Pnårp’s March, 2005 sagacity & hierarchy

Samuel Dreckers

Carbonized prior to March 6, 2005

Tags: feet, Alyssa Milano, Bob Dole, Chechnya, Englebee Troobles, Mister Wilson, Samuel Dreckers.

On Monday, I walked over to Samuel Dreckers’ house, slowly and cautiously, carrying my dome-shaped bottles of carbonic acid and tetrahydrocycline methyl chloride. Samuel (poor Mr. Wilson!) was not home, so I spun around at his front door until I spilled the chemicals all over the nearby QWERTY keyboard and jittering number line.

Ermmmhh…

On Tuesday, I fell in a hole and could not get out, so I pondered upon the various tenets of MP3s, William Shakespeare, Bob Dole, and Alyssa Milano (and of course her feet). A bottle of shampoo poured itself down the hole on Wednesday, allowing me to do several differential equations, once more imagine an MP3 player in the rusty metal forest, and propel myself out of the hole.

Thursday was another nefarious instigation of instantiative methodology and orthodox complexity. Listening to something about car insurance, and deciding not to shop here again, I returned to Mister Dreckers’ house. He was there, sitting in a five-legged chair on his porch, humming to himself about golden xylene.

“Hey, Sammy! Dial 10-10-220!” I shouted to him as I arrived. “Have you seen or heard or subliminally officiated upon any Englebee Troobles lately?”

“I have, Phil! An Englebee Trooble came by my abode yesteryear and asked me about Alyssa Milano! Something about ’er feet! I said they were very cute, and he went on his way, philosophizing and reticulating with himself!”

I asked Samuel Dreckers (poor, poor Mr. Wilson…) if he knew where the Trooble went. Samuel told me he went to Beaufort, Maine, and was then headed to Chechnya for Christmas. I was determined to yet again track down the Englebee Troobles in another country.

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My dear brother Grårp!

Crucified for March 13, 2005

Tags: feet, Alyssa Milano, AK-47, Chechnya, death, dogs, Englebee Troobles, feces, God, nose, pincer monkeys, screaming stars, Y2K, Mister Wilson, Samuel Dreckers, brother.

’Twas the day after Christmas, and I was writing “Pnårp!!” all over my nose and the rear-view mirror in my car. For Christmas, my neighbor Samuel Dreckers gave me a tin-plated (actually, I think it was ytterbium) Trooble-net and a sonic pair of Pokémon dolls. I bought him a new AK-47 to put on his roof like I had had a long time ago.

My brother, Gregory Richard Årp (we call him Grårp), gave me some shiny new earmuffs to keep the sound of the screaming stars out. After the six caret seven point three had uninterred itself, we all gathered around the abacus in his vestibule to sing Christmas Carols.

I gave my neighbor, Samuel Dreckers (poor Mr. Wilson!!), a pile of dog feces wrapped in cellophane, topped with some mice dung and sugar-coated. I bought my brother a new planet to live on. He hates this one so much. I think he committed suicide this morning. He should be canonized, he was so damned mediocre. Yes, Grårp is quite dead. I found a piece of his thimble-drawers in my desk with the suicide memorandum in it.

Now that Christmas is over, I am heading for the Main Menu Bar in Alsace–Lorraine, then I will be traveling to Adrianople by way of Schleswig–Holstein, eventually stopping in Chechnya in search of the Englebee Trooble who conversed with my neighbor about Alyssa Milano’s feet.

Oh, my Lord!!! Y2K happened years ago!!! My brain will be eaten by powerful pincer monkeys and grasshoppers from Venus!!

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Guhhhh noooobity fahhhh foooogity!!!

Squabbled about on March 20, 2005

Tags: feet, Alyssa Milano, Chechnya, death, Englebee Troobles, hotdogs, pincer monkeys, screaming stars, Mister Wilson, Samuel Dreckers, brother.

Grårp didn’t intentionally kill himself, I heard, while sitting in my bomb shelter counting the seconds until the pincer monkeys would come for me. My mediocre brother was killed by the very man who had been my neighbor for two months, the man who had told me about the Englebee Trooble who chatted about Alyssa Milano’s feet—Samuel Dreckers!

(Poor Mr. Wilson!)

It’s only 99¢ to call me tonight and ask me more about this! (Ask me about the inflatable hotdogs and now-dead screaming stars too, please!) The evil Mister Dreckers apparently caught my brother Grårp watching the FOX network with his checkerboard and copy of the Pravda newspaper. Dreckers, who was a trained assassin, shot my brother, but then covered up the hole and hanged him, so it looked like a suicide! How evil!

I was, of course, on my way to Chechnya by this point, having escaped the pincer monkeys and having bought a nonrefundable cashew-peanut ticket on a cargo plane. I was flying over the Atlantic Ocean when I heard about Dreckers and Grårp. I shouted “Guhhhh noooobity fahhhh foooogity!!!” as I ran back and forth on the plane, exciting the crew until they restrained me under a box of canned piñatas.

I insisted I was not “on something” but to no avail! Foogity!!

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I desire broadband access to my feet!

Quibbled about on March 27, 2005

Tags: feet, Alyssa Milano, armadillos, Chechnya, Englebee Troobles, goats, nose, pincer monkeys, screaming stars, singing spiders, Y2K.

I am so glad the pincer monkeys did not come to take away my nostrils on Y2K Day. I thought about it… Why Y2K? Good riddance, last century. Good riddance, armadillo man! Good riddance, amazing goat-riding speaker system! Good riddance, stupid screaming stars and singing spiders that have haunted my life since time immemorial, good riddance to each and every fish, squash, zoo animal and lampshade that ever lambasted my varnish! Nice to have known you, Englebee Troobles, but I no longer seek you! I converge on the world of communications! I desire broadband access—to my feet—for people who know my car best!

I arrived in Chechnya on Thursday to discover a war going on and that it would be quite impossible for me to find this elusive Englebee Trooble who loved Alyssa Milano’s cute little feet. I traveled around Chechnya for a while on the back of a beanpole-underwriting Russian tank, until I had completely canvassed and surveilled the entire breakaway republic. I got the everyday web from MSN next. And some delicious MP3s—and Alyssa Milano and her feet.

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