snorpy bits

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.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
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.)

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
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.)

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
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?

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
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.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
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.

Sitting

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 25 Jun 2026 00:20:37 +0000

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting in the shade under a bending bush, sheltered from the soft shine of the stationary moon, counting, one by one the pleasant rounded contours of the members in my pebble collection, all anonymous for the present, though soon to have names, each and every one, my quiet little companions.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, the one, the onliest, the most lonesomest. But I am in no record books. My name, such as it is, appears in no lists and has no rank in any register. My visage continues unrecognized and has never been captured by any photo-graphic apparatus. In other words then, I am every man, and by extension, also everyone, and everything, and remain aloof and free and untethered. The end.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. Boots, jeans, flannel shirt, blanket, saddle, pillow — all I own any more. Passing time next to my horse, I occasionally toot my tiny tootle flute. What else can one do? And is not this enough?

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. You have never heard of me, and never you shall, for I am but a ghost, a phantom, the shade of a shadow — just me and my tooty flute, Annette, who I lovingly massage with my finger tips and invigorate with my warm breath to pass the long, long, lonely nights.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. Who? you may ask. No one, I may reply. For such it is. Such is my life. So is my soul. No one. Not one, not many, not who or why or when or what you may think, or casually assume. For I am the one, the only, only one Lonesome Cowboy, here alone, not one of may, not much on my own. Just here, just now, and so soon gone. Farewell, then, and may you at the end at least be well.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. You may have heard of me, but not likely. You may have seen me, but without noticing. You may have heard me, without listening. I may have passed by, entirely anonymously, no more than a faded, silent shadow.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
And me? Who?

Read, Redd, Redded

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 20 Jun 2026 22:52:24 +0000

Pat and Trite, the Obvious sisters, have opened a shop selling used notions. Sales have been a bit slow but are expected to increase once people start remembering what they have forgotten, like "Life, liberty, and the well-regulated pursuit of happiness while carrying firearms", or "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, but remember that a bird in the bush can't poop on your hand", or "A stitch in time saves nine, or more if there are runners on base, and anyway, three strikes and you're out, so maybe you want to be sure about what you're getting yourself into". They can also remove stubborn stains from T-shirts and some other laundry, in cases of messy eating, through the application of healing touch and prayer. Just ask.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious sisters, will soon have a book out, published by Somnolent Press: "Tidings To Nap By", subtitled "Regular stuff is good enough", sub-sub titled "Ordinary thoughts of ordinary people to help get you through most of the day unless it's 'One of those days, you know?'", which they'll cover in their YouTube series. Curious? Want to know more? Here's a sample: "If baked potatoes just don't seem to be working, it's not them, it's you. You need to add both butter and a little salt." Or: "Night is a good time to sleep, so you don't end up feeling tired the next day when things are actually happening, and anyway you get bored just sitting up in the dark, alone, with nothing to do but yawn." Order now, order often, don't think so much — they've done it for you.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I shouldn't, I can't, I won't.

So, Obviously

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 17 Jun 2026 23:29:53 +0000

Pat and Trite, the Obvious sisters, wanted to go fishing. But that meant being outdoors with bugs and mud and wind. So instead they bought a half-dozen guppies and flushed them down the toilet. Catch and release, see? No hooks, no sunburn, no mosquitoes, no stupid driving. So perfect that they might write a book about it: "Pat And Trite's Guide To The Outdoors". Life can be both so much better and so much simpler if you just think things through first. And it leaves more time for watching the Kardashians.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious sisters, decided that life would be better if it had meaning so they fired up SmarTalk AI and began asking questions. Now they are lifetime members of the One True Church of Foreverland, Inc., and can sleep in every day of the week without any obligations or questions needing to be sent to their or anyone else's conscience. As long as they stay up to date on their love offering ($15/mo or $400/yr and keep their magic prayer cloths clean and away from the dog, who just loves to chew on them. (Proof that they're the full-on genuine magic cloths.)

Pat and Trite, the Obvious sisters, formed a neighborhood watch committee to watch their neighbors, because one never can be too sure what any of those other people might be getting up to, and some of them have even been to foreign countries, even heathen foreign countries where not everyone washes their hands both before and after using the toilet, and they know which neighbors those are and will be compiling reports on their activities, in case the information is ever needed, and it surely will be, considering some of the things that have been going on out there for way too long.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I didn't vote for any of this.

Life Lessons Earned

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 13 Jun 2026 21:32:53 +0000

Two-penny tango master and wannabe millinery hero Gleet Headrot is said to be prepping for his next speech by carefully-timed farting into a megaphone in time to the Star-Spangled Banner, a tune he wrote for the occasion. That is all.

Lady Moosebone was in town for a visit. They had a parade in her honor, and later on a barbecue in the park. (Roasted rat on a stick.) No one seemed all that hungry, but the picnic was definitely the highlight of the day, at least for those carrying cameras, and for those selling barf bags.

Lord High-Tooter Woofley has a cabin on the lake, so I hear. Never been down there myself, but have seen a few strange lights in the night, and several dump trucks hauling away used fur coats. This must mean something, one would think. I myself try not to think.

Farley Tward was a childhood friend of mine until a swarm of flies carried him off. No one but me seemed to notice. I never heard a word about him after that day, but ever since I've been a bit skittish around swarms.

Meliflua Periwinkle was my third-grade crush. She always smelled good. Really good. I couldn't keep away from her. Finally, her parents got a court order to keep me from sneaking up and trying to sniff her. They eventually had to stuff me into a crate and ship me way out into the Pacific, which is where I am now, aged 48. And I haven't seen my cat in all that time, though I still miss him. There's no one worth sniffing around here either, so I'm managing to stay out of trouble, mostly, I think, though it is hard.

Hanston Farb Slewsmont. Now there's a name for you. Used to run the local dairy. Fell into the cottage cheese vat one afternoon, so they say, and became permanently curded. I suppose that could happen, especially if no one was paying attention, so I quit eating cottage cheese about then,though I still have an occasional craving for it, as well as a few other things, which perhaps I'd best not mention here.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Always earning, sometimes learning.

Tics

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 11 Jun 2026 00:19:56 +0000

President Ronald Bump will speak on television tonight, denying the existence of air, because "Who ever saw air?" The rest of us will be out back, working on our moon tans and doing a bit of impromptu howling. Can't wait. I love howling.

I avoid politics ever since I was infested by real tics. (Can't be too careful these days.)

First & Foremost Tall Lady Melatonin Bump was lately seen doing a bit of ceremonial walking to and fro. Both to and fro alike declined any opportunity to share their thoughts, though it all seemed reminiscent of a professional figurehead warming up for the big event, so if that's a hint, then it looks like we'll be in line for a bonus anger nap later on.

Second-In-Command V.P. Dunce has been doing a bit of strutting up one side and down some other, apparently hoping to reach a perfect cadence should he ever have a chance to fill any sudden power vacuums. However, no one was paying attention, not even him. Once he stepped into that gopher hole and went down on his face, any potential crowd which might have formed to witness the grand expected event decided to stay in bed and to continue dreaming of oatmeal.

First President Forever & Emperor Of All The Eye Can See!!! Hornwald Clump, went on television again to proclaim victory over unattended sanitary landfills and unlicensed squirrels. This will help a lot, maybe even more than anyone might want it to. Or something like that. Who knows any more?

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Tokking, contrarily. Feels good too.

Another Day Spent Tailless

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 31 May 2026 01:11:34 +0000

I could be out hiking now, but I can't remember where I left my eyeballs. Maybe the cat took them again. I should ask.

I just broke my pen. So what am I going to poke the cat with now? #DoNotTryUsingYourNose

I spotted a cat today. It took nearly half an hour. Next time I'll bring a bigger brush and probably wear gloves. (I'm allergic to scratches.)

I was determined that today was the day that I'd make one of those quantum leaps — you know, squishy green caterpillar morphing into an iron-melting howling dragon, but I tripped trying to jump over a chair and fell on the floor. Think I chipped a tooth as well. No sympathy from the cat at all. None.

I woke up today to find tank tread marks running across the living room. I guess these new ear plugs are the real deal, and it looks like the cat has found some amusement to fill the long quiet nighttime hours.

If I were a cat, I wouldn't be writing this. And neither would anyone else, which brings us back to no one reading this. But on the other hand I never have to share my toys.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I keep trying. Why? I wonder.

Captain Nope

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 27 May 2026 23:53:31 +0000

Captain Barely Noticeable Dandruff Flakes has recently been encouraged to find other accommodations after convincingly proving that he is not in actuality quite living up to his rank. We shall, after a thorough cleaning, disinfecting, and several months of focused re-evaluation, decide just how we want to proceed from here on out.

Captain Bushy Nose Hairs is out snuffling around the neighborhood again. Surely, someone should put a stop to this, though not us.

Captain Figitator was wiggling along Main Street yesterday, apparently fididling with the buttons on his pants fly. (He's an old fashioned one, is he.) So that went on for a bit, until he attracted an audience, shortly after which they all spontaneously formed up as a marching column and took over both traffic lanes, appropriately accompanied by tootling melodies of several people who just happened (we are told) to have kazoos with them, and who also knew how to wield them with proper effect, being professional kazooters on their way back to their hotel following their conference and dinner of turtle soup and animal crackers. So — a coincidence? Well, reach your own conclusions on that one, if you will.

Captain Nipple Tweak won't say why, or anything else, either. No one could have expected anything else from her (or him, or it) so I don't know why we bother.

Captain Poor Bladder Control remains on our "No Go" roster. (Use your imagination, but not too much of it if you know what's good for you, and also the rest of us.)

Captain Sir Richard Barfsalot — yeah, well... On those days when we DO allow him inside, he has to stay over in the far corner with the dogs, who have sort of learned to tolerate his presence for short periods of time.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I agree, completely.

Lonely Quiescence

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 23 May 2026 21:41:08 +0000

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, counting mosquitoes by moonlight, humming softly along with them, my only evening companions yet again.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, drifting along by day, sleeping soundly by night, always alone, always satisfied with whatever I do not have. I am one with the great vast emptiness that is the world. So be it.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, having yet another long discussion with my faithful sock puppet, Harold. Though we do not always fall into complete agreement on all matters great or small, coming together as we do from decidedly distinct backgrounds, we do have many moments of full and satisfying understanding, Harold and I, and that is fine.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, humming softly in the moonlight, completely on my own, completely empty of cares and woes, not pursued for any reason or even known at all by any among the vasty populace. Cool, reserved, at peace, alone — such a one am I.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting still in the night, gently howling at the moon, though only in my mind, for who would wish to disturb such impeccable silence as I have here? Not I, not I.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, with dust on my boots and an evening breeze in my hair, satisfied completely with what little I have and with whatever I don't. Suits me just fine.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Lonely. Quiescent. Often softly ornery in a minor key.

Yo Mom

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 21 May 2026 00:25:00 +0000

Am in a waiting room, sitting next to a lovely plastic plant covered in delicate white plastic flowers, and it just bit me, the little bastard. Wait until I tell Mom about this. She takes notes. Will be writing a book about this soon. If the shrubbery doesn't get her first.

At 89, Mom, the world's oldest living stripper still working (between naps), is a real dance machine, though we'll eventually need to do something about the diaper.

I bet you couldn't take my Mom in a fair fight if she was sober and felt like wasting her time and got to limber up first.

I don't mean to brag but I'm better than you. Mom said so. She's always right, or else.

I miss Mom when she goes away. She's a zeppelin pilot. And a helium addict in her spare time.

I told Mom I wanted to be something special when I grew up and she suggested an aardvark sandwich with tuna sauce and a cherry on top. So maybe.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Would be totally lost without myself.

No I Never

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 16 May 2026 22:41:52 +0000

Ham on a stick — either one of them is fine by itself but put them together and you have something really special.

Hamster Bob has been wearing a mask lately. I don't think he's been robbing banks because he's pretty short, though he does have a suspiciously large pile of nuts behind his cage. Nuts. Behind his cage. Someone needs to investigate this.

Have noticed a rumpled, empty trenchcoat following me around on Tuesdays. Any ideas? This ever happen to you?

Have you ever been to a turtle parade? They're always over before I get there. But anyway, as long as you're here, could you untie me?

Have you ever seen cookies fight?

Have you ever tried to clip a lobster's toenails? Where do you even start? And I can't hold my breath that long either.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? About the same. Always about the same.

Recent Incidents

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 13 May 2026 22:22:00 +0000

Had a dream that I was being stalked by a pussy, a fairly fuzzy one at that. Nope. Just kidding. Not really. Not this one. This one, in fact, was freshly shaved and had pizza breath.

Had a weed follow me home. Said its name was "Harold", used to be king of England, back when it was called Angleand and stuff. We might start a non-profit garden together, just as a hobby. An experimental hobby.

Good news — I recently discovered that Woffort Wolderfarts isn't actually my uncle. And he isn't actually human either. More like a fungus or something (No wonder we could never get him to eat anything but week-old garbage and dog droppings.) So, bye-bye Farts.

Good news, for me at least — I finally completed my course in how to finally complete courses (home study version), and am ready to die young. (That's an advanced course, and I might be too ornery to qualify but am willing to cheat.)

Good news, one hopes — Trilby Twinkleham has re-opened the local hobby shop once run by our favorite community uncle, Old Sam Netherklaws. Now, once again, we may be able to get our nippers sharpened, or perhaps even be able to buy new. We hope! As always! Netherklaws Nippers have always and forever been the best nippers, and we do know it!

Gosh b'gosh — it's been a long time since I've written anything of substance. The monkeys won't let me have substances, so I need to steal them, and then write it off, which is a pain, but I need pain these days.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Recently incidented.

Fresh Plants For The Plantgrounds

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 10 May 2026 14:17:00 +0000

Fred didn't do it. That's why it didn't get done. And I don't care anyway.

Fred said "No", but I disagreed so I let the gators eat him.

Fred said it best when he kept his mouth shut.

Fred said it couldn't happen, but then it didn't.

Fred says he's gonna buy a boat. I said, "Fred! Get a bigger bathtub!" Fool.

Fred spent weeks making a mannequin of himself, and then he burned it. "To clear the air and give me a fresh start", he said. All I got from this exercise was a lingering smell of burned horsehair.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Never actually knew a Fred. How about Melvin Mortvedt? Grover Icenogle? Egwan Spelmanus? (High school days.)

Foundings

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 07 May 2026 02:48:00 +0000

Found dust again. On the cat. Again. Looks like he's been hunting. Probly dust bunnies. With some success, I'd guess.

Found dust again. On the cat. Again. This never used to happen. When he was alive. Not so much, anyway.

Fracture crackers. Fraught thoughts. Fraught toddy. Frauncy ponch. Mumble Week. (It comes and goes.)

Fulfillment, that's what I want. I ordered stuff from Almazzon two weeks ago and it still isn't here. My cat is getting somewhat twitchy without his 'nip. Can't blame him. I need some too.

Have been thinking of taking up catnip farming. After I move out of tiger country, I think.

Have decided to become a critic. All I need now is a subject, and maybe a pen, and some paper. Not sure about the rest. Is there an official uniform? A license? Secret handshake? Do I wear a mask? A cape? Special socks? This is all so new, so sudden, but I need the money. Does being a critic pay at all, or will I just get beaten up more often? (Pretty tired of that part already.) So many questions. Maybe I should email the cat, even though he's on vacation and gets cranky when I do that, but what else is new?

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Found sandpaper in my underwear. Again.

Running On Three Toes

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 03 May 2026 00:49:00 +0000

Got my dick caught in the zipper again. Good thing I have spares.

Got my goose cooked. Finally. Highest oven setting is two degrees. Takes 47 months if the weather is sunny, and then there's all the mold. Dinner invitations will go out this evening to all those still alive and waiting patiently in layers of respectful silent anticipation.

Got my rear bumper repaired today. Been a little bent and wobbly since that family of six walked right into me from behind out front of Wally Mart last month. All big hefty ones like you see over there usually. No other injuries were reported.

Got sniffed by a ghost last night. I must have aromatic ectoplasm. Or maybe I fart colorfully in my dream sleep. Always a possibility.

Got three toes on my left foot and some more on my right, plus a couple spares out back. I'm pretty well set for most anything, I guess.

Grandma peeled me a pumpkin. I didn't know you could do that. I guess she's got the hands for it. Six of them, all gnarly. Wicked good at arm wrestling for her weight class.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Still not sure if I counted right or not.

Toots

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 30 Apr 2026 22:36:07 +0000

Got a bugle for my birthday. Stand well back then. Ima gon toot, y'all.

Got a cookie for my 5th birthday. Must remember to finish it before it goes bad. "Bad, bad cookie" is something I never want to hear myself saying.

Got a cookie in the mail. It could be a refund for that loaf of bread that I couldn't finish eating last week. Either that or it's a warning.

Got a flat tire last night. Stole it off the neighbor's car. Now he won't have to get upset by seeing his dead tire. I'm helpful like this and in many other ways. (Tires, so sadly, die too. Don't they?)

Got a whole entire suitcase full of dried squirrels here. Been saving them up over the summer, but no longer sure if that was a great idea, considering today's market report.

Got flies buzzing around me and they haven't even served lunch yet. Maybe I smell good for once.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Never liked bugles, or any other type of dog.

L Is For Lunge

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 25 Apr 2026 20:20:00 +0000

Lorenzo is my name and I don't have a game. But am accepting donations until 4 p.m. today.

Lots of rats running up and down the streets carrying little tiny signs saying "It was all rigged." And maybe it was, but who listens to rats?

Still living off the grit on borrowed horse meat, among too many lonely houseboats.

Long, long ago I used to go to church, but quit when they asked me to stop farting along with the hymns. Like — isn't everyone's contribution valued? I don't know about those people. I don't know. So I left. This still annoys me.

Linda says "Hi". That's all she says. I should have a talk with her but all she says is "Hi". Gets really annoying some days.

Life would be less fun without you around, but probably not enough to notice.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Lovely. I'm finally feeling lovely.

Just Me And Mucilage

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 22 Apr 2026 23:35:00 +0000

Margo the mucilage queen sent me another bucket of goo. She does this about every other month, and each time I forward it to the neighborhood homeowners' association. They know how to handle things like this. Some of them even enjoy sniffing it.

Maria-Jose is back on the job. Not sure yet how much is Maria and how much is Jose, but she don't look like she gives a fuck what I think.

Marjorie Marigold specialized in pastel prints and rose-scented farts. She doesn't live here any more, so I'm back to having no friends at all.

Marlene the Möbius Stripper is like an unnatural act of nature the first time you see her, and some of the other times too, but she's real bendy, and I like that in a woman.

Do you ever get the feeling that you're not being watched anymore? Life has become so, so lonely.

So me and Spud spent some time standing down by the corner yesterday, counting chickens. Wasn't much else to do. Not that many chickens out neither.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Sticky.

G Thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 18 Apr 2026 22:32:13 +0000

G.I. Josephine.

Gambling for Gonads.

Gears run by swine.

Genital friends.

Germ ranching.

Getting near the end now. Even the flies can't stand me any more.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Will get to more of the alphabet later.

Rot Wailer

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 15 Apr 2026 23:37:24 +0000

I saw Dad again yesterday. Yes, he's still dead, and as active as ever. You've heard that you can't keep a good man down, but in his case it's "You can't keep a dead man in the ground." And I don't know why. I really don't. He's a lot more active now than when he was alive and no more likable, given the odors of decay. At least I no longer have to live anywhere near him, or even admit that I know him. Knew him. My only "interaction" these days is occasionally catching a quick glimpse of him running naked down the street, possibly chased by various carrion eaters. All I have to do is to turn the corner and head upwind, if I can. I like wind.

Saw Dad running naked down the highway around noon, pursued by about 20 police cars. They were having a bit of a problem keeping up. Pretty good for a guy who's been dead for around 23 years now, and has to dig his way up to sunlight every time he wants a bit of fresh air, but being the dead undead is the only thing he was ever good at, somehow.

Saw Dad again yesterday, running naked in the park, chasing cats. I truly don't know how he finds so many cats to chase, especially for a dead guy, or where he gets those goofy tattoos of his.

If you must have a Dad, don't pick one like mine. He was dead all the time, had a terrible personality, and smelled bad. Besides being cold and distant. Something about spending your days and nights in a grave will do that I guess. Though I do have to give him credit for climbing out of the hole every time we dumped him back into it.

Dad just walked by the coffee shop — naked and on the loose again. Damn, that guy won't stay buried for nothin.

See that guy outside? The one with no pants? He's my dad — taught me everything I know. Maybe I too can be President some day.

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Constantly trying to run away from my future.