wear often upon our head . I am wearing my feather today . It tickles my nose , i believe i need to iron it , or starch it ... my feather droopeth . And from the great Indian we have marshmallow jello , it is good to see the marshmallows in the translucent green wiggly foods ... we all love the jello , but did you know that the ever-lovin' Indian also cooked a translucent salmon that was green , and beaver cakes , that were de-boned ? It's all good ... and of course the All knowing Indian was firstly from the planets that orbited The Great Sun , you know , the bigger sun outside of our solar system , that the interstellar Indian traveled from for many moons to reach our sun and give our puny race stuffing and raisins and other tasty goods . So give thanks , especially to our fore feathered friends , and wear your feather in fond remembrance of their greatness ... woo hoo hoo ! Thank you much !

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXII

Nothing nothing nothing nothing if repeated enough times is no longer random but meaningless . In the long long long sequence of Pi how many times in a row is one digit repeated ? If ‘nothing’ could be substituted for the number 8 , how many times could the word ( nothing , corresponding to ’8’ --does that make sense ? -- ) be repeated in one sequence ? Actually , seeing as I have no idea what I’m talking about , and don’t care and neither does anybody else , what does it matter ( question mark ) .

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On to more important things ….
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There are rubber thingies on the desk , in a sealed plastic bag . I do not know what they belong to . Also there is Scotch tape , several paper clips -- some of the spiral variety -- ear buds , 3 pens and 2 pencils , Webster’s Thesaurus , a couple dozen shiny picture hanging nails , several dice of all colors and sides , a glass’ case -- empty -- a be-noted and torn piece of scrap paper , a stack of CD-R’s , an extra button sleeve complete with the extra button , and dust .
No money . That’s a shame ; I could use the money ; everything else is crap .

.
It is almost 3 . I have been awake now for 11 hours . I think it is about time for a nap . I spent twenty three dollars ( and change , add some zeroes ) this afternoon . Money well spent ? Only time will tell . There is a broken Zune also , in its box .
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I have a Kleenex and lint in my pocket . My nose is a bit runny . It has been very cold this week . Unseasonably cold . This blog entry is way too revealing . Everything from here on will be a lie .
My dog is chewing on my running shoe . Stop it , Sam , bad dog . That shoe has more then 600 miles on it . The other one has about the same , maybe less because I like to hop on one leg occasionally for a few miles to fight boredom . I belong to a skipping club . Next week is the 10K Skip for Arthritis Skip . For 25 dollars you get to skip with a bunch of other skippers and get a T-shirt . And there’s milk and cookies afterwards . And Gatorade and a banana .
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Jelly Donut .
.

A glass of orange juice every day cancels out all the bad stuff you do . You can smoke a pack a day and have twelve Twinkies plus drink a glass of orange juice and you will live to be a hundred and eleven . The cigarettes have to be Marlboro Box Sea-kelps . I prefer the one hundreds . And Twinkies is a euphemism for …ahem . You know . The orange juice is really OJ . Really -- I’m not kidding . But who wants to live that long anyway . Unless of course you can skip right up until the end ; then sign me up .
.

And have Twinkies . Ahem .
.

These spiral paper clips are really kind of neat … and they work just fine . That part was true .

.

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXI

It has been established through the exertions of others I might add that commas are really not ever needed and that with a series of connector words and or full stops an author could essentially write an entire novel without ever using one . A comma I mean .

Froget your English teacher and so what if you occasionally misspell a word as long as everyone knows what you’re trying to say why sweat a couple misplaced letters. Commas appear to be a preference and not the rule or so I have read .

Actually every country has its own punctuation rules and every author has his or her own interpretation so there that’s my story and I’m sticking to it . The more famous an author you are the more quirky you are allowed to be although the critics may disagree . So what if they argue for one point or the other it is really only the readers that count and of course the dollars they will shell out for a favorite author’s new novel .

That is all I have to say about that and I sincerely hope that you all have a groovy day or night whichever applies best to your circumstance . Toodles .

Did Andy Warhol (spellcheck wants to make him a warthog) ever do a series on punctuation ?

I guess the lowly semi-colon isn’t as exciting as a soup can .

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XX .

Faces , and the faces that the faces wear . It’s a put on . In this new world , this future age , we can carry extra faces and around every corner we can open our face bag and exchange one face for another . Look , up the street is a man who’s face doesn’t match his gait . It is a wonky and aimless way he ambles in and amongst the crowd , while his face is confident and goal orientated . We meet , and we trade legs . Now our legs match our faces . Today is Tuesday , I think my old Tuesday face no longer reflects my modern Tuesday sensibility , so I’m going to the face store , Faces , for a one of those popular faddish faces . And a cappuccino . Face you later .

Experimenting with Roman Numerals , What the heck Day am i on now ?XIIX or something ?

Berries : Look , don't eat .

Today’s Seldom Horoscope and Not News for the Faint of Heart & Please ignore this DRIVEL !

Great news , sprouts : tonight you’ll be getting a little wiggle room as Saturn and 2/3’s of his moons are slathered in sublime equilibrium with the revised magnetic poles of the new Geo-Confabulation engine at Port Monsnouts in San Puerto .

And that of course means that now , for a limited time only , you can drill through shale with a calibrated yellowwood bit . Also , brown is a good color for the week and your fancy keyword -- good for establishing contacts and super great deals -- is : Full Moon . And to elaborate , Miss Woody Smithhelper is engaged to be married to … an ancient Warthog manager a.k.a. editor of Feed Yourself with a Spoon and also without a doubt the finest man ever to turn Playdough into a fantastic Thanksgiving side dish . Recipes available through his blog and Facebook account ; avoid staring directly at pixilated images of Mr. Booph . That’s his name .

Only confirmed spies (all confirmed spies log on for a superior key word ) have a better key word this period and it is “ ************** ” , pronounced with a Cuban accent and slight genuflect . For lizards a change of color from scarlet to umber on the palms and lower squeltch is mandatory .

From the land of the Bass-Ackward Lizard People I have collected some beans in my pocket ; into each has been carved with Chinese characters the twelve monuments of Peru , and a senator’s mailing address complete with a portrait of his wife making bunny ears with Crisp , the Hawaiian spokes-hare of Kellogg’s Salty Chocolaty Breakfast Crisps , sold only in the UK .

Major dos : Do drink 8 ounces of water and swallow one pill ; do nod at passing soaker-headers ; do ignore preening beavers .

Major don’ts : Don’t make planetary purchases or drive fast into cones or cone-headed citizens . If you must smoke then only smoke left handed underwater and snorkel less . Smoke Trees are exempt ; as are their cleaning-gnomes .

Also , tomorrow is another day , confirmed by NASA engineers .

Fire !

Searching for a new Roman Numeral TTYQWERTY

Forget the day , as it’s a fly-by , a song on the wind , blown hither and yon from lips to the monarch’s parcel route , shrouded by wispy cloud matter into the jet stream over hills into valleys and out into the warm breath of the gulf .


The immortal bug croons on a waft of melancholy and drifts into through and around space , or the atmosphere , like a lollygagger out of control … a habitual lackadaisical dunderhead … a flower sniffing hobo set adrift on the seas of fate high and high on life .


No such nonsense , just a penchant for a sweet bouquet and so ends this flight of fancy , for the winged are as we are and pulled by the gravity of existence into the depths of our surroundings … engulfed by life and beleaguered by a tendency to feed and survive .


So feed , on cake , and burst free . Fly , fly , fly .

Roman numerals , blah blah blah . Whatever .

"I'm convinced that time travel is impossible.

"If it were , then everything would be different ; better .

"... but maybe time travel would just screw things up more . Every time the traveler tried to fix something it , he would just screw something else up .

"Actually , i'm convinced that time travel is possible , and is actually going on ! "

Experimenting w/Roman Numerals Day EX-VEE-EYE

Update on Hadron Collider Calamity !



Breathing a temporary sigh of relief , it seems we are all still here in one piece at this moment in time , unless we are existing in an alternate universe as a joke or something . Still , the stock market seems to have taken a huge hit as rumours of our demise are overstated , yet still undetermined , and hackers are now in control of the collider because scientists had pirated 60,000 computers to evaluate the results of the atoms and protons and such colliding willy-nilly into each other and the on/off switch is seemingly stuck and no one can figure out which plug needs to be pulled to turn it off since there are a lot of plugs all strung out over the entire countryside into every house within a thousand kilometer radius . It is a mess .



Until the data is compiled and decoded and analyzed within a petabyte , we will not be sure if we still exist in or not ... considering the mountain of data still to be dissected , we will probably not know for certain for a week or a month ; until then live your life like it's your last day on Earth .



Toodles .

Experimenting with Roman numerals , day XIV .

Do Over !

Tomorrow is the day that civilization has been working its way toward for a good many years .
I think the troglodytes may have supposed it , or dreamed it . Their dreams were probably what did them in ... once they figured out the uselessness of it all they all sat down around the fire and smoked funny plants until the neanderthals came in and stole all their stuff and that was that .
So what. Probably not the way it all went down ...

Back to tomorrow , in Switzerland , home of whom is arguably the greatest tennis player that ever lived . In several billion years the new universe will have no inkling of tennis or Switzerland or the greatest last latest super collider in the world , a world which no longer exists and in fact maybe never even did !

Hold onto your socks ! Oops , they no longer exist .

So here's the proof that we humans on the planet Earth in the Milky Way galaxy are the most advanced civilization in the universe or anywhere conceivable or for that matter inconceivable :
We have created the fantastic Super Collider .
Of course , we aren't the first .
This is a scenario that has been played out , maybe , several dozen times , perhaps even several million times , and God is just waiting for us to flip that switch ... again .

The Large Hadron Collider (LCR) outside of Geneva is , after decades and billions of dollars , ready to heat up and reveal all of the mysteries of the universe . Scientists believe that by bouncing protons into each other at the speed of light that they will recreate the big bang and find out what the stars are made of , what is dark matter , what is the meaning of life , how is Brittany Spears possible ? You know , all the really big questions .

Some people , important people , think that this experiment will actually create mini black holes that will swallow up Europe , oh well , and then everything else in the vicinity ; meaning you and me and even the entire Beatles' catalogue . All of our stuff ! Egad .

Other important people say 'Bumpkiss' . Apparently they are the more important people because the experiment is going to go off without a hitch . Are we doomed ? Most say 'no' .

Ha !

Here's how it will go down : When Peter Higgs throws the switch tomorrow the protons will in a split nano second or even maybe probably much much less then that squirt around the 27 km circular track buried under Switzerland and will in fact accurately recreate the big bang . It will be spectacular ... only God and his posse will witness it ... as every particle everywhere on Earth and the universe is sucked back into one tiny little speck of nothing that will hover like an irritable itch for an instant then in an impossibly magnificent spasm explode and create a whole new expanding universe .

And that is how it goes ; every time a civilization becomes advanced enough to create a really cool super collider , it decides to use it and doing so destroys itself by recreating itself . Weird .

We have basically created a big reset button .

Experimenting with Roman numerals , day Xiii

The best bit of writing so far today ... author unknown :

... surgically repaired left big toe .

5 words strung magically to form a wonderfully scintillating sentence ! Enjoy the day .

Experimenting with Roman numerals , day V+V+double I

The following is a review on the soon released movie from Flex-I-ped Pictures , Mister Pill .

Warren Warmong’s view on selfishness is complete in this , his masterpiece breakthrough movie , that no other construct on it is required . It is a done deal . The movie is Mister Pill and it is Warmong’s first full length directorial effort .

At first , it is hard for us to understand what is so bad about Mister Pill , played by newcomer Harmon Puiser ; but the fearful glances of his staff at the office start us to wondering . At his Spartan home, a dark empty place , the staff of one is seen sitting stiffly in a white kitchen -- the only room of the house with any light and any furnishings .

His all consuming selfishness is displayed in an extremely anal means when he puts out a birdfeeder and sits with a glass of wine to watch the birds flock in and feed . The trees on the property are set well away from the high walls and every season as the trees grow higher , the wall is stacked higher to stop the neighbors from enjoying their loveliness . Finished with his glass , Pill collects the remaining bird seed and hides it away . If he isn’t around to watch the pretty songbirds then they won’t be allowed to eat the seed that he provides .

When Pill holds on office party , a troupe of children from the neighborhood , held to bay outside of a tall block wall , are employed to bring couches and stuffed chairs out of a spacious dance hall . The same hall that is only ever used by the lord of the manor . He hires a girl just for the evening that the hall is empty of chairs and with a stool and a set of glasses and a pitcher of water -- brought in by the lone servant who is then dismissed for the night (presumably so she cannot have the opportunity to enjoy any of the opulent furnishings) -- the two spend a short evening dancing , sipping at water , and we never see if anything further happens . But we do see the woman leaving ; is it early morning before the sun is up or late evening with a backdrop of streetlamps thronged by gnats ? Flipping through a stack of bills , she doesn’t appear overjoyed by the amount of the payoff and turns to knock angrily at the front door , but thinks better of it and storms off . Her employer , pimp? , probably will learn of it .

We gradually begin to piece together the story of a selfish man who has driven every person that loved him -- he has loved no one -- away by his pettiness . His office staff is ever rotating , but he is fine with that because it keeps the payroll low . His longtime assistant is a pudgy little man who has no life and suffers through the long days for little pay . But the work is not demanding , his boss rarely speaks to him but leaves post-it notes almost everywhere . Murly , the assistant , picks up a lean envelope of twenties every Friday and spends his weekend at the bowling alley , where he leisurely bowls game after game and downs one mug of beer after another for hours at a time . He is friendly with everyone he crosses but never has a meaningful conversation . He eyes the other patrons , makes an effort with the snack bar girls , but always bowls solo and leaves the alley alone . We wonder if he saves enough money out of the envelope for rent or sustenance for the following week .

The director , Warmong , shoots the scenes in a very muted tone , almost black and white , and from a low position , especially when Mister Pill is the subject . The sets are nothing special . They are extreme boredom . Even when Pill allows his house to be comfortable it is not inviting . Pill is filmed from the angle of a chair sitter while the office staff lingering with glasses of champagne is filmed from behind a lofty staircase or a chandelier . The furnishing is deeply colored and stands out garishly to the blank walls and pale wooden trim of the grand staircase where Mister Pill spends much of his time sipping a glass of something he has poured for himself from a hidden reservoir .

The ending is fast and unforgiving , but we aren’t really surprised , just shaken by the violence and then saddened for the players that are left behind to live with their preordained actions . No court could find them innocent , even if justice was undoubtedly served .
Warmong has a style reminiscent of the old French masters , from the odd angles to the restless postures and lone performances . Very rarely are two actors seen on screen together -- everybody seems to be alone , especially in the presence of Pill . He seems to separate everyone from himself and the force emanates from his person and affects everything and everyone around him . Even at the dinner table everything seems to stand alone . Nothing ever touches . The dance scene may be the only exception (other than the ending ), and it is by contrast a stark visual moment ; almost glutinous .

If this is any indication of Warren Warmong’s movie prowess , then I am looking forward to his next effort , but hoping for a more lively and engaging story . While this movie is thoughtful and very well acted and filmed , it left me wanting for a ending just a bit less despairing . Walking out of the theatre into the bright afternoon was a contradiction that took a few moments to get my head around … immediately I ducked into a neighboring coffee shop and sought the darkest corner so I could slowly warm to the optimism that the day promised . Better to see this one as a matinee , folks , then to leave the theatre dark and cold and shivering in the car on the way home , even when the night is warm and muggy .

Experimenting with Roman numerals , day XI

We join this review in progress….

…painting said to be brushed with eucalyptus leaves . If that is so , then it appears that the artist chewed the leaves along with a deep red Chianti , then vomited onto the canvas -- gobs of reddish pulp . It was a fine example of Glorp art . Cutting edge , maybe , but would you hang it on your wall ? The painting may be an original K’Narpol , but I don’t see the Louvre making a bid for it .
Remember , Jonas K’Narpol was the first of his age to render “Dogs Playing Poker” . The story goes , he actually envisioned common working servants relaxing in the kitchen and playing games with table scraps . Considering that a bit mundane he went with costumed dogs instead -- the dogs representing the working class , and later the upper crust -- by following generations of painters -- as the dogs became better dressed and smoked cigars and had their own servants : usually cats or a scantily clad beer wench .

Untitled , by K'Narpol .

Obviously , K’Narpol was an artist ahead of his time , even beating out Warhol by several hundred years when he painted Copernicus using a pixilated pattern of galaxy clusters surrounded by the depiction of uncorked absinth bottles . His smiling sister Lisa , an early work that hung over his mother’s headboard until her death , was eerily enigmatic , and a stranger picture of clouds melting onto a faceless man’s bowling hat also seemed to foreshadow later artists’ works .

Coincidence or plagiarism ? Most art historians say the former because , it seems , K’Narpol was never a popular artist and until this late date never formally discovered . While his works are now eagerly sought after , they until recently never left the artist’s studio or the walls of his mother’s home . More than 200 K’Narpols have since been catalogued and the majority have been compared favorably to the peers of his age, the familiar masters of the era : Rembrandt , Aardvark , XJS , LaTrek , Kirk and Dr. Spock .

Flower in Progression, #1

Mr. Man , Guy , that celebrity so-sayer , says of Jonas , “With a name like K’Narpol he ought to be awful ; you know , bad . But he’s good ! We particularly enjoy his fruit period .” Guy’s only complaint is a lack of decent framing , as many K’Narpols come without . “A great painting shows even greaterness by how it’s framed , and there is a certain lack of closure knowing that K’Narpol never considered this end , this punctuation .

The lack has saddened Mr. Man , it seems . * Flower in Progression, #2

Most critics disagree with Guy Man . One deduced that K’Narpol worked to a beat , with a full drum kit and a pierced head hunter .

Whatever the setting , Jonas K’Narpol left no noted or eyewitnesses ; he must have led a startling nondescript life . It is possible that his models never even realized they were being painted . Perhaps he arted by memory . That would make his pieces that much more amazing . They’re cool ; they’re neat ; they’re worth a look . Go see-um and look too .

*Ask Guy .
Guy Man , Mr. Man , is not in reality a man but a panel of sea creatures . Namely they are cuttlefish , plankton , and a sea anemone . The panel is learned and traveled and currently reside in a flat overlooking a loft occupied by a yeti who actually knows a wealthy woman with an apartment and a terrific view of Central Park . She prefers hairy men , not so much wetslimyinvertebrates . FlowerProgression, #3

Experimenting with Roman numerals , day X

according to the garden gurus , July is a good time to divide the iris's , and since it is now August , i guess it's probably too late .


But my irises are a bit overgrown , that is to say they are spreading out in ways i don't appreciate , which is to admit that to tell the truth , i don't really think much of my irises and i think "forget dividing the irises" ; maybe perhaps I'll just rip them out and be done with it .




Have you got any of these irises ? Ripping them out is not as easy as it sounds ... but it is easier then changing the air filter in a late model vehicle .


so here i went tonite ripping and digging and moving rocks out of the way and ripping and digging and etcetera with the ripping and such and i imagine i didn't get it all and I'll probably be seeing some more irises next year ... but that is OK .


next i looked over to the weeping mulberry and William Shakespeare's head peeped out at me and said "What ho !" I gotta tell you , that tree could hide a multitude of dead playwrights . It is a young tree , but really getting a head on its shoulders . No kidding , it's going to town !

I thought it might be nice if i could see its trunk and maybe some of plants over its roots ... so i started to give it a little haircut , and so the story unfolds :

'clip clip clip' , that's the pruner .

'hey , this is one long branch' : me .

'hi-O , Tom ; that's a ten four but not your buddy-fuddy-wuddy' : that was a little man that lives in my garden and he sings , mostly when it is raining , and he plants weeds in places that are hard to get at .

'oh , hi , little man , i haven't seen you at all this summer ., only your weeds ; what other mischief have you been up to ?'

'ha ha , you say that like it's a common misconception that i am from planet eleven , Willameena Rubby Rubby , caught your cold ! I put a weed behind that big bush !'

'You devil ! that bush in the corner ? Do you know how hard it will be to get back there and pick that weed ?'

'Emmee weenie ! One hot dog for my post bunny...funny . Fresh ! And it's a thistle , too , you whamalammathingammer ! Buddy buddy , who got ya muddy !???'

'Why a thistle ?' i hate thistle. 'You know I'm going to have to spray that ... those things are hell on wheels ... ' , of course they are spreading constantly from the neighbor's yards .

'looney , ka-floony , watch out my mama-wamma has a waffle and she's not afraid to use it , loose it : sick 'em fido -- hey , get a goat !'

'Thanks for the advice .' sure , all i need is a goat that will eat my garden , and probably leave the thistle .

then it started to sprinkle a little , which isn't all bad , because the lawn is turning brown . Of course , it wasn't good either , as the little man only knows one song and that's 'Tiny Bubbles' by Don Ho . http://www.blogger.com/www.youtube.com/watch?v=_MXgc8wzfC4&feature=related

Shakespeare tries to stuff mulberry leaves into his ears , but it's hard to do with no hands , and he says , "egads , methinks the imp doth protest too much !"

Experimenting with Roman numerals , day V + V subtract I

I apologize for all the stupid stuff .

I've been talking to some people , or maybe they are imaginary people , but they have the craziest ideas about living .

You know how some people will say about other people , "They're kind of different," ? well , according to these people i have communication with , EVERYBODY says that about everybody else .

yea , yea , i know ! It's true . So take a step back and try to look at yourself from some whacko's side of the street and see what they see .

My splenic nerve has been in constant communication with me for 14 years , now . It speaks to me mostly in dark places ; it makes me see fruit bowls in odd circumstances . Sometimes there are monkeys , too , and they are always throwing the fruit into corners and wearing wooden bowls over their heads , so i can never see their eyes .

Also , i'm thinking of trading in my lawn mower for a goat . Not for the reason you're thinking of , though .

Not that i don't care about the environment , or gas prices , or the exercise issues : Of course all those things are imp-ortant.

Here's the best reason : To annoy the neighbors ! The same neighbors who play loud music and let their dogs bark all night and poop on your lawn . The neighbors who party too late and set off fireworks when you are asleep and park in your spot and throw beer bottles over the fence . The neighbors who are unfriendly to the point of not only not smiling and waving and borrowing a cup of sugar , but instead they spew foul language and exude foul odors and steal your newspaper .

I'm not sure how a goat will upset this sort of person , so it's a stupid idea . Never mind .

I like potato chips . It has got to stop . But what is a good substitute for potato chips ? I ask you ; i ask all my friends , all my imaginary earthly cohabitants . What is better than a chip ?

Nothing .

pathetic .. that's all for that .

... these are some monsters that i know . They enjoy sitting and veging and being lit up .

Experimenting with Roman numerals , day IIX

There is a place , somewhere , where everybody has but the one finger and they can curl it around and point it and make it do all sorts of things that mean all sorts of different things . In that place they point at one another's faces and wiggle their finger . In that place they can itch a scratch or pick a nose . In that place dialing a phone still isn't easy , but everyone has push button these days ...


That place is a sad place ; having one finger makes it awfully hard to write a poem .


Another worm poem , because this blog is for the worms :

On a day full of menace the clouds cast a gray
Pall oer the lawn of a trim wormette called Fey
That crawled past the shoots of grass tall as the pines
From the nor‘ western woods ere fond away times…
A year ago spawned of slime eggs under dirt
That she squirmed away from and topside as alert
As a newborn could be she denied that blue jay
Until now, season’s hence, a feast on her birthday…
Sweet, sweet
Bon appetit


Today may count as a continuation of the last post , as it may possibly be stupid , but I am recently having a problem distinguishing between stupid and unstupid .

Experimenting with Roman numerals , day VII .

I think I will just write some things that are stupid , then maybe comment on the stupidiousness of the things .


I'm pretty sure that I can come up with something relatively stupid .


As for toads , they are surely obnoxious and there ought to be a rule against allowing them access to the public libraries .


I know , I know ; seeing eye dogs ARE allowed inside of public buildings , as long as they are actually leading blind people around , but not if they are playing Frisbee with the kids . I have NEVER heard of a seeing eye toad , or frog .


However , if the toads can actually read , then an exception might be made . This could be left to the discretion of the librarian . Now , that is pretty much settled .


Speaking of libraries , why can't they offer more books that I might want to read . Often I go in and just can't be motivated to pick up a book . Maybe there should be more pamphlets because they are lighter and quick to read . At night you could have your snack and brush your teeth then read your pamphlet and fall asleep . It is too much trouble to open up a book of a lot of pages then be too tired to read more then a paragraph when you look ahead and see the next chapter is two or three pages away and your eye lids are drooping and 'oh hell , Jughead will still be there tomorrow , zzzz .' More pamphlets , and maybe some bubblegum cards . And funny horoscopes and obituaries for fake people and little dogs , too .


And little dogs are more convenient than the bigger ones for lots of reasons . #1 : little dogs eat less and can't jump up and knock a person over just because they walk in the front door . Big dogs on the other hand can not only lick your face when you are standing up , they can also grab your burger right off the counter top or even off the grill . And if they can do that they can take your car keys off the top of the fridge and drive around .


#2 reason is not required because #1 reason is enough for never , ever needing to have a big dog , unless you are a farmer and need a big dog to eat more of the food that you a growing , which will help to increase prices to us consumers , and also so the big dog can drive the tractors around .

And #3 reason isn't really sufficient . There you have it , 3 reasons for having a little dog ; I'll be thinking there might be more , comments are welcome from little dog haters who just hate the littler dogs because they are little . I know you are out there , little haters !

Do you hate vomit ? Many people have phobias ; some are afraid of tall things or being enclosed by cardboard boxes . I am phobic of spiders jumping off the ceiling onto my head , or out of boxes onto my head , or off of tall things onto my head , and vomit . Also , i will never leave my socks out doors because a spider would probably get into my socks and then jump onto my head at some conveniant moment .


O.K. No more supid stuff today , don't want to use it all up at once .

Here's another sort of stupid cartoon instead ; sorry if it's not as stupid as the rest , I got tired .

Experimenting with Roman numerals , day VI .

No pictures today , so just a life experience and maybe a cartoon or two : NoteBook guy .

So…

I’m running through this neighborhood and three people end up swearing at me . There are no sidewalks , which actually turns out to be a good thing , for me , as a runner , right ? The streets are asphalt and that is a much better running surface ; better on the old knees . Sidewalks are usually concrete and concrete is bad on the knees . Honestly , if you care all that much about your knees then running is probably not a very good idea ; try checkers .
The first person to swear at me is some guy in a pick-up truck . He pulls past me then starts backing up right in front of me into his driveway ; I slow down , then he stops and then I speed up and run by . He honks at me and of course I call him a dumb **** . So he swears at me . So I say something like , “Go ahead and run me over you over-large Oprah-loving couch hugging poor excuse for a Frito dipping Bandito , and yeah , I really like your goat .” I’m not sure if I was referring to his stupid beard or the woman who was busting out the springs of the passengers seat next to him . He probably would have chased me down and squished me if she hadn’t grabbed the steering wheel and waved ice cream in front of his face .

The second person was on a skateboard and she was trying to fly a kite while pushing off backwards and she was on the wrong side of the street . Actually , so was I ; but walkers and runners are supposed to be on the wrong side of the street so they can keep an eye on oncoming traffic … so as not to be squished unaware . It is better to be squished aware . That way you can utter a quick prayer as you are being squished . Something like , “Our Father ,” splat . It’s the thought that counts right ? Of course , I’m pretty sure my last thoughts before being violently squished under some warthog SUV’s wheels will be more like “Oh s**t !”
Anyhow , this skater/flyer chick turns around just in time to see me attempting to avoid her and then she swerves right into my/her path --I’m being magnanimous here -- and she screams right into my face with full frontal spitting furry , “you stupid **** !” Well , that was rude . I kind of giggled , which actually was a full-out chortle , which gave me a Charlie horse so I had to bend over a bit as I ran on down the street . That’s when the squirrel with all his nuts came out from under a shrub and nearly tripped me up . What a psycho-day ! Punk/skater/girl caught a gust in her kite , and that whipped her back around ; I glanced over and saw her overtaking me ; she reached into her fanny pack and I jumped three feet : thought she was reaching for a heater ! No , she starts hurling smurfs at my head . Then she laughs and flips a tattooed mid-finger at me and zooms off down Wisteria in hysterics . Wow , what a dame !

Ouch ; I looked down and find baby smurf is biting my ankle ; I shake it off and come back around the block . It took eight point three five minutes and nineteen tenths . I had beaten the old block record by a tenth of a second . Not bad considering all the distractions . The pick-up truck couple were still sitting in the cab , but the doors were open . He , Mr. Lean-on-the-Horn-Honker-doodle-doo, had one pale leg out replete with crumbs and then he spots me : “Hey, blankety blankety blank ! You suck !”

“Yea , you too , Burger King ; can I help you to your front door ; I know where I can borrow a skid loader ?” Sure , we can get you there , but then only explosives will get you through the door into the three bedroom food court built on bed rock with double two by four support beam construction .

The guy’s keys rattle , but he’s not coming after me because he had ketchup on his chin and he pauses too long to lick it off . This is where the third swearing person comes in : An old lady across the street , sitting on her porch swing , swinging , with last weeks T.V. guide . “You *** , **** , **(*****-*****) . This is the umpteenth time you’ve circled this block ; you’re making me *****-eth tired .” She knew some old school curse words . Biblical stuff ; in bible-tongue ! I couldn’t even respond , other then to blush , so I pick up the pace and head across the street to Pigeon Street ; the tulip poplars are in bloom there and I had less chance of being mauled . “Ouch ,” I slapped my neck and saw on my hand what I had squished with my strike : Smurfette , squished and oozing blue sap , had crawled up my shirt and started pulling out my neck hair . “Yuck ,” I tossed her into the median strip and jogged away to the Aviary Lawns subdivision and whistled a happy tune .