Pnårp’s September, 2006 embiggening & cromulence

Attacked by tadpoles!

Stabbed with a fork on September 3, 2006

Tags: feet, toes, Alyssa Milano, eigen, geese, hentai, kudzu, Philippines, sandals, screaming stars, seamanship, tadpoles, Countess-Prelate, Genevieve.

Earlier this week, as Regina Maria-Theresia Louisa Ilsa Ollanthorpe, her daughter Genevieve, and I sailed about the southwestern corner of the Pacific Ocean (it actually is a corner, with square edges and everything) on board the beautiful Alyssa Milano’s Feet, sailing around in little circles, we accidentally ran into a colony of murderous tadpoles, just like the ones that yours truly had imagined to have sank the HMS Gormless Bastard some time ago. Unfortunately, this time the tadpole commandos were quite real, and bent on destruction! As the stars screamed loudly in protest, with eigenfactors fluttering above my ship and squealing in panic, the tadpoles tore into Alyssa Milano’s Feet with a vengeance, devouring the ship in mere minutes.

She went down with all hands, except Regina, Genevieve, and I—the entire crew of the ship, fortunately. We swam all the way to the Philippines as fast as we could, Genevieve’s creeping kudzu and pet geese in tow, but the geese couldn’t outswim the tadpoles. I hope those evil tadpoles enjoyed their dinner—the kudzu sure enjoyed strangling all the tadpoles one by one!

We arrived in the Philippines (are these islands named after me? Is there an Årppine island around here somewhere?) on Saturday. Wearing nothing more than a single sandal on my head and tentacle-monster sucker-marks from head to toe, I immediately found the best hotel in Manila and demanded a room. The clerk beat me with a manila folder and threw me in a trash can. The Countess-Prelate and her daughter, protectively wrapped in her kudzu, demanded manila folders and instead got a room.

A good one. It even came with new pet geese and kudzu fertilizer. Damn them. I slept in the trash can and set out for home, alone, the next morning.

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Haldûrburðgar, Lord and Emperor

Knifed with a spoon on September 10, 2006

Tags: feet, Alyssa Milano, AK-47, bouillabaisse, gnomes, seamanship, terrorism, Haldûrburðgar.

Other than a new gnome infestation, absolutely nothing interesting happened this week. Well, not entirely—the New Gardegnomian gnomes have apparently conquered my hometown and installed Haldûrburðgar as mayor! His first act as mayor was to proclaim himself governor of the whole state, and his first act as governor was to declare himself president, and then his first act as president was to give himself the title “Protector of Gnomekind, Conqueror of Man, Lord and Emperor for Life.” And I think he’s immortal or something, being a gnome and all.

And I almost forgot: On Friday, our new mayor—Emperor for Life—decreed that, “henceforth, all households in this new nation of Gnomelandia will be infested, top to bottom, by not less than 89,541 wheedling, needling gnomes of the species Gnomus schmongelendi westphalici—commonly known as the Westphalian Schmongeling Gnome. The infestation process will begin at midnight on the ninth of September, 2006 with the immediate installation of 34,671 gnomes, and one block of head cheese, in the household of one Phillip Norbert Årp of 229B Bouillabaisse Boulevard.”

Spending months out at sea on board Alyssa Milano’s Feet really cut me out of the loop, that’s for sure.

Oh, I just remembered! Tomorrow is International Terrorist Day! I hope terrorists don’t crash an airplane into my house like they did two years ago. Guess I’ll have to get my AK-47 down from the chimney and get ready for the buggers this time…

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Terrorists! Terrorists!!

Sporked with some tongs on September 17, 2006

Tags: feet, Spice Girls, Rory Calhoun, AK-47, alabaster, Carpathian Mountains, dogs, feces, pi, pwee, sandals, Shitlingthorpe, terrorism, Samuel Dreckers, Loquisha.

Monday was September 11—five years since that September 11. Five years since a band of nineteen Arab mushroom terrorists crashed an airplane into Rory Calhoun’s summer cottage and changed the world forever. And just as I had so farnaciously expected, terrorists tried to crash an airplane—it was a whole 747!—into my house! My castle! My abode! But I stopped them!

I was patrolling my front lawn, toting my trusty roof-mounted AK-47 and dressed in full military regalia, complete with a roll of duct tape wrapped about my forehead and a colorful collection of ribbon candy glued to my breast, when I saw the plane flying over, high in the sky as a flying pi. It was really, really high up, and so tiny that I could barely make it out—but I knew it was gonna crash into my house! I could just feel it in my bones and my little pinky finger—I could smell it!

“You’ll never take me alive, you crazy terrificationalists!” I screamed at the boiling sky, waving the AK-47 threateningly in the thin air above my head. The plane kept coming, slowly, slowly, then faster… They were aiming right for me!

I fired the AK-47 into the air, into the lawn, and into the street—hell, I fired it all over the place! But the plane kept coming, and coming, bearing down on me like a fortune cookie bent on revenge for being eaten, its fortune discarded unread like so much idle trash. “You’ll never take me alive!!!!”

With Shitlingthorpe–Alabaster Flapdoodles on my mind, I decided right then was only one thing to do: run to Samuel Dreckers’ house and beg him to use his trained-assassin skills to bring the airplane down! I got my buzz saw and a stack of Carpathian Yapping Hound trade magazines, and blurpled on over to his house, whackishly nonchalant. But he wasn’t home. I used the buzz saw to carve a note into his front door.

Then I hid in a cubbyhole and waited.

I emerged on Wednesday, slithering blithely back to my front lawn like a snake with its legs cut off. As surely as my Loquisha wore those lovely sandals on her dark-skinned little feet yesterday, that airplane was still coming! But it was September 13 now! There it was, in the sky, droning on and on, buzzing closer, ever closer, ever so much closer, just… just… “It’s September thirteenth now, you terroritarianationalists! You can’t bomb me today! You were too slow! Two days too slow! I win! You lose! Pwahahahahh! Poop, poop, poople-poople poooh!!” I shouted into the air above me, waving my arms around and stripping the duct tape and my clothing (a fish-shaped pair of blouses and some underpants) off.

At that, the plane turned around, apologized, and went away. I was happy. I spent the rest of the day pwee-pwee-pweedling away in my closet and contemplating the Spice Girls’s feet.

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I remembered a lot this week!

Chopped with a stick on September 24, 2006

Tags: feet, Alyssa Milano, Jennifer Love Hewitt, Spice Girls, death, dogs, feces, gnomes, terrorism, Mister Wilson, Samuel Dreckers, brother, Haldûrburðgar.

Walking down Farnsworth Street and past the new Haldûrburðgar statue in Doodlesworth Plaza on Friday, I suddenly remembered that Grårp, my dear brother Grårp, is dead—and a zombie. Samuel Dreckers, trained assassin, had killed him with a fork and a tamping iron (or was it a deck of playing cods and a toothpick?). I decided to pay old Sammy a visit on Saturday, in order to extract my revenge—but then I realized that he was dead too. I think that was my doing.

Then I remembered hiding in his cubbyhole last week, waiting for Sammy to come kill the clutch of terrorists infesting my airspace on September 11. Then I remembered that my name is Phillip Norbert Årp, and that I’m some sort of website writer. Then I remembered Yappie was trapped at the bottom of a well with only a bag of dogfood and a rubber ducky to pass the time. Then I remembered that I left a bowl of noodles boiling in the oven when I went to pay homage to our new Lord and Emperor Haldûrburðgar. Then I remembered poor Mr. Wilson. Then I remembered our new gnomey overlords renamed Farnsworth Street “Tromglur Street” and Doodlesworth Plaza is now “Oldôr the Magnificent Square.” Damn those garden gnomes and their gardens.

Then I remembered Alyssa Milano has very, very sexy feet. So do the Spice Girls, as does Jennifer Love Hewitt.

Then I remembered I was hungry, so I ate some giant balls of orange mouse dung, and some viviparous greenback pie. It was schmongelously deceitful, but it filled my belly with Einsteinian Fluffernutter like nothing else could.

All in all, a good week.

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