Toby's Birthday Party is Here!

Hello, and I welcome you, and Toby welcomes you!

Forgive the fuzzy little rat if he jumps up on you and runs in circles.

If you have a treat he'll sit, lay down and roll over.

Toby might come if you whistle, kind of like "there's a 50% chance of rain." What does that mean, anyway?!

I wish he could meet you and or your pets in person; he is quite the social butterfly, unlike his owner who has bought the biggest walnut in the world and is likely to be found hiding inside the shell.

I have heard people say, 'If you want to meet people, then buy a dog'....this is true. I can't tell you the number of people we have stopped to talk with while taking jaunts downtown. It is very theraputic; everyone loves a dog.

Unless it is frothing.

So far, here is the guest list: Baino Bimbimbie Kimy Mrsupole... we'll be allllll day!

Thanks for coming, and enjoy your weekend. Toby and I will spend Sunday morning enjoying the Australian Open final, and chewing up dish towels.

boring weekend blog

I've been meaning to thank Jeff at this place for the outrageous review he put up some time back.

I guess he does this from time to time, and that's cool. It's his gig, he can do what he wants after all!

He's a Chargers fan, but everyone has their quirks and I guess this one is forgivable.

His blog is terrific, as many of you can and will attest; those who don't know are sure to be converted, possibly by mind controlling methods. More on that, later....

Jeff wrote (of Half-Moose with a Twist):
Half-Moose with a Twist - think Dr. Suess and Shel Silverstein, but with an older target audience and a small dose of cocaine. Irreverently funny writing - sometimes poetry and sometimes prose - combined with at-first-glance cute, at-second-glance insane artwork makes for as enjoyable an experience as one can have perusing blogs. Why this place is one of the Internet's best-kept secrets rather than one of the Internet's most popular landing sites is beyond me. Perhaps people don't "get it," but I think that's the point. I don't get it, and I love it!

You personally might find this statement to be a bunch of bull, or just outright lies, but I agree with most of it, except the cocaine part--of which I've never partook, but I did eat some Elmer's Glue once, and of course Play-dough. Anyway, thanks Jeff, and keep up the horror, spice, intrigue...and irreverence!

a lovely love poem, for the hell of it,

Mobial

Here's to you
My battering ram of hatred
A buffetful of ire
Spiraling dervishes of red hot loathing.
Zealicious malice,
Stomping ranting piles of rancor.
You counter,
Spreading about rumors of joy.
A jest and warm intentions,
Some mushy moment retold with glad tears.
Your kisses melt my doubts
For a day.

Thursday...again

oh to be impressionable...

I've got a confession
you know that this mission
that I have been on about?
Well, not so much a mission
but more like an excursion
to any or all whereabouts.

No, no I'm not lazy
but you drive me crazy
so I'm getting out of this town.
If I let you down,
then go borrow a clown
I hear they can all be amazing.

If I don't get away
or practice feng shui
then physics will get in our way.
I'll construe a venture
that will cause a dent, sure,
and then horizontal you'll lay.

From the Empire State, dear,
a brick dropped will for sure clear
one hundred miles per hour.
And from high on that tower
as I aim for your head man
that brick will cause quite the depression.

Now that's my obsession,
to make a depression
into your thick headed skull.
Let that be a lesson
or good night you can bet
brick dents the impression you'll get!

...when you want to get away from yourself,

where do you go?

Toby's Birthday Party!

He's gonna be ONE!!!! And you are all invited.

If you have a pet, bring your pooch, or kitty, or pot bellied pig, or yodeling llama.
Toby's Birthday is the 26th, but we'll celebrate this weekend (don't want to clash with Australia Day!)--hope you can all make it...leave a comment and I'll link to you on Sat/Sunday.

We'll have cake and ice cream and a juicy can of whatever's on tap (alpo?) and chew toys and a pull rope and an empty water bottle or two, to gnaw up and hide under the couch, and chew sticks and squeeky balls and a sock, because there's nothing more fun than playing 'I got the sock, Chase Me!', and we'll leave the back door open even if it is 25 and snowing out, so everyone can come and go as they please and get all snow covered and track mud onto the carpet and the furniture, and go on walks and poop wherever--cause it's a special day!

Bring yourself, bring a friend, byob!

Toby Looooooooovvvvvvvves company!

see ya there, animals!

Toll woes

When confronted this morning by a gnome of significant proportions
my suspicions were confirmed, impolitely (by the seven centimeter toll keeper),
that the regular troll, Conrad, was in fact ill—suffering a seven magnitude
tummy ache that not only demolished the three Burroughs of Monsterton,
but also cracked the foundation of el Ravenous Flower Abutment and drained
the Rancid Swamp of its entire reservoir.

In the general scheme of things maybe infrastructural woes seemed trivial,
but the calamity compounded odiously due to a doubling of the bridge toll
and the gnome of significant proportions gnashing madly on my
gimpy maladjusted left big toe—a serious social faux pas, as us citified
Sasquatch take criticism badly and don't normally wear pockets (or trousers).
Unfortunately my continued partnership with Hairy, Hairy and Sons appears in doubt,
as standard monster conventions now restrict my movements to this specific
locale where I must for now reside, demanding a crossing tax until a suitable
replacement is found; at least until Conrad's low temp spikes again...

...and Main Street is fortified against subsequent troll emanations.
Happily my acquisition papers have filed successfully and a request for
replacement i-pod ear buds looks to be a go, the most recent pair lost,
entwined deeply about the neck of a gnome of significant proportions
and trebuche'd into orbit—

I exaggerate.

Bread, What a Hoot!

Rick Stemmler's photostream on Flickr. This is in my city of Fort Wayne, and during the summer months you can walk around the downtown area, and wherever you are you will smell the bread baking. Mmmmmm.

They'd stand at the bar and put bread in my jar and say, 'man what are you doing here'.

No, bread isn't a Billy Joel invention, rather a concoction of dough and flour that dates back to the neolithic period. The Neolithites are generally known as the Harbingers of Doom! because they rounded off the stone age around 9500 BC. A funny little group named the Natufians started producing a bread-like substance out of mashed wheat and water and boxed it up for sale to the Croutonians who liked theirs with goat milk. Soon after baking bread and farming and such, they started to make bronze weapons, thus began the cereal wars and I think you know the rest of that story.

Back in the olden days when making the bread, they worked as a team. One guy would crush the grain and another would be mixing everything up. He'd say, 'Hey Crunk, I'm running low on endosperm, hurry it up over there!' and Crunk would smack Murry with a mallet. 'Ug, sorry; Crunk lose grip on endosperm separator.'

The Germans eat a kind of bread, spelt, which they call Dinklebrot. Hey, they can call it whatever they want—it's their bread. I make a sandwich with whole wheat, salami, American cheese and dressing that I call Louise; to each his own!

Lately bread has gotten a bad reputation and has become the enemy of many. Milk has also found itself being ostracized by many hating groups of Milk Beraters! Together the Wheat and Milk haters refuse to eat or drink of these poor abused food products and even join forces with Twinkie Avengers, Go! in such radical activities as foregoing junk food and other tasty delights. They go so far as to eat no pretzels and put rice noodles in their spaghetti dishes instead of pasta—what would Lady and the Tramp think? Egad! Some will use soy milk instead of the regular cow juice! Barbaric. Supermarket aisles are being divided in this time of food revolution, and soon whole families will be at war and fighting over the grocery cart. Check-lanes will be the site of epic food melees, making Animal House look like that one episode of Teletubbies where friendly little green tubby Elmo burps into a napkin and all the other putrid bloated tubbies giggle. Then the tubby Hoo-hee climbs over a bench and smacks Elmo on the coat hanger and Elmo's head goes awry and that bitch Thelmatubby throws a tantrum and rips Palumbawumpuses's furry arms off and shoves them up Hoo-hee's bottom. Remember that one?

szczuk123's photostream, flickr

Bread is really a concoction of many things and includes stuff like riboflavin and thiamine and yeast, which are these tiny little animals called eukarytes that go around asexually reproducing. Religious groups have no problem with this and even mention bread an awful lot in the bible. It is very important that people are properly married and also properly married to authorized mates before they start reproducing, asexually or otherwise—although in some religions unauthorized reproduction techniques are also a no-no—but it's OK for yeast and monkeys to fool around without ceremony. Man, life is so unfair!

For more on bread, go here: Theme Thursday! Woo-hoo! You'll learn lots.

mailto:Gret@Lorenz photostream on Flickr

shifting universi

bon mot: such is life.

My friend Riley had on one occasion launched for me my own alternate universe, my only stipulation being Clarke's most tenebrous vision of the future, Childhood's End, was neither written or supposed.
Stepping through I became impelled to have coffee with a woman in heels carrying cream to her Lexus;
she paid obviously foregoing a meeting, but never forgot the minutes frivolously spent with a stranger who wanted nothing and had nothing to give. The moment was enough to chink the equation, turning one world into a purposeless cog in the universal machination. Elsewhere a black hole spat festoonery from its arse end and a further spark of imagery coalesced, one where Clarke must doom the suspect civilization. Do not ponder the whys or fret whatifs—all earthly decisions are programmed in the heat of an empirical singularity light years beyond our control. My return to Clarke's universe was to gather intangibles and to leave a rose the variety of which was never meant to be adored and on its petals bloomed a tenet of humility: that humanity is doomed be certain; the door to there is shut and the reality is that here we are living an honestly ongoing futile existence of neither here nor there.

surprise!

Emphasis on a turbo packing only inflames a long list of carbohydrated Mormel Directives.

Good morning all Mormels, here are the Directives for January.

Directive #1 Follow all Fill specs.
Directive #2 In event of overfill on specs consult Directive #3.
Directive #3 Never do not know where Emergency spec overfill pamphlet directions and clipboard are located:
See Floor Manager for overfill Emergency kit and Evacuation Procedures containment case key.
Directive #4 Wear the only authorized funny hat at all perfunctory moments.
Directive #5 In the event that authorized funny hat is unauthorized or defective in such a way as it is marred or goggle-less, see Directive #6.
Directive #6 Inform Floor Manager of any defunctive equipment. Do not get flagged for unauthorized equipment or apparel; in the event of a flag see Directive #7.
Directive #7 All flags to be worn over Eyebrow for 30 or 31 days. See Floor Manager for knowledge of flag wear duration.
Directive #8 Do not neglect Eyebrow maintenance. Eyebrows are effectively Directive #1. Memo to Directive Directors: Rotate Directives #8 and Directives #1 effective immediate.
Directive #9 See Floor Manager for Eyebrow hierarchy and location of Eyebrow measurement communication board. Monthly Eyebrow inspections are obligatory and combined with chocolatey treats and juice.
Directive #10 In event of Eyebrow malfunction report to Fill room for immediate comprehensive dip into Fill vat for recycling of self. Fill room attendant will assist.

Thank you for reading and following all Directives, Mormel Officer #212, Alfonzo Roberto Alejandro Smith, Eyebrow 2nd Class, 12 centimeters.

A Theme Thursday Post...Surface

..on the surface

The surface tension turnabout
now we slide, a backlog of Newtonian laws
retrospect and derelict
canceled with no explanation.

The moon's got nothing on this
those old black and white pictures
the slow motion
and garbled transmissions—
link to the archives
of technology.

On the surface we slide
a running start combined
with hum and harmony
and spinning we pinball into
concussions and splintered
infrastructures.

Who, we ask, deleted
nature's conventions?
Why, we ponder, the change
in normality. Or did we with excess
spend our last quarters
frivolously?

Gas the rotational
machinery. Strap on
the Velcro and dodge
the heretics that cry out
Doom.
Gas up with sugar and coffee pills
and run for your lives.
Stop the babies floating
up to ozone.
Walk for life, stroll
for the planet,
skip for yoursurface.

Delirium ebbed;

Monkey eye view
A parenthetical
Phalanx symbol
Is pointing up,
Given way to
Elliptical rising
Or swept off
With a tide
Of circular wishes
Only
To suffer a life
In Mundania.
Here alone
A man who
Lent his thoughts
To a trusting nation
Heard peace was overrated
through a victual muffler.
These people settled for
Beans and
Mendel was a discouraging word.
Be untoward your fellow
And belch when misunderstood:
A dialect of bad manners
Will give a leg up
In concurrent lives
Where
Maggots roil in dynastic circularity.

Tom & Dinosaur Hand review Avatar!

Dinosaur Hand: ...great, you know I missed that part 'cause of the popcorn!
Tom: Sorry.
DH: Also, you hogged the glasses for the whole movie!
Tom: Only one pair per paying customer...guess who payed? Plus, look, no eyes.
DH: Poo.
Tom: Hi, this week the movie review is of James Cameron's newest megablockbustermillionmillionmillion dollar and then some movie, Avatar!
DH: He's my hero, this guy rocks; even big heavy rocks that literally rock are rocked by Cameron!
Tom: You got a thing for rocks, don't you, Dino?
DH: oh, well, Charades I like, too, and rock papers scissors. They rock.
Tom: Back to Avatar. Really really excellent effects. Every time out Cameron finds a way to dazzle...no exception here.
DH: The blue people, awesome; and the monsters and flying thingies...ooh yeah!
Tom: The 3-D was cool as well. I didn't know what to expect, but it was way worth the price.
DH: Hey, hey.
Tom: What?
DH: Hey, Tom...hey. Remember that one preview? With the teeth fishy things? Remember that?
Tom: Piranhas in 3-D?
DH: Yeah! That one! Let's see that next...I get the glasses this time!
Tom: We'll see. Anyway, the effects were great, but the story was just average. It was engaging and had some good twists, and a fine ending. But there wasn't much new here. It's been called "Dances with Wolves in Space"...
DH : ...pigs in spaaaaaccccceee....
Tom: ...it was OK, I'd recommend it.
DH: Yeah, but next time let's skip the popcorn, eh? Or try eating with your other hand?
Tom: I said I was sorry.

Polka Dot Cinquain continuation blah blah blah....

...those who don't know or have forgotten, a cinquain's

scheme is such: 2, 4, 6, 8, 2.

& it doesn't need to ryhme...

give it it a try sometime.

Now I
Needing a drink
Once that I realize
That Jack and I are one the same
Our Eyes

Seeing
Inside myself
The past is now so clear
Atrocities stowed deep within
Hold dear

The knife
What drew my blood
The blade shone with the light
Of moonlight twinkling in the night
Above.

Our eyes
Not yet aligned
They saw two separate things
One saw a frightened girl alone
With rings

The pair
Inside my head
Looking back to the house
Scurried oer the flaking panes like
A mouse

Now I
Venture among
Pictures that float before
My face that merge like polka dots
And more

Collections
That I have kept
Inside that house of pain
Need adding to so here I go
Again...

Death and a Salad

Hamoree construed a nifty hat trick
but in application achieved slightly
less than perfection,
hanging on an aglet.
Aseat the auditorium
the audience went agog
as the acrobat's daring do
verged on the brink of awry foul,
askance he double dip flipped into a
rare plummeting maneuver,
never attempted as it was
without precedent and stupidly fatal.
A later version of the hat trick
was performed by one of
the same gene pool—except with
fire crocodiles and a screeching row
of upended chainsaws—mostly
attaining like results,
differing in
splashes of color and wetness.
In this the family Hamoree
amassed significant fortune,
owing to sellout crowds and
the dismembership of unlucky
kin—mostly
limber cousins looking lively
in leotards, but
lite on brain composition.
A return engagement dreamed
by hairball promoters
pairs up former Hamorees,
propped and jury-rigged
with tape staples and epoxy
in a Vegas spectacle
worthy of Vesuvial nightmares.
Seating is limited and lithograph
Hefty sacks are numbered,
only the most encumbered
are expected to attend,
and a pristine snow is

scheduled for the backdrop—oh boy

what a roaring slip sliding
time to be alive!