Mostly whimsy and drivel of no consequence. And CHEESE.
Look what I did:
Bad Deed du Jour
I think it’s time for a contest.
You must be ever so clever to read this blog (definitely sanity-challenged).
The following list has circled the World Wide Web Comedy superhighway at least a bejillion-trillion times, but it still makes me laugh. Today I’m especially fond of #22 and #28. OOooh. #7 is good, too. I am reminded of Shel Silverstein’s delightfully wicked Uncle Shelby’s ABZ Book Alas, they’ve subtitled the reissue with “A Primer for Adults Only” while the former edition was subtitled “a primer for tender young minds.” That’s very amusing because it’s ironic. The publishers are Liticaphobic wussies.
Anyhoo, I think we should use the list below as a literary jumping off point – let’s create darkly comedic “failed children’s books” pastiche. Huzzah!
Please submit your entries as blog comments.
Perhaps there will be a prize. It could be a lovely prize. It might also be complete rubbish. Such is the speculative nature of this madcap existence we call life.
Children’s Books That Didn’t Make It.
Will you look at this:
I’M FAMOUS!!!!
AND there’s a festive integrated game. If you’re bored (or merely insane), embark on a mind-blowing, ceaseless link fÍte (Link FÍte might be a good name for a band. Small Kitten and I could use it). Hit the link above, hit the link back to “…Kate du Fromage,” hit the link above, hit the link back to “…Kate du Fromage,” hit the link above, hit the link back to “…Kate du Fromage,”(ad nauseum, and somewhat like “back…and to the left, back…and to the left, back…and to the left, back…and to the left”).
Speaking of tuffets,* we were talking about tumors the other day (or, if you are anglophilically inclined, “tumours” – or, for that matter, if you’re orthographically inept, “toooomerz”), and someone (Dan?) said that there was a man who had such a large posterior growth that he could sit right down on it. Someone else remarked that it was rather like an attached, portable tuffet (Bronwen? Are you to blame??). How handy. Even as, put euphemistically, a “puffy” pear-shaped person, I cannot imagine such an instantly-gratifying seating luxury.
Anyhooooo (my favorite erudite transitional phrase), lauds and honors (or “honours” or “onnerzz”) and acclaim and praise and tribute and appreciation and gratitude and a gross of eyepatches (ANOTHER story for another time) to most lovely and trouser-worthy GRETTIR. You are a supreme BLOG GOD. [insert Plagal cadence here]
*It’s genetic. Bewildering alterations from subject to ostensibly disparate subject are my Maternal birthright. But that’s a story for another time. I do have a theory about it; I call it “tacit segues.”
Just so you know, in order to compensate for the vast, dire heap of twaddle that is my so-called existence, I have fancy pens on my desk (e.g. bejeweled, marabou-bedecked, some impaling wee furry animals – those are obscene in a cute kind of way – several furry AND bendable AND unusually long, one that talks…).
I have several of these, in fact.
And these.
OOOOOOH! I don’t have this…
But I don’t want this. It makes me sad.
