Dr Joose

The Lfimpfity Flampfit, such an honerable beast, was lurking its way to the north (and the east)
He spied a young Hikanoo, with back humps so tender, and immediately imagined his home, and his blender.
"A Juntaful feast! A scrumpion! A snak" He slobbered and looked at those humps on that back.
"I'll broil them and soil them with herbs and with booze! I'll eat them as slow or as fast as I choose!"
The Hikanoo just stared at the sun and the sky, with a bee in its ear and a tear in its eye.
It never said nothing, it was not always not quiet and the noise it didn't make was a comparable riot.
So the Lfimpfity Flampfit, with lightning fast moves, clobbered the Hikanoo on its head with his hooves.
And the Hikanoo skeaked, such a pitiful sound, and it let out a flatulate as it sank to the ground.
"Good Pissant! Old Moo Cow! Great Scatteralot! That smell is infernal, like toxic rump rot!
My appetite's gone! My desire has retreated! Just think of my breath, had that thing-had I eated!"
So they parted ways 'neath the suns and the moon, and the Hikanoo died of its massive head-wound.

What a horrible thought!

Are there many murders committed with icicles? Because that seems to be the most efficient killing tool ever, in moderate climates. The muder weapon can evaporate, right? And they're easy to make- you just get a sharp, sharp mold and pour in the water and then superfreeze it and then...
But don't tell anyone about this method, because in the wrond hands, it could come back to haunt you or myself.
Maybe its just not such a good idea after all. It isn't as though I would test it out or anything.
Just a horrible thought. Or an horrible thought.

Standard

Today I was feeling.
I had feelings and they happened today.
While I was feeling, I started to think about my feelings and that made me feel...like a clam out of lava.
Oh, it is so good to be a clam out of lava, for the heat makes the feet like meat to be eat!
And as I was thinking, I began to feel like I was having thoughts.
Well, then I decided to put my thoughts into actions, and that felt right.
So I wrote them down here.
And I think that makes me feel like I thought it would.

Colour

Beige is the color of the underside of the elephant’s foot when he finished his dissertation on “Life in the Upper Peninsular Region; Making way for the New Age Pachyderm by Kineseographic Techniques and Stampede Tactics”.

Dandelion Blue is the color of the old man’s Barnacle Diary that says “Hang tough! Do Stuff!” on the front and has a picture of a chimpanzee wearing a beret.

Microphone Orange is the color of the lazy Sunday rug by the banana scented garbage can where the little boy named Jimm Todd would lie awake at night and design starship prototypes.

Cyan is the color of the hat worn by Mr. Impossible Hotbelly in his thematic debut Killed at the Last Instant!, when his character, the indefatigable Jolly Jones leaps into the racing Amtrak car and winks at Challe Vertruse and says, “Give me my due, beautiful you!”

Sorry

Brain sat and looked at his blank dear Jaunny letter.
“Jumping selfs and serfs and nobles art thou!” cursed Brain at himself.
His mother looked in on him.
“How darest thou curse thyself in such rogue tongue! Flee thyself. Achoo!”
Brain chastised himself for days and simmered in guilt, until the Professor said,
“Klean Thee!”
Well, this made Brain feel good and zussy like a newborn kitten, so he went back to his dear Jaunny letter:
Dear Jaunny,
I...
Me in deep thicket! I sold your car for 1/56 its value. So ho, ho, ho, don’t you thrash me!
Yours truly, BraiN McVee.
Now he felt just as right as the other side of the toilet seat.
Clean and untouched by human sitters.

Yep, yep, yep!

Dance, Little Panda, dance.
You're on fire.
You are the King of the Empire.
Dance, Little Panda, dance.
You make the world go around.
Yes, you make the world go around.
Sing me a song about the return of the cranes; I believe everything you're saying to me.
Sing me a song about summer trains.
I believe.

Word Play

You think you can beat me in the Paper Klip© 5000? Suck your dreams, Thad.

Oh yeah? I’ve got the fastest Caamel-Powered Go Junky© that every sad sot wants to steer! I got MOVES!

You got nothing! You eat Trekky Berries© for breakfast, you softy!

Wack your mamma, Leo! I hear she poses for Haufmann-Xtrai©!

You wanna die, Thad? I gouge you with my Scram-Filter deCloute Rod©, you imp!

Bring you worst! You just better watch your piehold, for I'll swoop vengeance with eagle eyes! That’s THE EagleEyes©, sucka!

Captain's Log

Look at the sea-crested water pigeon! Its glory is liken to that of the early morning waves in the Easter Isles of Innocence. Hear its melodious chirping in the late-afternoon sunshaft, and know that it only means one thing- spring is coming like a buffalo-shark at a school of unsuspecting plumber’s tuna. And oh, lime-crested watercrickets! The air is so awe-inspiring to breathe in.
It makes this old captain beam with joy to see the little knots in the Canvas Ropes beginning to bulge with sea salt and age.
I was rocking away on my poop deck the other morning when I spyed with my little eye a fish on the horizon. A fish, mind you, and a fish on the horizon is like an omen in your tea. I bubbled over with joy and emotion and so much that I fell overboard. And the water was like a napalm seastar’s venomous bite, it was so cold and refreshing. My fingers clenched in convulsion and my heart skipped its beats.
The view from under the ship is marvelous, as the origami barnacles fly past on the timbered beams. And the view was worth every lung-raking moment of it.
And by the grace of the almighty gull, ‘I have been inseemingly had out!’
This was only three days ago and the day after that, the law caught up with my twin brother and shot him full of pesticides for breaking and entering the Commons of Virtsus College with maliciousness intent.
Oh Weep of a thousand Weeps! My brother was like the moon to the planets to me! He was my own blood relative in all that that encompasses and though he did brand me with a hot spoon at each chance for twelve years, I was not pleased to see him go in such a horrific and gurgling way.
But a Mariner is a salty breed and after the execution I went to the tavern to carouse and intoxicate the scatterlings and miscreants. I love everything about that thought!
It is my time to go, to the great Mariner sipapu, in the Gales of Morro, so Alout! And Je sui Jannis, per Fleur de la Mareae!
-Capt. Pantangelo Miramar, April 3, 1776

Hippoetic

If you’re having trouble ‘cause you get too much sleep, remember that zombies don’t make a peep.

Que una dia

Isaac Arboles was ticketing his way through the field behind Mendez Supermercardo.

The birds were as white as silk in a bedroom and the clouds were noisy.

The babies in the telephone booth were hot and hungry and the mothers gathering soda bottles were hot and sweaty.

Isaac picked up bits of paper and held them like premier movie ticket stubs, like he did when the traveling cinema came and showed the movie Jehu Slays the Giant, in techinkolor.

Rain was on the way and Isaac was pleased.

So pleased that he ran to his home by the twisty tree where his half-brother built a telescope landing and his dog slept in the summer, and he threw the paper bits into the dumpster as the hot rain drops hit his neck and made less-dirty streaks.

“I want to get a tattoo of a detailed map of Argentina on the bottom of my foot.”

And he knew that there were aliens in the clouds and that they could, if they wanted to, break into cosmic chorus, and he waited on the tippy-toes of his mind, but he was soon distracted by the mailcart and the mailwoman who was just so voluptuous.
Sí señor. What a day.

Darn those Fingernats!

In the epic Couch Potato Wars, there holds fast the saying that, “all men die but some die on their couches watching something stupid on television”.
This was doubly so for Mr. Highbrow Fallutino, an acid stargazer from Fort Wayne, Colorado. He logged in 196,884 hours of nonstop couch-potatoing, to beat his rival, the enigmatic Lewy Frige of Dayton, Ohio, who died in his 196,876th hour during an episode of the Brady Bruins, a spinoff involving bears and an insane zookeeper named Helie. It is believed he died of fatness.
Mr. Fallutino died at the beginning of his 196,885th hour after refusing to relinquish control of the remote and the gummy-Kong burger that he had been eating on for over 74 hours. Gummy-Kong burgers weigh in at 44 lbs.
Mr. Fallutino died of ‘Ear Tears’ a rare condition of the aural aorta that is triggered by too many commercial jingles and/or sewer contaminates in the fingernats. Mr. Fallutino’s apartment was infested with fingernats. And sewage. He was 25 years old.