Another post. What else?

Somebody should be put in charge of telling me when it's Veterans day.  I nominate all of you.  (And since I don't have any readers yet...I suppose I'm still in a pickle.)

My worst fears were realized around lunch time, when insane noises occurred in the sky.  I figured we were being bombed, so I abruptly stopped doing my math homework. 

AS IT TURNS OUT....some sort of air craft machine type whatnot was causing a great deal of commotion.  I would have gone outside to look, but the sky frightens me and I often opt out of acknowledging it's existence.   Stars, in particular, do nothing for my nerves.  Thank god for light pollution!  I don't have to look at you!

In other news, I have had the voracious appetite of a lint-roller in heat.  I don't know where it's coming from, but I'm not ruling out the possibility of tape-worms quite yet.

In closing, I have no respect for parachutes. 

I waste a lot of time, for any number of irritating reasons.

I just spent several hours looking for a post I made in an old blog that I needed to destroy.  It was probably the most disgusting, deplorable thing I had ever written.  The world didn't need it floating around in the cyber-universe.


Now it's 2 in the morning.  I half fell asleep a few times, and had odd half dreams.  On two separate occasions, I awoke from a dream about a large, tasty sandwich.  Finding that I did not actually have a sandwich, I became enraged.  All of a sudden, I was waking up from a different dream in which my skin was horrifying.  It can best be described as resembling lunch-meat that has been boiled for many hours.

Speaking of half things, I half wrote a short story, and then threw it away (I fully threw it away, thanks for asking.), because it seemed a lot like a bad eighties film. 

I apologize for this.  So here...I'll post another something from the past.  (Although now edited all Walmart style, because at some point I became a total prude.)

June 6th, 2003
Dear Miss Abigail Price,
We regret to inform you that your application to be in the "Little Miss Kentucky" pageant has been denied, for the following reasons:
1. You're 82.  The age bracket for this competition is 12-17.

2. The "artistic nudes" you voluntarily supplied with your application, were severely lacking in the "artistic" department, and were borderline pornographic.  The image in which you're shown doing degrading things to a raw ham put two of our best employees in the hospital.

3.  Under "experience", you boldly listed the names of 20 vaguely known, D-list actors, and one complete unknown, who you describe as "unstable and murderous".  We're not quite sure what you meant, but new security precautions have been installed.

4.  The paragraph you wrote describing the life and times of "Saint Hitler" was not amusing in the slightest.

Regrettably yours,
Betsy P. Broomstail


*Edit - Totally freaky!  It WAS two in the morning, but now it is only 1 am!   Thank you, time change!  Good night!

Alright, so I'm boring.

First of all, when I took a shower this morning, I found that I was out of soap.  I decided to use Kevin's soap, which smells very much like aftershave.  I finished up my shower by using some of Landon's body-wash, in hopes of removing my bold new fragrance.  Now, I smell like a very manly baby.  Disgusting.

Last night, I made the apple butter that I had previously mentioned, and it turned out very well BUT.....I then realized how extremely boring I am.  So, for your reading pleasure (although nobody is actually reading this yet, because I have not gone public with the URL...who would want to read a blog with an archive of only a few entries?  Certainly not me.)  I have fished up some old short stories, which I will post in here perhaps two at a time...maybe just one though, because I'm in sort of a rotten mood.  (Smelling like a masculine infant can do that to a girl.)

This does not have a title.  It was written May 1st of 2007.


I had always despised Mr. Switch, and was not at all disturbed to find him being beaten over the head with a blunt object.
My brother Leopold, however; who often entertained Mr. Switch as a dinner guest, was outraged!  He called the law enforcement at once.
An uncharacteristically boring man, Mr. Switch was often found to be brooding over the weather.  My sister Irene, who had the proper idea of distrusting all men in bowler hats, frequently spoke of poisoning him.  Thus begins the story of my life.

At exactly 4:26 in the morning, I was awakened by the sounds of an escaping cow.  Mr. Switch - who had taken up residence in the root cellar - had disguised himself as a moose, and was running willy-nilly through the orchard!

Our beloved bovine, Gretchen the III, was badly annoyed by the chaos, and had decided to take her leave.  She had made it all the way to the middle of our unstable wooden bridge, when it promptly collapsed under her weight!  Gretchen went mooing down the river at great speeds (for a cow) and looked quite frightened indeed.

Leopold and I found ourselves outside in our unmentionables, lassoing the great river beast, and trying our best to reel her back to dry land.

Mr. Switch, still fancying himself a moose, frolicked past us exclaiming "Great day for a parade!"

Later that day, I took Irene shopping to purchase cyanide.

Here is the first part of another one, but not the middle part or the last part, because it becomes unexpectedly inappropriate.  I'd rather not offend anyone, or be the cause of mass vomiting.  

I am a massive orange feline, patrolling the streets at dusk!  A mouse squeaks in the distance.  I am on it's trail like a bold panther on a baby gazelle!
My whiskers twitch - instinct tells me that the tiny rodent is hiding behind a massive wad of gum.  The fiend!  I pounce!  I rip off his head!  I pull out it's innards in strings, and gnash upon it's tail with my sharpened teeth!

But actually, I'm not really a cat at all.  I am a man.  A human man.  My name is Gunsun T. Weathers, and I'm sitting behind a dumpster at night, whiskers taped to my face, chewing on a mouse.

My life came crashing down the day I met a jovial man named Polly.  We hit it off instantly, and he invited me back to his uptown flat.  We drank tea and listened to Motown hits.  


There.  More to come if I ever start experimenting with drugs, or don't sleep for a period of 5-6 days.  It might happen.  Be on the lookout!

Snappery.

I completely forgot that I had a blog. Oops.

I am back, because popular demand has demanded it, and I feel threatened.  (By popular demand, I mean to say that 3-4 people have mentioned it casually.)

Today, my original plan was to make apple butter, even though I'm not altogether fond of it.  I found a great recipe, and have been itching to try it.  But then I will have to begin canning it...this is what stops me.  How boring.  Also, I think it best to wait until I have one of those dinosaur shaped bread cutter things, so that I can have apple butter dino toast.  Does that not sound exceptionally cool to anybody else? 

 How is it that I had so many neat things to write about until I actually sat down to write them out?


It might be better if I make an effort to make posts on this at night, when my mind isn't still on auto-pilot mode.  I'm sort of an owl, but without the fluff and beak. 

Good day.