Pnårp’s June, 2006 fenders & benders

A cock-up, to be sure

Erected on June 4, 2006

Tags: feet, Jennifer Love Hewitt, death, gnomes, hentai, oatmeal cookies, penis.

Cocksure as a cock o’ the roost, I cocked up the gnomes on Thursday, one by one, cocking my gun and petting my cock as I went a-cocking. It was quite a cock-up for the gnomes, to be sure, as one by one they went tits-up: the gnomes flying and dying at the end of my cocked gun—and my cock itself. Their deaths were orgasmic. Buk, buk, buk… bukwaaukk!

No more Westphalian Schmongeling Gnomes, no more oatmeal cookies with spies on my kitchen table, no more pain and disaster befalling me at every footstep, instep and flip-flop. (No more bus route #23 on Farnsworth Street either, because of that refinery explosion on Monday, and no more posters of Jennifer Love Hewitt barefoot, but that’s another story.) I took power into my own hands today, holding it by the horns, until it enveloped me like some kind of horrible, slimy tentacle monster from those Japanese cartoons—those cartoons that turn out to be not quite so horrible, but strangely erotic, after you watch them half a dozen times, transfixed by their tentacly goodness. I took power into my own hands, and I won—and now I am gnomeless.

Without trouble.

Without a care in the world.

…And apparently cockless. Darn.

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The wall gong exhibition

Molested on June 11, 2006

Tags: ankles, buttocks, Cthulhu, fez, goats, hentai, pi, seamanship, tadpoles.

I traveled across the globe this week on the HMS Gormless Bastard. She was a fine ship, but sank halfway to my destination—the wall gong exhibition at Wollongong, New South Wales, Australia—so I had to swim the rest of the distance wearing nothing more than a paperback Dictaphone on my head and an innertube wrapped around my ankles. The Gormless Bastard went down when she was attacked by a colony of murderous tadpoles off the coast of the Philippines. Captain David Pinnfarb went down with his ship. I swear I had nothing to do with it, no matter what those tadpole commandos tell you.

Wearing nothing but a freshly painted fez (alas, not my favorite burnt-umber one) that I fished out of the drink as the Gormless Bastard sank, and possessing a deck of Athabascan playing cards hidden away in my underwear, I swam all the way to Wollongong, upside down and playing with my doodle all the way. I was worried that I would be (or was I eager to be?) accosted by one of those horrible, slimy, strangely erotic tentacle monsters on the swim past Japan, but none were sighted. In Wollongong, the natives were glad to receive me, and promptly offered me a sheep to violate. I declined, naturally, as my stomach was already full of crème de la goat nipple and floating pi pie. So instead, they violated me, with a parking meter and a moving violation.

The Wollongong wall gong exhibition was wonderful! They had more wall gongs than you could shake a drumstick at: big ones, small ones, golden ones, silver ones, square ones, round ones… and even one gong that was actually three gongs in one! Unfortunately, they only had gongs you can mount on walls; there were no ceiling gongs—but then again, it was a wall gong exhibition, not a ceiling gong exhibition. And then I got my head stuck in one when I tried to sniff its sweet, gongy aroma: I ended up being knocked deaf for four days.

I couldn’t find the Gormless Bastard where I had parked her (about 250 miles WSW of Wakayama, Japan, and at least a handful of miles below sea level), so I had to swim home again, wearing nothing more than a toilet brush on my buttocks and a new pair of cameras around my neck. This time, I was accosted by one of those horrible, slimy, strangely erotic tentacle monsters on the way past Japan—or maybe it was just a fishing net, or Cthulhu. Regardless, it was a hell of a lot of fun.

I finally arrived home only three minutes ago, by which point all that remained on my person was an empty bottle of fish food I had used to bait the tentacle creatures. I sat right down and wrote this, before I forgot everything and started hallucinating about garden gnomes and fantasizing about Alyssa Milano’s feet again.

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Captain Pinnfarb explains it all

Positioned left of June 18, 2006

Tags: toes, buttocks, eigen, flatulence, gnomes, nose, seamanship.

Woohoo-hoohoo!! Woohoo-hoohoo!! The HMS Gormless Bastard didn’t sink at all! Captain Pinnfarb stopped by on Wednesday (Eigenday in Eigentoria, my trusty old eigencalendar tells me) to tell me all about it: Apparently, during the middle of the night, yours truly went on a farting spree that launched him off the Gormless Bastard and so high into the air that he landed about four miles behind the ship! Naturally, when he (that’s still me, Pnårp) awoke, he (me) found himself (myself) surrounded by an awful lot of Pacific and awful little of the Gormless Bastard. So he (me?) thought she (the ship) had sank.

Captain Pinnfarb stayed for some tea and strumpets, then went on his way, whistling “Pixie” as he walked down Swithenby Street and out of my life forever. Does any of this make any sense to you? It sure as heck doesn’t to me—I just let it flow and write it down… and out it comes, and down it goes, and up onto my site it goes and blows my nose and sews my toes, I s’pose.

(Don’t tell anyone about this, dear readers, but… Captain Pinnfarb wasn’t a real captain. He wasn’t even a real person! He was a garden gnome—I know it, I swear! He was as tall as a man, and didn’t wear a little pointed red fez, and didn’t even have a beard—nor did he wheedle and needle, whiling away the days underground—but I just know it!!!)

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Gormless bastard!

Located to the right of June 25, 2006

Tags: AK-47, dogs, gnomes, Hell, hentai, seamanship, underdogs.

Captain Pinnfarb is onto me! He knows I know! I know he knows I know! He’s a garden gnome, by jingo, and we all know we all know that he knows that I know that he knows that we know that I know that you know that my dog’s tail is curled in the wrong direction this morning! Ahhh!

Captain Pinnfarb is a Knib-Knob Gnome!!

And now the captain of the HMS Gormless Bastard is after me, consarn it! He drove his ship right into my bricked-up gazebo this morning, the gormless bastard! He warned me that if I call him a gnome again—and he is one!—he’d send his army of horrible, slimy, strangely erotic tentacle monsters after me! Pinnfarb is after me! Pinnfarb will try to uncurl my dog’s tail! My underdog… my Carpathian Yapping Hound! Pinnfarb, you jackanape! You guttersnout—you lollygagging dawdler! You—whack-a-doodler! Leave Yappie alone, you schmongeler! Pinnfaaaaarb!!! Ahhh, ahhh ahhhh, aaahhh, ahhh ahh ahh ahhh haaa, hoooo, ooohh hooohooohooo! Shipping and handling not included. Pinnfaaaaaaaaaaaaarb!!!

So help me Ahura Mazda, I’ll send that upstart garden gnome back to Hell where he belongs! Back to Hell… in a Varangian handbasket! Gracie, where’s my AK-47!? It’s gnome-hunting time!!

Oooowawahh wawahh wawawahhh woowooohh!!!

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