Oak Trees, Karl Marx, and the Country of Tootoot

Here comes my bowler hat. People are screaming and on fire as a star-sized article of clothing careens toward Earth. It is now blotting out the sun. It is dark. It is so dark. The dogs are now barking at the head-wear. The dogs are bark. The dogs are so bark. You knew this day would come, but you had no idea it would involve my bowler hat. Here it comes. Here comes my bowler hat.

What we have here is a fully functioning miniature refrigerator. You probably don't know what that means, so I'm going to explain it to you in German. Wenn Sie außerhalb der Wohnung betreten, werden Sie von der Brise aufgenommen und auf dem Land von Tootoot, die unter Wasser ist zu hinterlegen. Die Bürgerinnen und Bürger gibt es alle ertrinken, weil sie nicht unter Wasser atmen können. Sie weiß nicht, warum Tootoot nach wie vor eine hohe Rate der Einwanderung haben. Sie denken, dass ihr Essen ist schrecklich, und es ist, weil es buchstäblich nur Salzwasser in eine Schüssel geben. Warum gibt es ein Waschbär in der Badewanne? Niemand weiß es.

If you think about it we are all deaf in an infinite number of ears. The extra ears do not exist, and therefore you do not hear out of any of them.

Why are you here? Yes. Yes this is all that I need for your money payment plant. Steal back after only six more days and Canada will yield the appropriate amount of cancer patients. Will this turn into a diaper? Maybe. Or maybe you are looking through the wrong window. Look. Look through this window instead. There. Isn't that better? 

And now I am going to tell you everything you need to know about the Olken: That's not important right now.

Karl Marx and oak trees have very little in common with each other. For one thing their stances on economics are totally different. Trees invest in sunlight. Not businesses involving sunlight. Sunlight itself. They just kind of throw cash into the sky and hope the sun can catch it. Maybe one day, they whisper. Maybe one day. And that's why oak trees don't have any money. But at least they are not Karl Marx.

Incoming hand-grenade time.

Pat, the Magical Boat-Driving Cabbage

If I had a son, I would name him after a dairy product. Not because I like dairy products but because he will probably look like an amorphous sample of aged, moldy cheddar. I think he will become the first cheese President of the United States, which will be a huge step toward real minority representation in America. And now it's time to meet Pat, the Magical Boat-Driving Cabbage. And Sam, the accountant. I met a prophet once, but all he did was make toothless smiles at his pet clone, like non-stop, so I stuck like thirty-seven pills in his mouth and ran away. Now leave me alone, I need to go help a fireman eat stamps off an envelope addressed to Harlem Shake III. Why, Martha, I do believe I've discerned the reason I hate kissing you: you are apparently a single earmuff.

Ribosomes get all up in that nucleolus and synthesize the heck out of polypeptides, yeah buddy. Yeah buddy. Yeah buddy. Yeah buddy. Sneeze on that toddler.

When you wake up in the morning, it is important that you leave the bed facing the correct cardinal direction. You should never get up on the left side. That's the Devil's side. Michael Jackson’s “Man in the Mirror” is really depressing to vampires and you're a little bit off key. It's a no from me. You sound like shhhpmump CLANGAKEEEEEEE with a little bit of ranch dressing. Let's finish this off with a steak cut in the shape of a trout. Thank you, dearie.

Is that a fat joke? Are you gonna finish it? Can I eat it? Please? I haven't eaten in three days. Three days. Please they're going to destroy my front door with a series of couches and I cannot stop them.

Three days. To make that potato salad.

Gawin? Yes hello, Gawin. This is the college of accepting you. Please join the classing course instructor meeting university sememster. We are offering you a tomato and scholoarship. Please Gawin Lemony melon time judge. Supreme register now thanking because we need your academic studenter. Please Gawin gives us yourn moeny. coMe to our newniversitys. Gawin.

Crazy popping lice factory, give us your hair.

Precious Magma Socks

I wish some people were made of bacon so I wouldn't feel so bad about eating them. I mean I was really looking forward to a meeting with Will the Briefcase Man, but he did not arrive. Totes gonna eat you now, Will. And even if I was hungry, I wouldn't throw a kleenex in your freezer if you had a bodyguard who happens to be a gaudy bard. Smacking foreign dignitaries in the face with smoked ham is pretty much never a good approach to calculus unless you're under the radar and over the speed limit. Three toes is all I have.
 
Let me tell you, I was just swimming to my castle in Englireland when suddenly Mr. Tubs-in-Pants starts throwing exploding cats at my yacht, which was at the time preoccupied with the task of not existing. That's downright splanky. What is the deal with yacht? The "ch" is completely unnecessary. I mean maybe you could keep the letter h in there but why the c? It just ruins everything. Much like your FACE. I'm sorry I didn't mean that. And I didn't mean that either. This would all go a lot more smoothly if you didn't have winged wings.

Anacondas. The perfect pet for very very old people.

Do you realize that the last time I posted here was one year ago? I think I need to shorten these posts so that is a thing that will probably happen now I don't care. I love it. Paging Dr. Paging. That doesn't look like "page-ing" it looks like "pa-ging." BINGO! Norton Antivirus is now green. I close the door in your face and present you with precious magma socks. So friendly.

I will look at Shia Labeouf's twitter account specifically when I'm not troubleshooting my computer with a semi-automatic hunting rifle, and this is Mr. Peanut, he makes business cards for drug dealers, and he is a legume.  Welcome to Inc Inc. "We put the O in execution." And if you're thinking about popping seventeen water balloons in MY LOBBY you've got another COMGING please keep your hands and feet inside the cool roaster at all times. Do you think you could read the words "cool roaster" wrong? It's like a dozen fat people lunging for the same bowling ball and none of them are wearing hands.

My kidney is a genius.

Tote, the Magical Talking Waffle Batter

We should have a contest wherein we consume the contents of lava lamps. My new year's resolution is 1280x720p. Right, she's a manifestation of the Times New Roman font, so let's hijack a trolley and ride all the way to the hospital, where we can listen to people using respirators to breathe -- that should fix your stupid. I remember the last time I went to the hospital to steal two-day-old macaroni, I met this guy whose large nose actually frightens children, even when there aren't any children around. I have strong evidence that suggests he resides beneath your sofa. In fact, there's an entire country living under your sofa. We call it Brenda. It's part of the U.N. and has the fourth largest army in the world. Don't try to argue; you'll just end up putting all your hand lotions in a blender.

OLDIES ON 97.8, THE ARTHRITIS

I just made friends with a polyp! No, you'll have to leave the internet in the cupboard where you found it, or else the sun will eat us both. Yesterday, I blinked and caused a rock-slide, because the rocks lied. They tried to tell me that Michael Jackson didn't try to sue himself, but we all know the real story. Of course, we only know it because in the seventeenth dimension, cats organize themselves into crime mafias that take over the galactic bunny blockade. Shark Infested Waters would be a terrible name for a child.

IF YOU COULD CHOOSE BETWEEN GOING BALD AND GOING SUPER BALD, WHICH WOULD YOU CHOOSE

I keep a list of profitable business idea in my wallet. Sodium cubes (meant as replacements for ice cubes), bottled corn bread, Clorox Bleach Drink for kids, the Pacific Ocean, Tote the Magical Talking Waffle Batter, and blocks of cheese carved in the shape of Hillary Clinton's head. I also intend to copyright the alphabet. Most of my investors don't exist because apparently my ideas "won't sell anywhere ever get out of my house," but I'm telling you, my ideas would make millions. Millions. Everyone will love them because there's nothing to not love about these ideas, in my opinions. Both of them. I have two opinions. They are both exactly the same.

Today I am going to show you how to prepare a mango. Step one, see how many chicken nuggets will fit in the blender. Step two, remove chicken nuggets. Step three, start blender. Step four, scream and throw the blender through the nearest window. Step five, get sued by the jogger you just knocked unconscious with a blender. Congratulations. You have successfully prepared a mango for battle.


There is a thin line between word and world...

Griffin wrote so much of this post it's not even. It's odd. It's really odd. I could sit here and explain my life to you, but there are borts in the hallway, and bacon is about as good as bacon does. Ick the panorama. Ick. Don't give me that look.

Charcoal Man, the superhero who invented the smolder. His superpower is crawling into people's grills and bursting into flame. The only reason we don't fire him is because if we do, he'll stay on fire for like a really long time, and well, frankly, Frank. Stop calling me. Also, Bug Bug's only friend is Roger, whose profile picture is a duck. I cannot accept this piece of drywall. Just put it back where you found it. Bring all your pant.

I entered an establishment recently, and within the establishment was a bathroom, which I entered as well, because I was looking for the vending machine. And when I looked to my right, I saw this man on the other side of the counter, looking directly at me. He was dressed exactly like me! This was a bit awkward, so we simply stared at one another for a while, and I waited for him to just leave, but he didn't. He stood there, staring at me. It occurred to me that I'd seen this man before, in other bathrooms, and each of those times, he was also dressed exactly like me. I can only conclude he's stalking me. He even tried to follow me when I tried to exit the room! Eventually I had no choice but to throw a roll of toilet paper at him. It bounced off of some invisible force field, and I screamed "STOP FOLLOWING ME" and bolted from the room, crashing through the nearest window and directly into a passing car, where I proceeded to emit obnoxious whale noises until the driver let me out on the overpass. It wouldn't have killed her to slow down, though.

Operation: Swimming Noodle Bathroom Attack is a go. O long Johnson. O Don Piano. Why I eyes ya. Understand, you're standing under the upside down dirt-sky. Whenever I'm home alone, I like to contemplate contemporary plates, and maybe put my hand in a pot of coffee to wake me up in the morning. Sometimes my arm sends me messages about called itch.

What the crap. Where did my sandwich go. I ate it. And now it's gone. It was here just a second ago.

Okay okay look, look okay, here, now, okay look: ...Don't come in I'm naked.

I have two split personalities that think that they are each other.

Diapers of Shame

I am going to start a band and name it "Tony and His Several Tumors." I used to be in a different band once. I couldn't play any instrument without somehow setting fire to the local postal service. That's why they never let me touch the instruments or microphones, and I definitely wasn't the singer. I was the amp. I was the one responsible for the bass guitar falling down the stairs and subsequently becoming a liberal democrat. They still won't let me anywhere near the state of Montana. I mean come on. I launch the entire building into a trans-dimensional portal one time and you just can't let it go, can you?

Well that man is certainly stuck in his ways wheys curds. This clock has eleven hands, all the same size. If I hand you a clock's hand would you use your own hand to check the time, or will your car just rear-end a butt ? You can't heegle pleeps unless yaa beloove in frundsharp. Check out these things I found in the dumpster. Ordinarily, they are briefcases, but today they are soup. I call them the Lips of Determination. Collect all four, FranÇois! Or should I say...FRANçOIS!!!

Let's say you're walking down the street, and someone says, "Hey, I would like to raise your child!" What do you do? You say, "No! Get a life and I hope you die from sharks!" They will walk away with a dejected look on their faces as you throw diapers at them scornfully. Diapers of shame. Remember my advice if you want to live. Otherwise, you might as well be trading the entire world to aliens for a golden egg, and that makes you Bim the Clown and me William Shatner. Time to boldly split infinitives. I have replaced all the money in your wallet with peanut butter.

The day I played with brain coral was the day that my portfolio became Fort Polio. We remember it well. It had nothing to do with the Great Toot Machine III, copyright Mt. St. Helens, 1975. It was either hail, tornados, or suicidal sheep. Take your pick. Also take this comb; it's good for your digestive system. Now, I see your point, but I can't hear your point. This amphitheater is my hoopskirt. Don't assassinate me. Not yet. These  bubbles don't want to pour coffee all over your acorns, but if the wheat farm says, "Bleuuurgh" all bets are off. Keep that in mind tomorrow morning, because cropping pictures of the harvest is fun only when you drive under a teepee and hit a native. The teepee's peas. Donuts hop out of beakers when it gets too steamy in the fuse box to make forks a regular customer.

Today is under construction. Thank you for understanding.

I specifically said no tartar sauce. And they gave me all the tartar sauce they have. Whatever makes you burp is too sacrilegious to eat at my dinner table. You'll have to burrow under my picnic blanket and live amongst the worms. Firing sponges out of a cannon at your mother-in-law as she exits the grocery store is basically the worst way to get revenge. Mothers-in-law derive evil powers from sponges -- we've gone over this. You see, sometimes, I follow my roommates around and repeat everything they say, but I say it an octave higher. That way, nobody knows who I am or even tries to eat my ice cream while I'm cleaning the restrooms using only a hammer.

I will hide in the gutters and eat nothing but topsoil for a week.

Good Butling

Plant a congressman. Maybe one day he'll grow into a beautiful bagel-shaped manhole, named Miranda. If not, you'll at least be able to sue his taxes and get a refund on that withdrawal. And if he still has his wallet when he exits the shower at your local bank, it means that he's just traded a subsidiary waffle cone for something along the lines of a gross domestic house-cat by wiring his money to an old German woman who lives across the street and refuses to wear socks. All I know is my puts are lower than my calls, my calls are made by phone, usually to a girlfriend, I put calls on hold sometimes, and I call my puts "butts" whenever I feel like synthesizing an investment portfolio made entirely out of yeast. Let's get fiscal, baby.

I once met an area code with a scalpel, which led me to believe the butler did it. We don't really know what he did. We just know he did it. He is so good at the butling, though, we couldn't call the police to arrest him for whatever he did. So instead, we'll just force him to marry that harpsichord. Convincing me otherwise will do nothing to change my mind, and that's all I have to say about the matter except for this one extra thing: we don't want your carpet people. They keep grabbing my toes and melting, and frankly I've had it. I don't know what it is that I've had, but whatever it is, it's been had. By me. I've had it.

It starts out as a simple complexity, but it soon sprouts into an appointment with your doctor. It's at 2 a.m., so you better hurry.

The skittles are in a jar, and you can't reach them because your hand is too fat. If you would just hand me the remote, I could change the English channel, and we could finally watch something American carpal tunnel. Like that tulip over there. It looks pretty patriotic. I think you'll be safe as long as you aren't throwing hatchets at everything, which is a little too rude to ride this ride. You have to be this tall. Try again next time, Gimli. I'm gonna go grab a bite to eat. It won't be my bite; it'll be somebody else's. But still. Also I'm getting my hair cut... Just the one.

Okay, okay, story time, kitties. This one's about a hairball that wanted to be a dinosaur when it grew up. Unfortunately, it was fated to predict its own prophecy about the fortunes. Sometimes I stand up in Taco Bell and just yell really loud. I am the Chosen Juan! Let's bee honest; I'm an insect. I should probably be shot for that one, but I'm getting a tetanus booster anyway, so feel free to pick a brochure on your way out. We have excellent ears. Thank you, dear, that was very sweet of you. Go sit in the corner and think about your life.

When the headlines read, "ROBBER MAKES OUT WITH LOTS OF MONEY" I always get the wrong impression. Maybe that's just me. Maybe I'm that robber. I stole the entire cash register and left the money. See, I knew what you were thinking, because Carl Orff  is a terrible name for Germany, but you have to listen to my dirty clothes hamster. He talks like a buttered puppet with a lisp the size of Texas. In fact, I'm pretty sure his day-job is just spitting on people. It's possible she replaced him with a potty train, but who would buy something so flagrantly charitable, you malapropism! Soon enough they'll think people can run around naked like animals do. Well they can't! The pigs are hard to relate to, and my analysis isn't going to burn itself! So help me canter around like a headless amoeba, but without disestablishing the careful arrangement of hipsters in my attic.

Stop tickling my fancy!

The Turnip Queen In Candyland

You know, the Turnip Queen has some legs. I know you can't cremate it, but I don't want all of your money. All I want is somebody else's two front teeth. Is that so much to ask? Seriously. She just walked into my kitchen and started putting things on my cake. I don't even know why she would want the couch cushions. I'm like a hostile smartphone resting cozily in the smoldering embers left over from last night's sneezing contest with the mole people. These are keyboards, people. Stop eating them.

Somebody wants your nope. But you can't the grapes because they housing my parents. It's like a completely intentional accident, with bad-smells insurance. That is to say, some politics don't make cents, and that's okay because I forgive you. It's not your fault. It's somebody else's fault. Now let's leave before there's an earthquake. I think this fault belongs to Madrid. She has a puppy! But it's in a coma.

Every evening, Mr. Glockenspiel stares at ramen noodles and thinks to himself, "...Scarecrow's brain?"

Storytime! Once upon a time, there sat a human. The human wondered how he could sit upon a time, since times aren't tangible things, thus nobody could ever actually sit upon one, at least not within the physical limitations of the known material universe. I like telling stories to sauce. Piles of noses became presidents of fat pigeons, and my children bounced beside a slappy gentleman with extra heads. I am calling the police.

Duct tape solves everything, except world hunger, because it's not a particularly good idea to eat anything adhesive. That's why I can't pharmacy. German Hank flies in the Untitled Document with a big spoon. Randy Pachyderm flies around the United Plates with a chicken costume and gets shot. Sorry, Randy. I have nothing to my name but a single wooden plank. A plank named Florbie. All the children point and laugh at me, and call me Mr. Plump. Just this morning, a state senator visited my house just to tell me, "Sometimes you make smell." And then he just left. Afterward, I left the house because it wasn't actually mine. All I have is a plank.

So the reason I haven't been posting on this website is I was busy all summer, disassembling people's alarm clocks, and then eating the pieces. It's a good idea to just scream until the milk ferments and leaves you with a cardboard box full of politics. Just make sure your cousin's nose doesn't use the touch screen on your phone, because if she becomes a muppit, we will all wiggle our arms like jellyfish. Frantically. The most philosophical thing I've ever said is "Lollipops float around fat people with fragrant earlobes. Who wants some babies?" And that's when I tripped over pancake and somehow skipped a generation, where two different mushrooms got the same subpoena in lieu of Lou, the oxymoron.

Welcome to the Nether Portal! Where all your dreams congregate and stare at each other in eerie silence.

No, dalmatians are not indigenous to airport toilets. But they are covered in dry wet floor signs, and that's something you can't forget. The only way you can toss crumpits is if you are British, and everybody knows she can't operate without a patient. I don't print money. I use cursive. And that's why I'm the most successful skin cream this side of the Pacific Crock Pot. Babies, babies, babies.

This isn't Candyland. This is just poop.