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Saturday, April 30, 2005

Mod Sequence

The Singing Toothpick™ showed up on Monday and surprised me while I was out picking apples. He sang an aria that he himself had composed. The lyrics told me that over on the coast a nest of baby birds had been abandoned when their mother was tragically killed in a storm. Everyone had just about given up on the baby birds when all of a sudden every single cloud in the sky burst into tears of joy and the Sun also weeped and said: "Today we in the sky are being joined by a very special guest. Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce you to the Funnel Cake."

According to the Aria, Funnel Cake then drifted to the ground in a parchute made from royal gowns. She then proceeded to feed the baby birds.

This news certainly aroused numerous curiositys in me, but before I could voice a single one, an Apple up in the tree above me looked at the Singing Toothpick™ and said:

"Why...it can sing any song I name"

"And oooooh that voice" said another Apple.

"Yes" said an older and more distinguished Apple "and it can also compose its own tunes with lyrics taken straight from today's hottest current events"

"Why....it could be....bigger than the ipod!!!" said a group of Apples in unison.

The apples then all started emitting a haunting bluish glow that pulsed, softly at first but made a steady visual crescendo until the apples became burning dayglo shpheres and jumped off the branches and out of the basket and began chasing the Singing Toothpick™.

Just then, the horrifying sound of a giant swarm of bees swept over us, we all ducked down, and the Singing Toothpick™ came up next to me, and it was actually he that was making the noise that sounded EXACTLY like hundreds of hungry and wild bees. He jumped into my pocket and kept on making the noise. I got up and ran out of the field before the Apples figured out that the swarm of bees was not real.

That Singing Toothpick™ and me, we're quite a team.

Saturday, April 23, 2005

Implements Rising

Greetings my fabulous readers. The past week has been very stressful for me, because all of the kitchen utencils that we have here in the cave staged a mutiny. I woke up last Monday to find myself surronded by three steak knives, a strainer and a coffee mug. Groves, Chuck and Mr. Mouse were also subdued and we were taken before the Skillet King, who talked for three days about how unappreciated he and his culinary companions felt. Groves, Chuck, Mr. Mouse, and I did everything we could to let them know that we were sorry but the Skillet King just kept on and on. Finally, I told all of the untensils that our band could provide music for a rock opera about their plight. The utensils themselves could star in the production and we could really raise awareness for the cause of unloved forks, kettles, and bottle openers. They liked the idea and decided to go with it.

The show was a smashing success. Appliances and gadgets from all over town showed up. I watched the Skillet King as he peeked through the curtains and gazed at the throngs of toasters, graters, pots and saucers. "Maybe we are loved after all" he said. He then stepped out onto the stage and delivered a rousing speech on Utensil Unity before introducing us.

Our performance that night evoked tumultuous applause and cheers the likes of which you've never heard. By the end of it every utensil there was our friend, and the revolution officially ended. The Skillet King agreed that he and his kitchen compadres would perform their usual functions as long as they could have a weekly party with all their new friends.

Things ended pretty well I'd say. But boy, what a stressful week.

Friday, April 22, 2005


You know, skillets are special things and deserve a lot more love than they normally get. Think about it. Do YOU want to lie on a burner and melt butter on your stomach?

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Tangled Up In Pink

I have been unable to type over the past week because I have been without either of my pinkys. I discovered this just as Evil Wiener were gearing up for one of our mammoth rehearsals which always seem to end when the intesity gets to the point that the stars all foget their inhibitions and start darting to earth in search of twizzlers (the red kind). At any rate, when I went to strike the opening chords of our collosal rock session I was certainly unable to get anything out of my guitar, and that is pretty bad because my guitar is magic and plays by itself. You see, my pinkys and my guitar have spent a lot of time together and the guitar was so distraught over the loss of its two friends that it just couldn't ring a note.

I knew immediately that either Dylan, Naomi Judd or Pete Rose had taken my sacred digits. Being that rehearsal was impossible at this point I sent Chuck after Dylan, Groves after Pete Rose, and Mouse after Naomi Judd. I sent an identical box and the following note with each of them:

To whom it may concern. If my pinkys are placed in this box and returned to me, there will be no further examination into this matter. I have sent identical boxes to a plethora of sources in hopes of finding my small fingers and thus will not know from which source the pinkys came. If they are not returned I shall be compelled to contact The University of Vermont Equestrian team and the Royal Canadian Mounties of Yukon. Please return my pinkys if you have them, and please accept this Taco Salad in return for your precious time.

Needless to say, I sent Taco Salads along with all of them, and also needless to say is that my venture was a complete success. I just got my pinkys back, and the first thing I did was post to this blog because you, dear readers, are my people.