snorpy bits

Fish Folders

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 26 Sep 2026 23:57:43 +0000

A fish just flew by. One of the original escaped netizens.

A fish just flew by. What am I to think?

A fish just rode by on a bicycle, looking for the ghost of Gloria Steinem.

A fish just went past, in an open touring car, waving at everyone. A possible goodbye tour?

A fish just came by, with an offer to sell my used socks, saying it would give me half of the proceeds, in worms. Didn't say what kind of worms, and I already have some decent ones anyway.

A fish sent me a long letter, full of meditations on the state of the universe, mostly unintelligible, at least to me, seeming to revolve mostly around slime.

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Me? Soon to patent slime origami, once I perfect the greasy crease.

Religion And Humorous Hubris

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 23 Sep 2026 23:12:51 +0000

Whenever I'm asked what my religion is, I start giggling, and snorting, and then snot comes out my nose, and no one ever believes that that is my answer.

Religion is a funny thing, though in any group I'm usually the only one laughing.

How about a religion where people stay home and quietly mind their own business? Hm? Works for me.

I did try religion once, though it gave me diarrhea, and I'm not the only one, by a long shot.

I once asked God what the deal was with all this religion business, and got only a blank look in return. Followed by the sound of a fart.

Pretty soon it'll all be over, and I really can't wait -- God

It really isn't that much fun being omniscient. You never get surprised by anything stupid. -- God

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Me? Truly.

Fish Blips

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 20 Sep 2026 01:00:26 +0000

Fish — what are they good for, really?

Fish concerts, fish dips, fish washers, fish whistles. So many topics, so easy to ignore.

Follow your fish. And bring a bag. Sometimes they get squishy.

I never met a fish I didn't not dislike on sight. Or ever after. Maybe both.

And I never had a fish chase me down the street. Not one. Unlike some Christians. What is it with all that barking and howling? But i run fast. Especially from any one espousing Lordan Savvyor Cheez Whizz Crust.

So it's fish fart week here in HappyLand, where all the fish fart and everyone smiles like it's normal. I for one would be content to know that this place never existed, but the fish eat the mosquitoes and fart away the ones that they can't snap up, and the beer is cheap: "FischBrau, lager for the lazy."

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Me? I don't smell like that any more, I think.

Grinding Granny Bumps

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 16 Sep 2026 23:20:00 +0000

I can't honestly remember the last time I had some of Grandma's charcoal-grilled ice cream pie. Probably decades ago now, and no one knows how to make it because she ate the recipe just before she croaked. (Clarification — Croaked for the last time. She never could sing that well.) Yes, we did pump her stomach but all we got was nasty bilge and steaming mush. No recipe. It looks hopeless by now, and there are way too many maggots swarming the corpse as well. Kind of leans toward killing your appetite, mostly.

I don't pucker very well any more, unless I'm left out in the sun for a few days, and I still don't like cranberries, no matter what my grandmother thought about their intellectual capabilities.

Spider pie — recipes I found on a slip of paper stuck in Grandma's 1903 dictionary. All three of them were from the olden days before TV dinners. Remember TV dinners? Am I that old? (Keep in mind that I also bite.)

There has been a real decline in the number a hot babes you see over at the Wally Mart these days, and I blame it on all them dam liberals makin off with them for knee farius purposes and all that. It's gettin so I'm comin up excited with the grammas drivin around in the scooters with there size 18 love handles hangin out. Life aint gettin to be that much fun no more.

Grampa Fartenbumper escaped again and went out dancing, again. We had to tie him up with a chain and drag him home with the farm tractor. And then we painted him orange so's he'll be easier to spot next time. There's sure to be a next time. There always is. He can't stand just sitting at home with Gramma Fartenbumper, in the parlor, staring at the wall and making those noises with his nose.

Nobody talks much about Lady Gaga any more. I wonder what she turned into after that eight-month hibernation of hers. In the cave. Might have nippers on one end now or something, or horns, or maybe not, or maybe turned into someone's grandmother. Could be. There's always a chance. Moo.

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Me? Definitely never wanted to be a granny, or a walrus.

Off With Their Power

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 12 Sep 2026 21:52:06 +0000

So the power is off today, and here I am with all the launch codes for all the nuclear missiles in all the silos in the country, and no way to make it happen.

So the power is off today, and it's just like the olden days around here. No radio, no TV, no refrigerator, no light, just a lot of quiet and nothing to do after sunset besides swearing and hunting bedbugs.

So the power is off today. and I have 17 metric tons of beef fat buried in the back yard. Tallow candles, anyone? (Bring your own wicks though — I'm fresh out.) 10% off if you bring your own gas masks too.

So the power is off again, and I have a whole bathtub full of electric eels. Kinda tingly, but you can get to like it.

So the power is off again, which is nice if you're one of those "go getters". I do believe that the world will be a better place when they have gone and have gotten, or when something eats them.

So the power is off again. Now if I suddenly got real stupid and decided that I wanted a tattoo, I'd have to sit here and just be stupid on my own, with the power off, and with no shiny new identifying marks.

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Me? Gettin' all sparkly here.

Shy It

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 09 Sep 2026 22:49:14 +0000

If you're a shy person, things are different. You feel OK around cats but that's about it. Everything else is too stressful. Cats understand this.

If someone asks where all the shy people go to hang out, well they don't. They're too shy for that. They just try to blend in. Like, you walk down a street, and if you pay attention you realize that all those trees and shrubs, or at least most of them, are shy people trying to blend in without feeling completely lonely either. True.

I used to know a shy person. His name was the same as mine, in fact. But then he went into hiding and no one realized that he was gone. Call it a success story.

Being shy isn't all that bad, except for all the things that go with it, like being around other people for your whole life, everywhere.

Too shy to write any more...

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Me? Pretty much.

But So Well Preserved

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 05 Sep 2026 14:24:12 +0000

I didn't quite catch what Mom said before she died. It was something like "You stupid bastard — bring back my ashtray", but she apparently didn't notice that I'd also made off with her cigars.

I don't mind paying a reasonable amount for lunch as long as Mom continues to pick my teeth afterward.

I sent Mom a cookie for her birthday but since she's dead it may take a while to catch up with her. She'll probably understand, and if not I'll take the goat over to poop on her grave. Goat poop always got a chuckle out of her.

I told Mom I was going to join the Aard Force and she said no, but she's dead now, and I'm in my 70s now, so screw that. Never take advice from the dead. All of them are dead for a reason, you know.

I went over to ask Mom what I should be when I grow up, but she's still dead. Now what? I'm in my seventies and still clueless.

If Mom were still alive she'd be dead by now. Something I can no longer help her with.

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Me? Maybe if I drink more vinegar.

The Clean-Shaven Truth

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 02 Sep 2026 23:42:26 +0000

I haven't eaten any of my young lately, or ever in fact. Will have to ask Mom about the details of that and how to develop proper technique.

I just broke my pen. Momma gonna whup me. She has to, now that I learned how to get out of her headlocks.

I do miss Mom, but not as much as she misses me. 'Cuz I keep my sights adjusted better.

I saw Mom driving down Main Street in her new half-track. She doesn't speak to me any more, since she joined the guerrillas.

If Mom hadn't told me to shave more often I'd still have hairy eyeballs. She knows her shit, Mom does.

I want to be a curmudgeon when I grow up. If Mom will pay for my lessons.

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Me? Me too, of course.

Dorgs

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 29 Aug 2026 22:14:08 +0000

The cat gave me a box of poisoned raisin-filled chocolates for Xmas. He still thinks I'm a dog.

I bought a dog. His name is Fido. I hate dogs. The end.

I once tried going into the shoe sales business, but none of the neighborhood dogs were interested. I'm thinking that it was something about keeping the laces tied. (This was before Velcro, by the way.) Anyhow, I'm now into door-to-door crypto sales, and it's going pretty well because humans are less discerning than dogs, and easier to talk into stuff, and there are no crypto shoelaces to worry about.

If it weren't for parades, and horses, we would have only dog shit on our streets today.

Run loose. Run wild. Arf like crazy. Crap anywhere. Politician or dog? (Send photos.)

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Me? Definitely not that kind of person, at all.

Nuttles And Borlts

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 26 Aug 2026 22:45:41 +0000

I tried racing robots in the hundred meter dash, but came in last, again. So, to prove that I'm a gracious loser, I bought them all a pass to the health club showers. Zip! Zap! Zop! Kablooy! Water — very interesting substance, not to be underestimated.

If humanoid robots are the future, then maybe robotoid humans are the future's future, but I'm already there, as everyone keeps telling me.

If humanoid robots replace actual human wait-staff, I won't start eating out, except only my girlfriend. If I ever have a girlfriend. Anyhow — no change that I can see in my life.

So we have self-driving cars, prerecorded pets, robot olympics, and then when do we have self-eating food? And will it clear up my diarrhea?

When I was 10 years old I thought that robots were really neat, and I wanted to be a cowboy, a fireman, and a space astronaut. Now that I'm older I just want to stay home and masturbate.

I hum happily while recharging, and who wouldn't? Who wouldn't?

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Me? Getting most of my fun from driving screws.

V Is For Voom!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 23 Aug 2026 13:43:02 +0000

Valerie Putin, Vladimir's selfie-crazed influencer stepsister. Now approaching your neighborhood.

Vincent van Cut Rate Watercolors, another washed-out artist.

Top of the vegan besteller list: "The Parsnip-Driven Life".

Uncle Fred dropped in for an impromptu, unannounced two-week visit. With his pet musk ox, Shirly. Plus a couple of timber wolves he met on the plane. (Alaska Air Freight, I think he said.) Luckily for him, I have a full-sized circus tent permanently set up in the back yard, complete with its own wolf pen and turd-composing pit, and there's a fresh water creek flowing into the mosquito marsh a bit farther out. And luckily for me, I'll be on vacation this year, and the house is locked inside a 10 kilovolt electric fence. (As usual! I plan ahead! Yay!)

Two monkeys went by. Wearing name tags. "Adam" and "Eve". I think they may be itching for a promotion.

Twenty-seven drunk monkeys v the local school board. And your guess is what?

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Me? Got me a new voomerang just in time, I guess.

Know? No.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 19 Aug 2026 22:55:05 +0000

Where will this end? Or if not where, then when? Or how? And does anyone really want to know?

Where now are those packs of werewolves we used to see on the streets? All working remotely these days or what?

Where there's smoke there's incomplete combustion, and maybe an arsonist.

What's fuzzy, and has four legs on its bottom side, and squeaks if you step on it, and isn't my brother Edward? I can't figure out this one on my own, so please write in, pronto. And use a quill pen, please.

What's the difference between a canoe and a door mat? I don't know, but I can sleep under either. -- Bud the Adventure Bug

What's with all these "Mole people for Jesus", or have they just suddenly decided to be honest about it?

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Me? I don't either.

Chicken Snips

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 15 Aug 2026 22:07:07 +0000

Like many of you, I once had a chicken, until it ate the cat and started getting bossy around my dinner guests, so that's why I live alone now.

Met the neighbor's cat today. They seem to be gone lately, and the cat's startin' to look hungry again, too. His name is Fred. Easy, Fred, easy.

Mushrooms with Kerfuffle Sauce: Open Can-O-Shrooms. Drink juice and fry the rest. See if cat will eat it. Fart if you need to. Regret getting tattoo. Repeat as needed.

My first product was "Fred's Whirling Gizmo". Only made people dizzy. Cats did like it though. Some of them are still friends of mine.

My name is Dave and I'm an artichoke. Been one for quite a while. Things aren't always easy but I can be prickly right back, without even trying. And I have a cat. Not many artichokes can say that. Most artichokes don't even have a talk-hole.

My owner said that I can't talk to you unless you bribe me with catnip and promise to give him a tummy rub.

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Me? Never done any of that, myself.

Captain Hubcaps

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 14 Aug 2026 00:18:41 +0000

Captain Titanium Underpants will be receiving far fewer dinner invites during the coming season, due, principally, to what some describe as excessive and prolonged creaking while giggling in the corner.

Captain Tuna Casserole always smells partly good enough to eat. Partly. (I won't ever say this again.)

Captain Tuna Casserole stopped by for dessert , unaware that ours is a bait-and-eat operation. Yummy.

Captain Tweezers is, it is true, a picky eater, and also severely under-nourished, if you ask anyone who knows, but that's not our fault, is it?

Captain Wasted Days is out sleeping on the lawn today. He does that. But at least this time he is wearing clothes. Some clothes, according to well-informed neighborhood sources. 'Nuff said about that.

Captain Omnibus is pushing to raise his pay grade. He's only got a tricycle and a squirt gun, and doesn't even need a parking space, so...

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Me? More of a tungsten aficionado, myself.

Parallel Wallys

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 09 Aug 2026 00:37:36 +0000

"Better late than never" doesn't apply to death. In most cases.

"Snakes on a Plain" — Pretty uninteresting movie, even compared to the other one. Really low concept. Left me feeling flat.

Did you ever have the feeling that someone or some thing was watching you, and then realize that you're only lonely, and wished that someone would watch you? Or some thing would? (I'm not fussy.)

Do hermit crabs just stay all crabby and always hermitty, or do they sometimes get together and party in the moonlight when no one is looking? Might be a dissertation idea in there. Beach camping is fun too.

Does anyone know what "bright gray" looks like? (I'm monochrome and have to pick out a gender-appropriate wedding dress. On my own.)

Does parallel parking happen in parallel universes, or do they have maybe antiparallel parking or cheese donuts or something?

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Me? More of a trapezoid, or maybe just a plain zoid. Yeah. That sounds about right.

Fur Sniffs

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 05 Aug 2026 22:46:21 +0000

Don't tell Mom, but her cat gassed up again, way big. We couldn't catch it soon enough. Last seen floating south over the freeway. No hope of catching it this time, for sure.

Ed left the table "to go take a carp", and then he fell into the fish pond and they ate him. All was not lost though because we got to split his dessert.

"Eider Duck v TRex". An interesting very short story. Won't say any more, won't spoil the plot.

Felony fur sniffing. If I'm never caught I can never even be charged, let alone convicted, so I'm hoping things go in that direction.

Fired up my toad last night and went for a drive around the neighborhood. Exhilarating. It's good being on the small side and also have a toad big enough to eat any annoying dogs that come along. Life, she is sweet for me these days, indeed.

Foam on my toothbrush this morning. Something rabid seems to be using it again.

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Me? No. No sniffies. Got a too ticklish nose.

Lukewarm Fuzzies

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 25 Jul 2026 21:53:30 +0000

I'm expecting a big bolus some time soon, a fuzzy one, as soon as the cat urps one out.

If cats were made out of marshmallows, they wouldn't ever go swimming, which may be the reason for the cat and water thing. Or I could be stupid. Or cats are imaginary. I kind of like all of those options.

It does get tiresome being the only person inside my head. Maybe I should get a cat. Then I could go on vacation without having to worry about what would happen to my mind while I was gone.

It was about time to tie one on again but the string broke and then the cat ate it. At least she's happy now. Last week she ate the mailman, which was kind of too much for all of us, especially the mailman, I'm guessing.

It was pretty clear that not everything was clear. I even asked the cat and got only a furball in reply, and not even a tasty one.

It's pretty much business as usual here, just me and the cat at the shooting range, some beer, and a platter of mouse nibbles. (I like the gray ones.)

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Me? Pulling up the tail, as usual.

Hair Of The Cat

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 23 Jul 2026 23:15:31 +0000

Getting near the end. Not much toilet paper left on my roll, and now the cat has moved next door. Won't talk to me any more, at all, so I have to go it alone. Things are getting scary.

Have you ever wondered how big the biggest possible cookie could be if it was the biggest possible cookie yet you were completely sure that it contained cat hair? And maybe that ruined the whole deal?

I had a cat once, until it ate Mom. Then I had to get rid of it. I think. I still have the court papers around here somewhere. It was big news for a while, though I still find hair on my pillow sometimes.

I'll be trying out some new food for lunch to improve my bodily processes. Up until now everything I've eaten has turned to shit. If successful with this test of mine, I'll have to try it on the cat to be sure that it really works. So far he at least seems doubtful.

I've always wanted a wombat but couldn't afford the payments, and the cat also refuses to play dressup. (Yes, it's in his contract. He pointed it out, so that option is closed.) So now what? I'm still on square one, and completely wombat-free.

I've been appointed emperor for life, starting immediately, so let's look sharp, gang. From now on, someone else will be feeding the cat. OK then, next up on my list — who is going to be washing my toes from here on out?

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Me? Possibly.

Going Pear-Shaped

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 19 Jul 2026 00:12:32 +0000

Captain Pear-Shaped Almond just does not fit in anywhere. Maybe eBay will take him, if that's still a thing. Is it? Someone must care.

Captain Puckered Fuss is off in the other room throwing hissy fits at the wall, apparently hoping to find one that remains in place after impact, so, if you are not quick on your feet and also not good at rapid ducking to avoid encounters with turgid balls of hiss, maybe you ought not go there then.

Captain Thesserelda Woofenpickle is still on hiatus from the "The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show" since she first asked for a week off in the early 1960s and never found her way back. At this time it is generally thought to be too late to hope to ever see her again, or to see fresh episodes of said show either, so we're focusing on our ice cream collection until further notice.

Captain Thirty-nine Winks is still asleep. This, it is true, can be annoying, but is, however, not unheard of. Updates will be posted as they arrive.

Captain Total Solar Eclipse is still lurking in the shadows and refuses to admit that his moment of glory has passed.

Captain Toxic Energy Drink just shot right off the end of the scale and went sailing into space, howling in pain. I.e., his usual Friday night performance.

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Me? More like an escaped almond-shaped pear.

Nosing Around

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 16 Jul 2026 02:06:35 +0000

Captain Bushy Nose Hairs is back. From where? No one seems to care. This is not news to anyone who lives around here.

Captain Endless Prancing is auditioning yet again for acceptance into the Maude Stomper School of Ballet and Square Dance Moves. She turns 63 next week, and is still ornery as hell, so let's wish her success this time around, because the alternative is too predictable to be acceptable. And what's-his-name? How about him? Meh.

Captain Explosive Diarrhea is still locked out of the clubhouse, additional guards have been posted, and larger-caliber firearms acquired, since we prefer not to receive our share of what he's got on offer.

Captain Fuzzy Thinking is still trying to understand the question. It has been only a year since it was put to him, and no one seems to be in a hurry for an answer, if there is one, so we'll just wait it out then. Sounds good. Plenty of time for another beer.

Captain Growly Barker says "hi". As opposed to "lo", though both work, I guess. No, really — either one works, but he likes to mix it up sometimes. Maybe that's why he does wear a bikini to work, on occasion, which is also a chance to show off his martial arts tattoo collection, which he carries around on his chest, though you do have to pay extra to peek under the bikini top.

Captain Inscrutable Mumbling is off on a tangent again. It is suspected. Though, since no one can understand anything that comes out of his orifice, it's only a guess.

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Me? I'm not like that, really.

Captains Never Hardly Ever Quit

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 12 Jul 2026 00:48:19 +0000

Captain Flexible Toenails is now "Professor FT", currently teaching philosophy "from the sandals up", as he says. And he has a new book out, titled "The Ancient Philosophy Of Toad Sucking, From A To S". Available at all fine bookstores and adult novelty shops, we hear. Or not.

Captain Bushy Nosehairs has taken up knitting. The winter weather is nipping icy bites out of his upper lip since his mustache fell out, but a fecund abundance of curly nose hairs just might be enough raw material to knit up a lip cozy to keep him comfy during the frigid months. It might also be a hit with certain of the ladies too. Certain ones. Perhaps. You never know, and I don't judge, mostly.

Captain Pansyass Tissue-Pants is not on my team. Not this week, anyhow. We're thinking of relocating before he gets back from vacation, to save ourselves a bunch of grief. (The usual, if you were wondering, and we don't need grief like that anymore — the hidey-hole hideaway bunker is already overflowing like nobody's business as it is.)

Captain Refreshing Creme Dip doesn't get out much, and may cause diarrhea if experienced intemperately.

Captain Tom Foolme can't fool me. Not since I changed my game he can't. Even so, he does sneak up on me from time to time and manages to tickle my fancy without even a peep of warning, so I have to work on that yet. It's actually a little fun sometimes, but I really don't need all the derisive laughter that goes with it.

Captain Tuna Casserole is definitely off his noodle. Someone — anyone — please take him shopping this week. Pick up some sanity if you can, or real noodles, in his size, or even just close to his size. (The rest of us are still booked through the end of the century, so this one is up to you.)

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Me? Well, I did, and glad of it.

Captains Arr! Us

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 09 Jul 2026 22:08:45 +0000

Captain Terminal Twitching was arrested just last night for "illegal wiggling after dark", though that is merely offensive and not a true offense where I'm from, and he did have most of this clothes on at the time, with the possible exception of pants, which are considered optional in many jurisdictions these days, by tradition if not by statute, so we'll have to wait and see if a solid ruling will be coming down within a reasonable amount of time. (Can't wait, hardly.)

Captain SBD has recently accepted a position as assistant editor of "Kitchen Farts Magazine", one of the very few magazines still in print, and likewise holding on to its niche ranking in the very tiny population of edible fart magazines. We do wish him or her well, and hope he/she/it does not feel compelled to come and visit any of us.

Captain Tulip-Lipped Fish Kisser is not like us, we profoundly hope, and will henceforth be encouraged to stay on the other side of the fence.

Captain Tutti-Frutti was the leading candidate to head up the upcoming Pride Day Parade, until revealed to be straight-up Plain Old Vanilla simply dressed up in Grandma's dusty ancient festive costume from ye olde Fruit Salad Days. Some were reported to be sorely disappointed by all this while others claimed to be more focused on having another slice of apple pie, and who could really blame them, or anyone?

Captain Twinkle Toes is just to much for us right now, especially if we're expected to provide the batteries.

Captain Two-For-One Turd Celebration Month is becoming moldy. (Again!) We would do something, but were hoping that you might step into the situation, so to speak, and clean it up, so to speak. (The rest of us will be out of town for a while. Probably quite a while.)

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Me? Why not?

Used Too

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 04 Jul 2026 13:28:56 +0000

I tried the selfless checkout over by Wally Mart. Not bad. After doing 25 people they let you out of the store, after checking your DNA and looking in your pants.

I used to be a boy scout but quit when the marshmallows ran out.

I used to know people around here, before they used up all the oxygen. Guess they all musta died or sumthin. Anyhow, I can breathe now.

I used to work in a junkyard. One summer. Before I got myself re-chromed. Got a haircut too. Now I'm street legal. Sweet.

I voted, but not for you, so why are you still here?

I want to tell you something but I can't remember how to say "Fuck Off!" in a polite way. Am I being too precious again?

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Me? I'm mostly like that.

Last Lasts

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 02 Jul 2026 00:00:13 +0000

If I were the last person on earth farting contests would be less fun. Maybe no fun at all, and would I always win or always lose, and how about ties? Or would it even matter?

If I were the last person on earth how long would there be sardines, assuming that I cared?

If I were the last person on earth I could try being a slime mold without worrying about how I smelled.

If I were the last person on earth maybe I still couldn't get a date. In fact, I believe I would still be out of luck. (My life in a nutshell.)

If I were the last person on earth would fart jokes still be funny? Which ones, for example, and am I being too fussy?

If I were the last person on earth would my driver's license still expire? How about my birthdate? My finger prints? And how about if I forget to trim my nose hairs? Any downsides to that any more?

If I were the last person on earth, I bet I'd still get parking tickets, maybe, even if I was required to issue them to myself, but if so, I could also wear that nifty uniform, so maybe it would be a win after all.

If I were the last person on earth, then I could toot my tooter with no apprehensions about being stopped by the tootie police, or anybody. Very cool.

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Me? Still trying to come in first, as long as I can do it after my nap.

Without A Care

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 27 Jun 2026 12:32:17 +0000

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. I did not see you, I do not see you, I shall not see you. I am always alone, slowly drifting from high plains to low valleys, crossing ranges, humming quietly to the sky, forever floating along, entirely without hearth or home, lacking all essential amenities, solitary. And good night to you then.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting quietly and contentedly 'neath the overhang of an immense boulder, waiting for the night air to bring me a whiff of the scent of whatever it deems most interesting this evening, if any scent at all. So be it. My life is but an interlude, a wait, a short time spent learning whatever lessons may shuffle along my way. Peace, then. Peace to you and to the world, and may you take the other trail, your own trail, so that we may never need to face one another in that distressing way that silent, passing strangers always awkwardly do.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. I eat all the cookies in the bag without a care in the world, or a pal to share them with. And who could really ask for more?

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. Some call me Ed. Others never call. Usually them. Those. The ones who never call. Maybe if I got a phone...but no. Not I.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. You do not know me, nor I you, and so it is likely to remain. Be well. Do not seek me out, for I am not there, nor shall I ever be there again.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. You know me, you have seen me, but did not realize that fact. And were I to appear immediately, in front of your eyes, your face, your self, you would neither recognize nor even see me, such as I am, indistinct, indirect, incomplete, for that is my nature.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I don't ever care.