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 ?