I was walking along one day in May, when I happened to see a yikkish Jarmoove in the middle of the road. Well it plumb surprised me out of my sorks, so I took a noidy look at it. Boy did it scare me. I jongered down the road as fast as I could and only stopped every twelve miles to adjust my shoes, which were making my feet feel pingy. Well, the Jarmoove was chasing me at a linkerly fast pace, and every three kilometers I ran, he caught up another quarter of a mile. Finally, he caught up with me, and when he saw how molled I was, he began to yilk. He yilked and he yilked and he yilked, until he was quite out of breath and had to go home for a drink. He was back relatively quickly with a chinky smile and a glass of girge for himself and one which he offered to me, but I don’t like girge so I didn’t accept it. Now that made him so disappointed that he began to koel. He koeled and he koeled and he koeled, until I felt so bad for him that I just had to try a little bit of the girge. But it made me choke, and the Jarmoove found that rather funny and began to yilk again. I guess he’s never seen someone choke before. Later that day he invited me over for a bite to eat, and that’s how I found out that Jarmooves eat kilsch and drink girge, neither of which I like. So I showed him how to make hot cinnamon apple grice which is something I can digest. But the Jarmoove didn’t like hot cinnamon apple grice so I ate that and he ate the kilsch, and between us two, we had a very nice dinner. After that, I was a bit yawny and so was he, so I said good bye and left before he could invite me to spend the night. One thing I did previously know about Jarmooves, was that they sleep on pinety glice inkerwheels which are extremely painful if you’re not used to them, which I’m not.
I had a very relecting sleep that night, and I’m sure that the Jarmoove did too. I haven’t seen him since then, but I’m sure that he’s doing just fine.
(I do hope he acquires a taste for hot cinnamon apple grice, because it really is good stuff. You should try it too sometime.)
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Needs a Title
This is a story written by my sister Alicia. We need title suggestions. Anyone have any?
In the dark of the night, Caleb Monnington slipped through the forest, tree to tree, to the secret meeting place.
As he emerged from the woods into the clearing, a familiar voice at his elbow startled him into a squeal. "Good evening, Caleb," came the voice of a Kauffman - whether Nat or Noah, he couldn't be sure.
At his squeal, the Kauffman shook his head in disgust and beckoned Caleb across the clearing to the river, where a canoe lay in readiness, attended by two more shadowy figures. For the first time in this evening excursion, Caleb felt a prick of something. Fear? Nah, probably uncertainty. He brushed it aside as the Kauffman stepped forward to meet the boatmen, who carefully kept to the shadows.
In a clear voice, the boatmen were given orders to lower the canoe into the river. The two obeyed without question.
At a signal from the Kauffman, Caleb hurriedly entered the boat. Then the two shadowy figures also boarded, one on either side of Caleb. Nervously he glanced from one to the other, then looked past them as the Kauffman joined the group.
As the canoe shoved off, the Kauffman - Caleb still couldn't positively identify him - began to talk.
"We have a job to do, Caleb," he said. "Sanders and Hancock and I will carry it out, but we need a person to guard the boat."
Here the Kauffman looked searchingly at Caleb, who tried hard to conceal his misgivings and simply nodded.
"Good." The Kauffman seemed pleased. "We will dock at Beau Street at two. The job should take no more than an hour. Now listen. The three of us will go. Three will return. As far as you know, nothing will have changed. Got that?”
Caleb, confused, shook his head. “Not really…”
He felt, rather than saw, the glare from the Kauffman. “You will see three people going away. You will see three people returning. Someone will have taken Hancock’s place. You are to act as though nothing has changed. If you don’t…”
“Okay, okay, I got the message.” Caleb threw the words out hurriedly, as in self-defense.
The canoe glided through the waters silently as the strong arms of Sanders and Hancock skillfully guided the boat toward their destination. It felt like an eternity to Caleb. Would they ever reach Doe Street? Or was it Po Street? No...it was... As he racked his brain for the answer, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Startled, he jerked around to see Hancock.
Hancock motioned urgently to Caleb to get closer. Slowly and unobtrusively he scooted closer to Hancock until they were within whispering distance.
"Caleb, I don't know what to do." As he kept the boat on its course, Hancock mulled over his problem. "I don’t want any part of tonight’s mission; yet if I chicken out, Nat’ll get me."
“But – what is tonight’s mission?”
A sigh from the stern met Caleb’s ears. “It involves the kidnapping and possibly the killing of James Gossell and Katie van Doren. He wants to make sure Riven doesn't even make stage this year.”
Shocked, Caleb tried to regain his mental footing. "Nat? This was Nat’s idea?"
Hancock laughed bitterly.
"I see you don't know Nat Kauffman," he said in a scornful tone. "I've had to put up with his schemes for years. You wouldn't believe the ideas he has."
"Are any of them - illegal?"
Another bitter laugh from Hancock.
"You wonder why I've stayed under Kauffman for years? He has access to my record. Somehow he has ways of putting everything on my shoulders. I've already served time in the state pen for things he did. If I leave, it'll be back to jail for me because of that squealer."
Caleb's eyes were wide with horror. He gulped. "I-is Sanders in with Nat?"
"We both are, at least outwardly. It would be risking my freedom and my life to complain. I'm in enough danger as it is, spilling everything to you. Say nothing to either of them.” With this warning, Hancock leaned over and whispered, “Now stay with me. I have an idea.”
As the two conversed, their voices unconsciously grew louder. Nat and Sanders both listened closely as Hancock plotted a reversal of The Kauffman's fortunes.
After fifteen more minutes of river travel - though it seemed to Caleb like several hours - the canoe bumped ashore by a run-down road sign reading "Beau St."
That name thudded in Caleb's mind like a stern judge's gavel.
Hancock, Sanders, and Kauffman leaped out of the boat. "Caleb! Stay here and keep watch!" hissed Kauffman. The three disappeared up the path.
Alone in the canoe, Caleb swallowed the lump in his throat about five times before he decided it was there to stay. He almost took the canoe and tried to head back upriver himself. Fighting for control of his thoughts, he determined to do his part to bring Nat Kauffman to justice.
After a minute or two, he remembered the plans that he and Hancock had laid. Quickly feeling around for the rope on the front of the canoe, he fastened it to a nearby tree. Once it was secure, he scampered off.
Okay. First stop Natch Street.
"Natch Street," he mumbled. "Where did Hancock say Natch Street was?" He tried to recall the directions, but all he could remember was the way to the coffee shop back home. He wandered up and down the nearby streets, some of which made him shudder with their abandoned buildings, others of which made him feel weird as he tried to casually stroll by a party of five decked out in diamonds, long gloves, and long sweeping evening dresses. The ladies stared at him as his attempt at a nonchalant walk ended in red-faced failure when he smacked his forehead on the street light in front of the elegant hotel.
Finally, however, he decided he’d missed the street and turned around, past the group of ladies who snickered as he went by, back to the run-down part of town. This time he looked at the street signs. By the light filtering through the filthy street lamps, the first name he read was “Harris Avenue.”
Now he remembered Hancock’s directions! Soon, after a series of rights and lefts, Caleb had found Natch Street. It was one of the spookier streets he had seen yet.
What was it Hancock had said? The corner of Natch and Front. Caleb checked to see exactly where he was. It was, oddly enough, the corner of Natch Street and Back Street. Sort of grim humor, he thought. He started off down Natch Street in search of Front Street.
Five blocks later, Caleb still had not found Front. He began to panic. Surely Kauffman and Sanders would be at the waterfront by now. He began to race blindly down Natch Street, passing block after block, forgetting what his objective was. Suddenly a not-so-friendly voice yelled out, "Hey you, what's the idea of racing through the streets in the middle of the night?!"
Caleb pulled up short and stared at the speaker. Five foot ten, shaggy black hair streaked with yellow, and a... trench coat? Caleb was sure he was dreaming. He looked around to get his bearings and realized he was now on the corner of Front Street and Natch Street. Panting, he fought to recall Hancock's instructions.
"Well?" The sound jerked Caleb out of his thoughts.
"Um..." He put his head down and thought. The stranger stood there, hands on his hips.
Suddenly Caleb remembered his instructions. He took a deep breath and rattled off the line he’d been given."You need to come with me to arrest a criminal!"
“All right!” The man was instantly alert and ready to go. “Show me where he is!” As an afterthought, he added, "How did you know I was a plainclothes policeman?"
As Caleb explained the strange situation, the two jogged back down to the waterfront, the policeman leading the way, for which Caleb was unspeakably thankful. He’d thoroughly lost his way.
The two crept furtively up to the boat, looking in all directions. "Good. No one here," said the man with a sigh. Relief? Caleb couldn't tell. Of course it was relief, or he wouldn’t have said “good.” Caleb brushed it aside impatiently.
The man pulled a radio from the pocket of his trench coat and began transmitting signals. "Headquarters. David to headquarters. Do you read me? Over."
No response.
"This is David to headquarters. We need a detail of men at the waterfront, pronto. Do you read me? Over."
After a few tries, headquarters responded. "Roger, David. All available men will be sent your way. Over."
The policeman wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and took a deep breath. Caleb, too, began to breathe a little easier.
In five minutes the waterfront was swarming with men. Caleb heard only a few names – John, Ben, Matthew, and another David – but saw no faces. The night was too dark… or were all the men keeping their faces out of sight on purpose? How ridiculous. He was probably just imagining things. So many strange incidents had happened tonight already. One man, whose name Caleb didn’t catch but who looked strangely familiar, stayed in the background and seemed to be avoiding him.
David the policeman quickly took command. "Scatter and hide, men! Stay alert!"
Just as the last man hid, three figures appeared around the bend. Caleb jabbed David with his elbow.
"Ouch!" David glared at Caleb and rubbed his arm.
"David, they're here!" whispered Caleb urgently, and pointed to the now discernible figures of Nat Kauffman, Micah Sanders, and Peter Hancock. Peter Hancock?! Wasn’t it supposed to be…
"All right, men!" David's voice boomed. "CHARGE!!"
With war whoops almost rivaling those of the long past Indians, David and his band charged at the three, apparently taking them all off guard. For a moment Nat was poised to flee, but changed his mind and yelled, "Attack!"
Two reinforcements tackled Nat, the policeman and another man charged Peter, and Micah was finally overcome by Caleb and the strangely familiar man. Several people produced flashlights, and the prisoners were allowed to stand up and dust themselves off.
Caleb turned to the strangely familiar man to thank him for helping to capture Micah. But his "Thank you" stuck in his throat as he stared, dumbfounded, into his face.
"Joshua?!" Caleb gasped. His brother broke into a grin, and then laughed out loud. At the welcome sound, everyone gathered around with wide smiles. Suddenly Caleb began recognizing people all over. Ben Winfield, Matthew Dolan, John Peycke, and David McClurg were only a few of the people he recognized in the reinforcement squad. The man in the trench coat took off his bushy black wig streaked with yellow to reveal the chuzzly brown hair of David Sander.
Suddenly David Sander began laughing. He and Nat Kauffman exchanged high-fives. Caleb watched in astonishment as bad guy and good guy slapped each other on the back and doubled up laughing.
Caleb marched over to Peter Hancock, who was cracking up with John Peycke. "Listen, Hancock," he said, "what's going on? I thought... you told me..."
Everyone but Caleb began laughing until they cried. Peter grabbed him in a bear hug. "Sorry, Caleb," he apologized between gales of laughter, "but no one else would quite have worked. Wow, you fell for it! Hook, line, and sinker!"
Slowly it dawned on Caleb that the whole thing had been organized as a practical joke. All the boys were laughing for weeks over the prank they had played.
But it took a couple weeks to convince Caleb that it had all been in fun.
"Sorry, Caleb," said Joshua, "but it was a perfect plan, and we couldn't resist."
It became a tale Caleb would tell thousands of times over.
THE END
In the dark of the night, Caleb Monnington slipped through the forest, tree to tree, to the secret meeting place.
As he emerged from the woods into the clearing, a familiar voice at his elbow startled him into a squeal. "Good evening, Caleb," came the voice of a Kauffman - whether Nat or Noah, he couldn't be sure.
At his squeal, the Kauffman shook his head in disgust and beckoned Caleb across the clearing to the river, where a canoe lay in readiness, attended by two more shadowy figures. For the first time in this evening excursion, Caleb felt a prick of something. Fear? Nah, probably uncertainty. He brushed it aside as the Kauffman stepped forward to meet the boatmen, who carefully kept to the shadows.
In a clear voice, the boatmen were given orders to lower the canoe into the river. The two obeyed without question.
At a signal from the Kauffman, Caleb hurriedly entered the boat. Then the two shadowy figures also boarded, one on either side of Caleb. Nervously he glanced from one to the other, then looked past them as the Kauffman joined the group.
As the canoe shoved off, the Kauffman - Caleb still couldn't positively identify him - began to talk.
"We have a job to do, Caleb," he said. "Sanders and Hancock and I will carry it out, but we need a person to guard the boat."
Here the Kauffman looked searchingly at Caleb, who tried hard to conceal his misgivings and simply nodded.
"Good." The Kauffman seemed pleased. "We will dock at Beau Street at two. The job should take no more than an hour. Now listen. The three of us will go. Three will return. As far as you know, nothing will have changed. Got that?”
Caleb, confused, shook his head. “Not really…”
He felt, rather than saw, the glare from the Kauffman. “You will see three people going away. You will see three people returning. Someone will have taken Hancock’s place. You are to act as though nothing has changed. If you don’t…”
“Okay, okay, I got the message.” Caleb threw the words out hurriedly, as in self-defense.
The canoe glided through the waters silently as the strong arms of Sanders and Hancock skillfully guided the boat toward their destination. It felt like an eternity to Caleb. Would they ever reach Doe Street? Or was it Po Street? No...it was... As he racked his brain for the answer, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Startled, he jerked around to see Hancock.
Hancock motioned urgently to Caleb to get closer. Slowly and unobtrusively he scooted closer to Hancock until they were within whispering distance.
"Caleb, I don't know what to do." As he kept the boat on its course, Hancock mulled over his problem. "I don’t want any part of tonight’s mission; yet if I chicken out, Nat’ll get me."
“But – what is tonight’s mission?”
A sigh from the stern met Caleb’s ears. “It involves the kidnapping and possibly the killing of James Gossell and Katie van Doren. He wants to make sure Riven doesn't even make stage this year.”
Shocked, Caleb tried to regain his mental footing. "Nat? This was Nat’s idea?"
Hancock laughed bitterly.
"I see you don't know Nat Kauffman," he said in a scornful tone. "I've had to put up with his schemes for years. You wouldn't believe the ideas he has."
"Are any of them - illegal?"
Another bitter laugh from Hancock.
"You wonder why I've stayed under Kauffman for years? He has access to my record. Somehow he has ways of putting everything on my shoulders. I've already served time in the state pen for things he did. If I leave, it'll be back to jail for me because of that squealer."
Caleb's eyes were wide with horror. He gulped. "I-is Sanders in with Nat?"
"We both are, at least outwardly. It would be risking my freedom and my life to complain. I'm in enough danger as it is, spilling everything to you. Say nothing to either of them.” With this warning, Hancock leaned over and whispered, “Now stay with me. I have an idea.”
As the two conversed, their voices unconsciously grew louder. Nat and Sanders both listened closely as Hancock plotted a reversal of The Kauffman's fortunes.
After fifteen more minutes of river travel - though it seemed to Caleb like several hours - the canoe bumped ashore by a run-down road sign reading "Beau St."
That name thudded in Caleb's mind like a stern judge's gavel.
Hancock, Sanders, and Kauffman leaped out of the boat. "Caleb! Stay here and keep watch!" hissed Kauffman. The three disappeared up the path.
Alone in the canoe, Caleb swallowed the lump in his throat about five times before he decided it was there to stay. He almost took the canoe and tried to head back upriver himself. Fighting for control of his thoughts, he determined to do his part to bring Nat Kauffman to justice.
After a minute or two, he remembered the plans that he and Hancock had laid. Quickly feeling around for the rope on the front of the canoe, he fastened it to a nearby tree. Once it was secure, he scampered off.
Okay. First stop Natch Street.
"Natch Street," he mumbled. "Where did Hancock say Natch Street was?" He tried to recall the directions, but all he could remember was the way to the coffee shop back home. He wandered up and down the nearby streets, some of which made him shudder with their abandoned buildings, others of which made him feel weird as he tried to casually stroll by a party of five decked out in diamonds, long gloves, and long sweeping evening dresses. The ladies stared at him as his attempt at a nonchalant walk ended in red-faced failure when he smacked his forehead on the street light in front of the elegant hotel.
Finally, however, he decided he’d missed the street and turned around, past the group of ladies who snickered as he went by, back to the run-down part of town. This time he looked at the street signs. By the light filtering through the filthy street lamps, the first name he read was “Harris Avenue.”
Now he remembered Hancock’s directions! Soon, after a series of rights and lefts, Caleb had found Natch Street. It was one of the spookier streets he had seen yet.
What was it Hancock had said? The corner of Natch and Front. Caleb checked to see exactly where he was. It was, oddly enough, the corner of Natch Street and Back Street. Sort of grim humor, he thought. He started off down Natch Street in search of Front Street.
Five blocks later, Caleb still had not found Front. He began to panic. Surely Kauffman and Sanders would be at the waterfront by now. He began to race blindly down Natch Street, passing block after block, forgetting what his objective was. Suddenly a not-so-friendly voice yelled out, "Hey you, what's the idea of racing through the streets in the middle of the night?!"
Caleb pulled up short and stared at the speaker. Five foot ten, shaggy black hair streaked with yellow, and a... trench coat? Caleb was sure he was dreaming. He looked around to get his bearings and realized he was now on the corner of Front Street and Natch Street. Panting, he fought to recall Hancock's instructions.
"Well?" The sound jerked Caleb out of his thoughts.
"Um..." He put his head down and thought. The stranger stood there, hands on his hips.
Suddenly Caleb remembered his instructions. He took a deep breath and rattled off the line he’d been given."You need to come with me to arrest a criminal!"
“All right!” The man was instantly alert and ready to go. “Show me where he is!” As an afterthought, he added, "How did you know I was a plainclothes policeman?"
As Caleb explained the strange situation, the two jogged back down to the waterfront, the policeman leading the way, for which Caleb was unspeakably thankful. He’d thoroughly lost his way.
The two crept furtively up to the boat, looking in all directions. "Good. No one here," said the man with a sigh. Relief? Caleb couldn't tell. Of course it was relief, or he wouldn’t have said “good.” Caleb brushed it aside impatiently.
The man pulled a radio from the pocket of his trench coat and began transmitting signals. "Headquarters. David to headquarters. Do you read me? Over."
No response.
"This is David to headquarters. We need a detail of men at the waterfront, pronto. Do you read me? Over."
After a few tries, headquarters responded. "Roger, David. All available men will be sent your way. Over."
The policeman wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and took a deep breath. Caleb, too, began to breathe a little easier.
In five minutes the waterfront was swarming with men. Caleb heard only a few names – John, Ben, Matthew, and another David – but saw no faces. The night was too dark… or were all the men keeping their faces out of sight on purpose? How ridiculous. He was probably just imagining things. So many strange incidents had happened tonight already. One man, whose name Caleb didn’t catch but who looked strangely familiar, stayed in the background and seemed to be avoiding him.
David the policeman quickly took command. "Scatter and hide, men! Stay alert!"
Just as the last man hid, three figures appeared around the bend. Caleb jabbed David with his elbow.
"Ouch!" David glared at Caleb and rubbed his arm.
"David, they're here!" whispered Caleb urgently, and pointed to the now discernible figures of Nat Kauffman, Micah Sanders, and Peter Hancock. Peter Hancock?! Wasn’t it supposed to be…
"All right, men!" David's voice boomed. "CHARGE!!"
With war whoops almost rivaling those of the long past Indians, David and his band charged at the three, apparently taking them all off guard. For a moment Nat was poised to flee, but changed his mind and yelled, "Attack!"
Two reinforcements tackled Nat, the policeman and another man charged Peter, and Micah was finally overcome by Caleb and the strangely familiar man. Several people produced flashlights, and the prisoners were allowed to stand up and dust themselves off.
Caleb turned to the strangely familiar man to thank him for helping to capture Micah. But his "Thank you" stuck in his throat as he stared, dumbfounded, into his face.
"Joshua?!" Caleb gasped. His brother broke into a grin, and then laughed out loud. At the welcome sound, everyone gathered around with wide smiles. Suddenly Caleb began recognizing people all over. Ben Winfield, Matthew Dolan, John Peycke, and David McClurg were only a few of the people he recognized in the reinforcement squad. The man in the trench coat took off his bushy black wig streaked with yellow to reveal the chuzzly brown hair of David Sander.
Suddenly David Sander began laughing. He and Nat Kauffman exchanged high-fives. Caleb watched in astonishment as bad guy and good guy slapped each other on the back and doubled up laughing.
Caleb marched over to Peter Hancock, who was cracking up with John Peycke. "Listen, Hancock," he said, "what's going on? I thought... you told me..."
Everyone but Caleb began laughing until they cried. Peter grabbed him in a bear hug. "Sorry, Caleb," he apologized between gales of laughter, "but no one else would quite have worked. Wow, you fell for it! Hook, line, and sinker!"
Slowly it dawned on Caleb that the whole thing had been organized as a practical joke. All the boys were laughing for weeks over the prank they had played.
But it took a couple weeks to convince Caleb that it had all been in fun.
"Sorry, Caleb," said Joshua, "but it was a perfect plan, and we couldn't resist."
It became a tale Caleb would tell thousands of times over.
THE END
Saturday, March 7, 2009
I Feel Pickerli
This is another one with made up words.
I feel pickerli today. I like it when I feel pickerli. My brother, however, doesn’t. He’s more the diehooey type. Yesterday, I did not feel so pickerli. No sir, not a keeby bit.
I felt just downright horgmoodle. Now, ladies and gentlemen, ‘horgmoodle’ is not a very good way to feel. It’s a kind of a cross between feeling digmaddle and jipwinger. Any way it made me begin to stroid. Hey, by the way, are there any Plogmuddles out there listening to me? Good. There shouldn’t be. If any come in, warn me. No, you don’t need to warn me, I’ll know if they come in. They can’t keep quiet. But then, neither can you. So, anyway, where was I? Oh, yes! I was just telling you about the Broohiemer wasn’t I? I wasn’t? Oh, duh-whoop. I was telling you about feeling horgmoodle. Well anyway, it was making me begin to stroid. Now I’ll have to let you know right now, I do not like to stroid. It makes it quite hard to yerdle. Do you know how to yerdle? Of course you do. You do it all the time. But, if you don’t know how, I’ll give you a demonstration.
☺ ☻ ♠ ♣ ♥ ♦ ♪ ♫ ◊ ○ ● ◄ ▼ ► ▲
There. That’s how to yerdle. If you make any noise while yerdling, it’s called yorkling.
Yorkling isn’t pleasant. It’s quite ugly. In fact, I won’t give you a demonstration on how to yorkle.
Now, I will take you all downtown with me to the Teiklederm so we can buy an asterisk. Then, I can give you a demonstration with that. I won’t be giving the demo until dinnertime, because that is the time that most of you will be hungry. Me too, in fact, then I will do the demo and make the asterisk disappear. yum yum. Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought I might…… WATCH OUT EVERYBODY!!! HERE COMES THE HALEKATOOM! Hello? Hello? Are you all safe? Is everybody down on the floor? Good. . . . HA HA HA!! It was all a joke!!! There is no Halekatoom!! Oh, that was funny! It was only the Gringraphon. And he’s twice as dangerous. You don’t believe me? I don’t blame you, but it sure wouldn’t hurt to turn around and look behind you. No, it wouldn’t hurt a bit, but he’s actually coming in through the side window. You can’t see him if you look behind you. You can’t see him anyway. He’s too quink. He has an uncle who’s gurpish and an aunt who’s bilingual. He also has a pet finkleschnort, but we won’t talk about him. It would scare you.
I feel pickerli today. I like it when I feel pickerli. My brother, however, doesn’t. He’s more the diehooey type. Yesterday, I did not feel so pickerli. No sir, not a keeby bit.
I felt just downright horgmoodle. Now, ladies and gentlemen, ‘horgmoodle’ is not a very good way to feel. It’s a kind of a cross between feeling digmaddle and jipwinger. Any way it made me begin to stroid. Hey, by the way, are there any Plogmuddles out there listening to me? Good. There shouldn’t be. If any come in, warn me. No, you don’t need to warn me, I’ll know if they come in. They can’t keep quiet. But then, neither can you. So, anyway, where was I? Oh, yes! I was just telling you about the Broohiemer wasn’t I? I wasn’t? Oh, duh-whoop. I was telling you about feeling horgmoodle. Well anyway, it was making me begin to stroid. Now I’ll have to let you know right now, I do not like to stroid. It makes it quite hard to yerdle. Do you know how to yerdle? Of course you do. You do it all the time. But, if you don’t know how, I’ll give you a demonstration.
☺ ☻ ♠ ♣ ♥ ♦ ♪ ♫ ◊ ○ ● ◄ ▼ ► ▲
There. That’s how to yerdle. If you make any noise while yerdling, it’s called yorkling.
Yorkling isn’t pleasant. It’s quite ugly. In fact, I won’t give you a demonstration on how to yorkle.
Now, I will take you all downtown with me to the Teiklederm so we can buy an asterisk. Then, I can give you a demonstration with that. I won’t be giving the demo until dinnertime, because that is the time that most of you will be hungry. Me too, in fact, then I will do the demo and make the asterisk disappear. yum yum. Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought I might…… WATCH OUT EVERYBODY!!! HERE COMES THE HALEKATOOM! Hello? Hello? Are you all safe? Is everybody down on the floor? Good. . . . HA HA HA!! It was all a joke!!! There is no Halekatoom!! Oh, that was funny! It was only the Gringraphon. And he’s twice as dangerous. You don’t believe me? I don’t blame you, but it sure wouldn’t hurt to turn around and look behind you. No, it wouldn’t hurt a bit, but he’s actually coming in through the side window. You can’t see him if you look behind you. You can’t see him anyway. He’s too quink. He has an uncle who’s gurpish and an aunt who’s bilingual. He also has a pet finkleschnort, but we won’t talk about him. It would scare you.
The Everfiley Green Gilks
In this story, (and a few others) I made up many of the adjectives and verbs. It's kind of like "Jaberwocky".
Yesterday when I went outside, I saw a most shkorly sight. It was a blamperd pine oak tree, covered with the most everfiley green gilks. I picked up my gankered shovel and floinkled over to the blamperd pine oak tree to dikel the everfiley green gilks off of the shloofy surface. But when I recrametly dikeled the green gilks off the tree, it began producing the most kickeling sounds, sort of like a “Whorhooy” combined with a “Karpoonshine.” Anyway, it scared me all the way down to the clipes of my vivoll knees. I yirkled as loud as I could for somebody to come and winkfile the tree. Somebody came
all right. But when they saw the green gilks, now having turned a most jouwie shade of yellow, they began to guoopah as loud as they could. In less than thirteen seconds, they had hierkoiled down the road as fast as they could. I watched them go with a gromey look on my face, because I desperately needed their help. By the time I finally widled back to the tree, the gilks were gone. I figured they must have left canderly because I didn’t hear a thing. Anyway, I decided I would have to nobble my courage and go after the jouwie yellow/green gilks myself, because my helpers were too veaten to do it. In the end, I myself gave up on it and went home to fix a meal. It turned out that I was allergic to gilks and I broke out with an awful case of the shives. The doctor just looked at me. He was too hankooned to know what to do about the shives. He had never laid his ziggly eyes on it before. And you know what? I’ll bet you a silver pinket he never laid eyes on gilks either.
THE END
Oh, I bet you want to know what happened to me and the gilks. Well, the gilks got away with it and never got caught. That was sure thiley of them wasn’t it. As for me, I stayed in the dark for a jucketly long two minutes. After that, I died.
Yesterday when I went outside, I saw a most shkorly sight. It was a blamperd pine oak tree, covered with the most everfiley green gilks. I picked up my gankered shovel and floinkled over to the blamperd pine oak tree to dikel the everfiley green gilks off of the shloofy surface. But when I recrametly dikeled the green gilks off the tree, it began producing the most kickeling sounds, sort of like a “Whorhooy” combined with a “Karpoonshine.” Anyway, it scared me all the way down to the clipes of my vivoll knees. I yirkled as loud as I could for somebody to come and winkfile the tree. Somebody came
all right. But when they saw the green gilks, now having turned a most jouwie shade of yellow, they began to guoopah as loud as they could. In less than thirteen seconds, they had hierkoiled down the road as fast as they could. I watched them go with a gromey look on my face, because I desperately needed their help. By the time I finally widled back to the tree, the gilks were gone. I figured they must have left canderly because I didn’t hear a thing. Anyway, I decided I would have to nobble my courage and go after the jouwie yellow/green gilks myself, because my helpers were too veaten to do it. In the end, I myself gave up on it and went home to fix a meal. It turned out that I was allergic to gilks and I broke out with an awful case of the shives. The doctor just looked at me. He was too hankooned to know what to do about the shives. He had never laid his ziggly eyes on it before. And you know what? I’ll bet you a silver pinket he never laid eyes on gilks either.
THE END
Oh, I bet you want to know what happened to me and the gilks. Well, the gilks got away with it and never got caught. That was sure thiley of them wasn’t it. As for me, I stayed in the dark for a jucketly long two minutes. After that, I died.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
