Late Because Not My Fault

The professor is a patient person.

Usually.

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

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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.

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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.”

Holiday Cut Short

The beating of your heart reminds you you only have so long to beat.

~ V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet

UntitledI woke up somewhat tired and somewhat sleepy.

Isn’t that an annoying thing?

It always annoys this professor.

I mean, why can’t I wake up somewhat not-tired and somewhat not-sleepy?

The land is against us, I fear.

Anyways and some, it was a cold day where the professor currently was messing about in the Punchy Lands.

Very much so like this.

This is where I was. Sorta looked like this. Look–a bird! I think it’s a Cardinal. Must be Catholic. #badjoke

I was at a ski resort, see. In truth, this is true: the lodge looked like a bunch of tinker toys.

The professor was spending the holiday at the resort, and it was a definite interest.

You see, that’s because the professor can’t ski.

Well, I’ve never skied before, I suppose.

I just like to go to ski resorts just to hang out and think about skiing. One of my fav pastimes, you know. #mostlytrue

Anyways, the professor had just woken up. I wrapped myself in a red Pats hoodie…

Like this.

Like this.

…and left my room to explore.

The lodge was pretty busy downstairs, and it wasn’t long until this professor ran into Daddy Salami and his son, Ruber. (I’ve known Salami and Ruber for a bit now. Always up to no good. I think they live in England. And I think Salami used to be a knight.)

They were sitting at a table, finishing breakfast.

Of course, this professor being the adventurer he is, joined them quicker than a tadpole popping out of a…

…well, you know what I mean.

“Gentlemen,” I said.

Salami’s green eyes flashed. “We ain’t, gentlemen, ya turtle. Now sit down. I have sumtin’ important ta tell ya.”

Was he expecting me? Nah…

Ruber chuckled as ripped two pieces of bacon up and plopped the pieces into his coffee. And, yes, he did drink the whole thing. In one gulp. #impressive

“What is it, not-gentlemen?”

“Shut-up!” Salami snapped. “And be quiet. It’s a secret.”

Then he leaned close: “We were one man down on our mission, but then ya showed up, and yure gonna help us.”

“Or we’ll pluck yo eyes out,” Ruber added, in his English accent.

“Come on,” Salami said.

They both stood.

“What are we…?” I ventured.

“Knocking somebody off,” Ruber said. “Get your skis.”

“Count Mastroid has ta die,” Salami added.

“He’ll be on the slopes soon,” Ruber said. “We’ll get him then.”

Salami laughed, obviously excited. “See ya in front of da lodge in twenty minutes, cur-face, or I’ll cut yure face out and use it as a wall decoration.”

A mission on the slopes sounded fun. But knocking someone off? Warriors don’t do that sort of thing.

Plus, the professor can’t ski…

PL Symbol

Why Things End Abruptly

It is with great dread that I regret to inform you of a thing.

The Sweet Cherry Incident, I fear, probably won’t have an end.

You see, the rest of the story sorta goes Top Secret, and I’ve been forbidden–by General Smallhoover– to recount anymore of it.

Therefore, therefore.

In other words, this professor should probably comply with the generals demands–if I want to keep my ears.

I can tell you, though, that I lived, and that the sweet cherries turned out to be a deadly poison, designed on Honi Planet, and designed to wipe out the Punchy Lands.

(Honi Planet has hated The Punchy Lands for some time.)

The good news is: the plan failed. #professorwins

Because of the professor, of course. #professorisabeast

Anyways and some, TPL should be back online somewhat this following week. With a new story.

Until then–I loves you all muches!

Extra points if you can name this beast:

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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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Depends on the day, see.

Punchy Argot:

1. Dadblameit.
2. Humdinger
3. Chickit
4. Chicky-woot-woot
5. Malediction
6. Rapscallion
7. Gardoobled
8. Congratulilolations
9. Togoggin
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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