The professor Fights

“Look here,” I said, and I must admit my frustration was growing lots and lots, “I’d like to rent this book.”

“Can’t,” she said.


“Because this particular book only has the buy option.”

This professor was standing in a bookstore on a college campus. Let me tell you now–like right now–college books are very expensive. And renting college books is expensive.

Just a little less expensive.

So, I tried from a different angle.

“Check this out, the sudden,” I said, “this book is called ‘The Life, Death & In-Between Space of Dr. Lewis Dayton Clark.'”

“So?” And she pursed her purple lips together (I don’t think they were natural, mind) and put her hands on her hips.

“So,” I concluded, “it follows that no one wants to buy a book about the in-between space of Dr. Lewis Dayton Clark. Therefore, it must be available only to rent.”

There were a few chaps that started to laugh behind me.

The girl pointed a finger in my direction. “You have an attitude. I’m getting the manager.”

And she flounced off.

I left, of course. With the book.

But I ran into the manager and the girl outside.

The manager chap, I must say, was a bit puffy and fat. He was eating something. Must’ve been interrupted. He was cranky, too. Red cheeks, see.

“YOU!” he bellowed. “You’re not allowed to rent that book!”

And he tried to snatch it from my hands.

But this professor being quicker than a snake swimming around in an ice pond, snatched it away before he could gain possession of it.

Check it out! Snake on an ice pond. See, kids, I DO NOT make this stuff up.

Check it out! Snake on an ice pond. See, kids, I DO NOT make this stuff up.

“Look here,” I said, “look here right now, you puffy, ignorant Yucketh!”

That took him–and her–aback.

“I happen to be a professor. The professor. I told my students they could rent this book. And you…YOU! You dare?! I shall turn you both in to the Union at once.”

So, that’s when everything went downhill.

They didn’t exactly buy my story and I didn’t exactly buy the book.


Introducing my new spirit animal!


Schwarz Tauptinker, The Patriots, and Please Stand Clear of the Doors

“Please stand clear of the doors,” is an interesting thing of interest.

Of this, there’s not many doubts.

(Perhaps, someone might be able to raise a doubt here, there, or over there, but I doubt it.)

Now, here’s the thing: What do you suppose is meant by such a phrase?

Not being one to jump to conclusions (I fear conclusions like I fear fat sausages) I took up the matter with Schwarz Tauptinker.

“What does it mean, that phrase?”

“Obviously,” Schwarz answered, “I’ll tell you.”

There was a pause.

“Whenever you’re ready, of course.”


Another pause.

“So,” I said, starting at the beginning again, “what is meant by the phrase, “Stand clear of the doors,” do you suppose?”

“Obviously they just cleaned the glass, tell you what,” he said.

That was shocking.

“Cleaned the glass? I’m not following.”

“Yeah, cause it’s clear, dude. Stand clear of the doors. The doors are clear. And dirty glass is not clear.”

“I suspected it was some sort of code like that.”

“Not a code,” he said, somewhat miffed. “That was easy to figure out. The secret meaning, or code, is this: Don’t let the doors hit you.”


Anyway, that is what is said by Mr. Speaker overtime one gets on or off the T.


So, yes, that’s nice and colorful. And looks fast, too. Mine isn’t like that at all. It’s boring and white and slow. And bumpy. And full of beetles.

So, I just had to write about it.

Also, check this out:


Go Pats! I might be able to watch that over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.

Classroom Mayhem

“So…”–gigantic, and I mean huge, pause for emphasis here–“how do we know what we know?”

The question hung in the air, and this professor, for one, would’ve left it hanging there (probably indefinitely) but an elderly chap sitting next to me raised his hand and spoke up.

He said something full of dadblamery, so I had to raise my hand and say:

“We know what we know because we know it.”

A just answer. Maybe a bit oblique, but then again, so was the question. I leaned back like a conqueror, thinking that I had won, and that it was over.

But a war was coming.

The chap teaching the class shook his head.

“No, no, you can’t answer that way,” he said. “They were the words I used in my question.”

“Quite right,” I said, “that’s why I rearranged them for my answer.”

“No.” He was a bit stern here, I must admit. Hands on hips, chin jutting out in my direction like a stag beetle with it’s great big jaws. “You don’t get it.”

Stag Beetle with its awesome jaws.

Stag Beetle with its awesome jaws.

“Oh I get it.”

Of course, this professor didn’t mean to be spicy at all, but the other students laughed here a bit, bits, and little bits.

“You. Don’t. Get It,” he repeated. “I want you to use your own words to answer the question.”

And then this professor spied something on his shoulder, and I knew I’d won.

“They became my own words once I rearranged them, see. And furthermore, double see, is that a hornet on your shoulder?”

He screamed, everyone laughed, and this professor–shiny, cunning beast that he is–won.


Apples Are Bad for You…BUT Good for Dentists

Screen Shot 2016-06-26 at 3.33.32 PM

Apples are hard to bite into.

This is a fact, see.

And today, ladies and you other things, I bring you a truth:

Apples are a conspiracy theory.

How, you ask?


Apples are grown from the earth.


That makes them natural, you say.

Natural is healthy.


Uranium is natural, too.

These bacteria like it, apparently. Why does everything have to contradict me?

These bacteria like it, apparently. Why does everything have to contradict me?

Dang it. This cartoon is obviously a fake.


Pay it no mind.

Anyways and a bit…

…where wuth I?

Oh yes.

Apples are part of a conspiracy theory.

A conspiracy theory that revolves around dentists.

Dentist Holding Dental Tools


You see, Doctors and Dentists got together to fool the public.

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” they say.

It might be true. But an apple a day, keeps the dentist close.

See, Dentists like to make money.

And they make lots of money when teeth get busted.

Teeth get busted on apples.

‘Cause apples are so hard.

But no one would eat apples, mind. (This was millions of years ago, mind. When man had strong teeth. And tiny brain.)

So, Doctors convinced everyone that apples were good for the health. (Maybe a lie, maybe not.)

People started eating and eating and eating apples.

Teeth got weaker over generations.

Dentists cashed in.

That, ladies and gentleman, is the conspiracy theory behind apples.

Eat them not.

The only scary part is this: What did the Doctors get out of the deal?

We’ve yet to find out.

Professorish Theory: Apples are part of a conspiracy designed by Doctors and Dentists to earn more profits.

Check this out: This fellow wants to start lions eating apples next.


After all, the more profit the more profit.

Oh, and…

My new spirit animal:


Almost Crushed

Our greatest triumphs usually take place during our weakest moments.

V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet

UntitledSo, I’d been tranquilized slightly.

I say slightly ’cause this professor could feel everything but my legs and feet. Some feeling was coming back, though. But I was selfish, and wanted it all back.

The whole thing was demeaning, you know.

Anyways and some, Manly-Man and Daddy Salami had rescued me from the back of a van. (Remember, we’re stranded on Honi Planet, capital of the Honi Galaxy. That’s a no brainer, gee.)

Anyways and sums (I had to change it this time, see) Manly-Man and Daddy Salami were carrying me between them, down the busy city streets, dodging people here, there, and even some vehicles.

I swear I was almost crushed at a few points.

And this professor hardly swears when in trouble. Dadblameit.

We stopped in an alleyway.


“I need me a breather, curs,” Salami said, huffing and puffing.

“Okay,” Manly-Man said. “I could keep going, though, ’cause I’s so fancy.”

Salami looked at him. “Shut-up.”

“Look here, fellows,” I broke in, “can someone tell me what’s going on? Why was my intergalactic flight shot down?”

“I’ll tell yer why,” Salami wheezed. “You stole this”–he held up my can of cherries–“and the Honi government wants it back!”

“Give me my cherries, the sudden,” I said. And I said ‘the sudden’ part quickly, ’cause I hoped he’d give them fastly fast.

He didn’t.

“That’s why’s we’s leavin’, dude,” Manly-Man said. “I’s going to rocket outta here. Does you wanna come?”

No, of course not, I said, I must stay here and figure out things. I’m an epic spy slash super villain, after all. I shall get to the bottom of this! 

That’s what I thought would be cool to say.

What I actually said: “You got it, get me outta here.”

Let’s be real: I couldn’t feel my legs and I was in a foreign city. What was I going to actually figure out? Nothing, I tell you. Adventure had to wait.

I was like this dog: couldn't feel my legs.

I was like this dog: couldn’t feel my legs.

But that’s when things went south.

Salami went to throw my cherries onto the busy street…

…and I hollered…

…and I let out after them…

(Which, by the way, is a wonder, since I couldn’t feel my legs. Have I mentioned that yet? But I was able to propel myself.)

I fell right into the busy street.

A car stopped right in front of me.

Its breaks squealed.

I missed death by this much…

Ladies and gentlemen and Walt, that is my spirit animal.

Ladies and gentlemen and Walt, that is my spirit animal.

Now, I just laid there. And played dead. Maybe they’d go away. After all, I had the cherries.

Safe and sound.

The car doors opened.

And a VERY tall woman got out. She was in high heels, too, so she was epically tall.

A guy her same height got out of the passenger side.

He had blonde curls floating about his head. Like worms.

Something like this. This is actually a mossy slug, or something like that..

Something like this. This is actually a mossy slug, or something like that..

“Oh, look,” the woman said, in some sort of scary accent, “we almost crushed his life out.”

That was a thing. Thanks for not doing that.

I said nothing, though. Still playing dead.


She turned towards the fellow and hissed:

“Put him in the back. Quick.”

I was in trouble.

A glance about told me Manly-Man and Salami had deserted me.

I was in trouble.

But the cherries were nestled safely under my arm.

PL Symbol

TPL Schedule

Sunday: OFF — Day of Shalt Nots

Monday: OFF — All Day Sleep Does

Tuesday: Professor Speaks

Wednesday: TPL Story

Thursday: Professor Theories

Friday: Maybe a Post

Saturday: OFF — Chickens Need Fed

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Professorish Smiley:




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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