Girls Can’t Bow

So, I won’t lie.

I never do, you know.

Well, that’s not true.

See, sometimes I lie, other times I don’t. It’s a consternation, but it can’t be helped.

That’s why I always say: “I lie every other day.”

Anyways, I must tell you something that’s rather hurtful, and I def can’t lie about it.

Here it is:

Girls can’t bow.

That’s not to say they don’t want to, but it’s just an impossibility. What happens when they try isn’t a bow, see. We can’t go redefining words, after all. (For example, you wouldn’t call a crocodile a lizard if he was stunted in the growth department, would you? Of course not. Likewise, we can’t call a not-bow a bow.)

What's the difference between a bow a bough and a bow? Never mind. That's neither here nor over there.

So, to back up my hypothesis, I must now needs present proof. (All good professor do such things, see. And I’m a good professor, double-see.)

What better way to prove a point than using our dear friend Mr. Google.

Here’s what I found after a quick google; I scanned nearly 642,000 results, btdubs.

And these images were the best that the ladies had to offer.

Proof #1

I mean, this is so far from a bow that I win right away. No problem; no battle; no skin from my lobes.

Proof #2 & #3

A hand spin is not bowing.

Proof #4

This one was closest to a bow…but for a bow to be legit, you really can’t speak and bow at the same time. Therefore, I win.

And I didn’t tell a lie.

And girls can’t bow.

And that’s the end.

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Things go South

Sometimes, the best way to end things, is to initiate them.

~ V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet

UntitledSo, the professor was in the lodge, surrounded by all these evil people with guns.

And Count Mastoid was there.

“Take off his mask,” Count Mastoid repeated.

He was talking about me, of course. This professor had an epic spy mask on.

But no one was making a move.

So, the professor, being the genial fellow he is (usually), I took it off.

“Who are you?” the count asked.

“I’m Professor VJ Duke, of course,” I said. Straight up. Honest. My goals in life.

That puzzled him right up the middle for a second or two.

“Why do you want to kill me?”

Time to epic obfuscate. I looked about at all the men with guns surrounding me. “Doesn’t seem like I’m the one trying to kill anyone, you know.”

He didn’t buy it. “You know what I mean.”

Now it was time to tell a few little lies.

Here’s the thing, see, a little lie plus another little lie, doesn’t really equal a big, fat lie. Rather, they equal two little lies. Don’t ask me why. It’s just how lies function in mathematics. #thisiskindatruebtw

Anyways and some, this professor said:

“I didn’t want to kill you, of many courses. I was just…” And I trailed off.

How do you explain the fact that you were walking around like this–

ffd918d6982efe5d55ed9aabbfe5187c

–in a vacationing destination.

“He’s lying,” the girl said. The girl who had tackled me. (The pink is not sexist of me. I’m running out of colors.)

“No, he’s not,” I answered her.

“Yes, he IS,” she repeated, a bit more slowly this time.

“Hush!” Count Mastoid said.

“Look here,” I said, taking charge of the situation, “if this professor was trying to kill you, it’d be dadblamery. Analysts say that not everyone is as focused on you as you are. Do you know what I’m trying to tell you? You think everything revolves around you, when, actually, it revolves around the sun.”

unknown

It made sense to me.

“Dad, I don’t believe him!” the girl said. “He was trying to kill you! Why else is he dressed like that?”

Dad? What an interest, the sudden…

And, of course, just when the professor thought I might be able to talk my way out of things, Daddy Salami and Ruber show up, banging through the front door, guns ready.

“Well, well, welly,” Salami said, looking from Count Mastoid to me. “Looks like our boy”–indicated me here, I fear–“found ya.”

Dadblameit.

PL Symbol

Late Because Not My Fault

The professor is a patient person.

Usually.

Sometimes, I’m not, and that’s when I riot. #riotingisfun

160209115236-24-mong-kok-riot-0209-exlarge-169

A picture of me after rioting.

But, anyways and some, I pushed the elevator button, because I had to go up, after all.

Just up a floor, mind.

And I had to get there within three minutes. Not a problem.

Sadly, that’s when it all went south, like a buffalo running down a hill who loses control and starts to tumble.

jumpingbuffalo-yellowstonenationalp

You see, that’s when the hallway became packed with so many people, I feared–the sudden–for my oxygen supply.

Then there was a ding, and the elevator opened.

It was going down, not up.

“Dadblameit!” I cussed.

“That’s not going to help anything,” a girl next to me, who was also waiting, said.

“What’s not?”

“Cursing. It’s not how you should live your life.”

“But you’re as wrong as wrong can get, because I’m always right. It definitely helps. After all, Mark Twain and John Wayne said it does, and they can’t possibly be wrong.”

This is the first thing John Wayne said to me when I met him back in the day.

This is the first thing John Wayne said to me when I met him back in the day.

She raised an eyebrow.

The elevator came again.

And success!

It was going up.

But, rats and a heifer, there was no room.

That’s when the professor glanced at his watch.

Just thirty seconds now.

I ran to the stairs.

And wonders of wonders, can you believe when I arrived at the correct floor, the door to access that floor was handle-less?! No handle. No way to get it.

What made it even worse was the fact that I could see the place where I needed to be through the window.

The professor just couldn’t get there.

So…I rioted.

Riot mode.

Riot mode.

The professor busted down the door with inhuman strength, charged into the nearest room, grabbed the nearest employee, and dragged him back to the door.

“What is wrong with your building, hmm, dadblameit?! Elevator service is awfully awful and there’s no handles on your doors! What is this? A giggle-joke?!”

“I’ll fix it right away, sir!” the fellow said nervously as he shook brutally.

“You better,” I said, relaxing. “Now you’ve gone and made me late.”

“I’ll make it up to you!” He was on his knees know, begging. “Please don’t hurt me!”

The professor raised an eyebrow. “A free lunch? That’s what I require.”

“Yes!! You got it!”

Double-dadblameit. That sounded so good, too.

That’s how I did it in my mind, see.

In reality, I stood there, staring through the door for a good ten minutes, before I decided to try to find another way in.

The professor was late, and there was nothing a soul, or ghost, could do about it.

Lodge Fight

If you wonder about the origin of everything, you may come to the conclusion that there was no origin of anything.

~ V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet

UntitledSo, the professor ran back into the lodge like a bat from the depths of heaven, running from an angel who’d had a bad day, and was carrying a torch that was glowing purple, which made it very freaky.

If you think that was a run-on sentence, or that something was wrong in the preceding paragraph, please think again–at some other time, just not now.

Anyways, the decision was before the professor.

Should I help Salami and Ruber knock off Count Mastroid…or, should I do the just thing and stop them?

Of course, the professor, being a righteous and just soul, full of the iniquity of many different nations and tongues, I decided to let things just ‘roll’.

But first, I changed into an epic spy uniform.

ffd918d6982efe5d55ed9aabbfe5187c

Yups. That’s kinda what I looked like. Complete with the boom-boom as well. #evil

Anyways and a sum that would boggle the mind of an accountant, once dressed, I went downstairs.

That was a mistake, I fear.

“Oh my!” one lady screamed. “We’re all going to die!”

At first, this professor just chuckled. I mean, after all, if I looked that scary, then… #success.

But things got worse. Everyone started screaming. Chaos. That’s what it was. Babies were bleating, too.

Then, this professor noticed movement out of the right side of my right eye on the right side of the lodge.

I thought nothing of it, for this professor was heading towards the door. I had to meet two fellows outside, after all.

But that moving thingy rammed right into this professor, and knocked me clean off my feet, like a potato that’s slipped down a peeler’s sharp blade and into the moist sink. (Yes, ‘moist’ is a disgusting word, I fear. I’ve outlawed it, the sudden.)

I went tumbling and landed on my back. The moving thingy–which was a human–was straddling me.

The boom-boom was knocked from my hands.

The human, who was dressed very similar to me–so I couldn’t see the face–began to try to choke the poor, dull professor out.

Now, the professor has jitsed in his day, and–

bjj-program

–it’s very easy to discern between the sexes, you know. It becomes readily apparent for a few different reasons.

The professor could tell that the human was, in fact, a girl.

#timetowar&riot

I pulled her close, executed a flip (I was on top now, see) and pulled a knife from my boot.

She grunted as she hit the floor.

Not too much like this, tho...

Not too much like this, tho…

And that’s when the professor felt a muzzle press against his head.

No, it wasn’t the pooch kinda of muzzle either.

“Well, well,” a voice rang out.

The professor was hauled to his feet, off the girl, who stood. She was #cranky.

I was surrounded by at least ten men, all armed to the teeth–and even eyes. The lodge had cleared out. All the vacationers were gone. Quite gone.

A fellow with a gray goatee was standing close by.

“I knew the assassination attempt was coming. I just didn’t think the assassin would walk through the lodge and announce himself like an idiot. This was too easy.”

Then, to his men: “Take off his mask!”

Lying Cups

“Look here,” I said, “I’m not sure you get the point of it.”

“Oh, I get the point of it,” he said.

“Not at all,” I returned. “If you did, you’d know what I meant when I said ‘get the point of it’.”

He put his head in his hands in a dramatic fashion.

“Can you please make some sense?” he tried again.

“Okay, look here,” I said, preparing to go over all the details again. “There’s no way this cup”–and I indicated a 32 oz. canteen–“can survive a 500 ft. drop into a canyon full of the rockiest rocks ever.”

“It doesn’t say it can do that,” he returned sharply.

I gave him the professor face. I do that from time to time, you know. It can be rather effective, too. #scary

“It says it can on the cup,” I said.

“Show me.”

So, I did.

And I quote: Able to withstand up to a 500 ft. drop!

“It doesn’t say anything about rocks being at the bottom,” he said.

“Well,” I said, “that’s my problem, see. At the bottom of every canyon, there’s rocks, double-see, and I think it’s telling they left out the rocks bit, triple-see. It’s kinda like saying the cup can survive the fall, only if there are no rocks at the bottom. But there are ALWAYS rocks at the bottom of a canyon.”

“Are you for real?

I stopped. The professor may or may not have been getting a little cranky here. #timetoriot

“Last time I checked,” I said, “I found that I was very real–and brutally scary.”

“Look,” he said, “if you’re really worried about this cup surviving a 500 ft. drop, then there’s something wrong in your life.”

I put the cup back on the shelf.

“This professor, you must understand, does not buy lying cups.”


TPL Schedule

Sunday: OFF — Day of Shalt Nots

Monday: TPL Story

Tuesday: OFF — Because I'm Gone

Wednesday: Professor Speaks

Thursday: OFF — Because Yes

Friday: OFF — All Day Sleep Does

Saturday: OFF — Blue-Footed Boobies Need Fed

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Punchy Argot:

1. Dadblameit.
2. Humdinger
3. Chickit
4. Chicky-woot-woot
5. Malediction
6. Rapscallion
7. Gardoobled
8. Congratulilolations
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10. Gargonic
11. Two and Five Gurgles
12. Rats and a Heifer
13. Two nods, a wink, and an astroid
14. A bit, bits, and little bits
15. Huff-Hum and a Roar
16. So many thanks, I can't begin to thank you
17. Ri-do-diculous


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