Pachelbel’s Canon Meets Classical/Pop Guitar

So, the professor doesn’t usually post on Friday, but I decided to do so today. You see, I came across this fellow, and I like when classical musicians get ripped!

V. Shnodgrate vs. Dick Hercules

Sometimes we think; that’s when we should stop. ~ V. Shnodgrate



This professor returned to V. Shnodgrate’s poetry class.

Yes, I did.

And I returned with Dick Hercules—and his agent, Walt Walker.

You see, Shnodgrate doesn’t at all like Dick’s poetry. So, I thought it was time these two chaps should meet.

I do fear that Dick wasn’t wearing a shirt. But he was wearing pants, and a thick belt.

Amelia gasped when we came in.

It was a small class today.

Just Amelia and Fats Henry.

As soon as we entered…Shnodgrate stared at us—menacingly.

“Uhh…yes,” I began. “Mr. Shnodgrate this is Dick Hercules and his agent, Walt.”

“Well…” Shnodgrate said, approaching us slowly. “If it isn’t that fellow who writes horrid poetry…”

“It is I, Diklitous Phantasos! What ho! And behold! I stand before thee with the strength of myself!” He struck a shirtless pose, flexed his bicep, and fist-bumped his own forehead.

It looked a bit like this:


It’s ridiculous to see in person, for sure. But Dick is so sure of himself, he doesn’t suspect for a moment that he looks a bit ridiculous.

Shnodgrate scoffed. “Animal!”

“This is stupid,” Fats Henry mumbled. “I am leaving—soon.”

Then there was a sound.

More like a squeal.

A girly one.

And then he did it: Dick spied Amelia. And she became an interest.

“Oh dear and a few,” this professor said.

“See?” Shnodgrate put in, staring at me. “Look what you’ve done, you goose-nubbin, bringing him here!”

And he was talking to me.

“Ahoy now and hello my lady lovely!” Dick said, leaning in.

That’s when Walt stepped in. He tried to put a stop to it. Like a driver might put his arm out when braking, to stop a passenger from going forward.

That never works, you know. (It’s a bad practice.)

Well, it didn’t this time, anyway.

“Who invited this manimal to my poetry class?” Shnodgrate said. “Go ahead, P.VJ, admit what I already know!”

I was in a tight position, and I said the first thing I could think of:

“Walt did!” I said. He was Dick’s agent, after all.

“No way!” said Walt. “Not true!”

“Well…you’re here, aren’t you?” said Shnodgrate.

“Well…uh,” said Walt.

He was caught. It was awful.

Shnodgrate squinted and said, “And who brought you, Walt?”

Walt pointed to this professor.

This professor stammered. “Well, I only brought him, ‘cause he does a good job of watching over Dick. Dick can get out of control otherwise. Isn’t that so, Dick?”

But Mr. Hercules was focused on Amelia—and she seemed upset.

In truth, she was staring at this professor. I think she wanted help.

Dick Hercules was maybe leaning over her.

“Step back and give the lady some space!” Fats Henry roared, pushing Dick backwards. “I’ve had about enough of you!”

Oh dear, I thought. It was going to be a fight.

“Dick,” suggested Walt. “Perhaps it’s time to read your poem!”

That’s always a good way to curtail violence involving Dick. Getting him to read his own ‘poetry’ is a good distraction.

Dick nodded and smiled. He pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket and smoothed it out against his pants. He cleared his throat and began to recite:

What’s love got to do…got to do with it?
What’s love…but a second-hand emotion?
What’s love got to do…got to do with it?
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?

A silence fell upon the room as the words sunk in.

Shnodgrate was wearing the face of a victorious chap who’s just about to eat the egg. “Worthless, just as I had supposed.”

“Wait a minute,” said Walt. “Let me see that paper. Your ‘poetry’ sounds a lot like a Tina Turner song.”

Dick crumpled up his paper. He used it to wipe a tear from his eye, then shoved it into his pants pocket and turned to go. The door slammed behind him as he exited.

Amelia sighed, then made an angry noise, I fear.

“How mean!” she yelled, getting to her feet. “Someone should do something about it!” She slammed the door, too, on the way out.

Then Shnodgrate turned his attention to Walt, “And you, sir…”

“I’m going too! You’ve hurt his feelings!” said Walt, and left.

Shnodgrate turned to Fats Henry. “Now…what are you doing here?”

“Well, I was getting taught poetry!” he almost roared.

That’s when this professor did a move and found the door.


Big thanks to Mr. Walt Walker who coauthored this story with the professor.
We could never have gotten Dick here without him.
He is to blame, in truth.

Definitely check out the beginning to this tale, here. It’s starts somewhere else, see.

Lunch with the Professor

Food is indirectly proportional to one’s appetite;
It’s directly proportional to one’s disposition.

Punchy Proverb by V. Shnodgrate.



So…the professor went out to lunch.

(Why do I start every post with ‘so’? That’s a legitimate question, by the way. I’m sure I have a reason that we’re both not aware of…)

Lunch…with Smiles Riot.

He’s sorta like my cousin—which makes me his nephew.

And we went out some time last week.

I can’t remember the exact date, due to the mind.

But whatever and a few.

So, we ordered, and were having speaks (and eating) when Smiles says: “They didn’t give me the extra cheese I ordered; and that makes me very, very sad.”

The professor leaned over and inspected the salad. In truth, this is true: There wasn’t much cheese in the salad—even by the professor’s standards.

“I’ll fetch it for you,” I said.

And this professor got up and went to the front. Now, this was one of those places where you order at the front.

There was a line.

And I maybe sorta cut to the front.

“Hold on, buddy,” a burly fellow said. He was in the middle of ordering. “You have to get in the back of the line.”

“That’s okay,” I replied, “I came for the cheese.”


“Do you like cheese?”

The man scowled. “I’m ambivalent about it!”

“Good. You came to the right place, then.”

By this time, I had the cashier’s attention.

“Madam,” I said, “do you mind: I need a bit more cheese for a salad.”

“Oh, we don’t give out extra cheese,” she quipped. It was a sour voice. About two notches flat on the northeast.


“Uh-huh,” she said. “Our cheese is expensive. We can’t afford to give too much out.”

Now that was a wonder. “Then why don’t you order cheaper cheese?”

“‘Cause this stuff is better.”

“I’m not sure how you know… When you have one tiny chunk of a piece of cheese (mouse portion, mind you) on a salad, you end up losing it in all the green.”

“Listen!” the burly fellow cut in. “I’m ordering!”

The woman sighed. “Will you step away?”

“I’m very cranky the sudden.”

She rolled her eyes, and I was kinda pushed out of the way.

That’s when I returned to the table.

“Cheese is a precious commodity here, I fear. I didn’t know this. They won’t give extra.”

“Nonsense!” And Smiles Riot left, and returned with extra cheese.

“How did you do that?”

“I threatened never to come back.”

Now that is something I’ll have to try.

Moral: Threatening is powerful.

The Library, Part 2

“Books come in many different shapes and sizes.”
“So do people, but that doesn’t make them special.”



You have to feel a bit bad for Ms. Higgins–at least, just a bit, bits, and little bits. Being a Librarian is a hard job, I hear.

Not only must you stack and organize books that look the same, you begin to smell like a book after some time.

And you also have to deal with fistfights.

So, as this professor was making his way out of the library, I had this thought: I should probably help Ms. Higgins deal with those two rapscallions. 

The professor sighed and turned around, and made my way back to that exciting place in the library. (You know, it’s by the fire that’s never lit. Must be fake.)

“Absolutely no fighting in the library!” Ms. Higgins was saying. “I don’t like it. Plus, it disturbs everyone.”

Now this library is big. I’m sure there were more people around, but I didn’t seem them.

“Now, now,” Shaun Divine soothed, “there’s nothing wrong with a little fistfight, you little lady.” (The stilts don’t really count, see.) “We’re just going to have a show of strength, that’s it.”

“Oh no we’re not!” Ruber Salami said. “I’ve been ordered to bash your head into a bookshelf!”

“That’s enough!” Sandra Salami yelled. “I don’t want a fight. This stops NOW.”

Wow. That really shot down the situation a bit. Everyone was staring at Sandra.

It was time.

“I agree,” I said, stepping forward. “It’s much better to stop things NOW”–I yelled it just like her–“then later. If things are stopped later, then things aren’t stopped sooner in the NOW.”

I thought it was a good argument, really.

“Idiot,” Ruber said.

Shaun Divine looked at Ruber. “I don’t know what they’re talking about, my man, but have a go with you, I will.”

And Divine swung. I think Ruber blocked it. A second later they were rolling about the floor.

“Stop it at once, P.VJ!” Ms. Higgins yelled. She’d gone white, I fear.

I looked at Sandra.

“Just do it,” she said.

And so this professor did.

I jumped onto the pile, and the real battle began.

We fought for hours an hours–it seemed.

At the end, I think I won. I had the least amount of battle scars, and I dished out the most punishment, I’m rather sure.

As Shaun Divine, Ruber Salami, and I were being transported to the Police Station in the back of a cruiser, Divine remarked:

“Nothing like a good fistfight, lads.”

The Library

“I’ve got a novel idea,” he said.
“Shut-up and write a book, then,” I said.



The professor was at a library.

I usually don’t go to the library to read.

You see, I go there to sit and think.

As this professor was making his way to his favorite chair (it’s by the fire which is never lit), I spotted a fellow with curly red hair, a nose that seemed to jut in a northeasterly direction, and a powerful set of eyebrows.

It was none other than Shaun Divine.

And to make matters even more interesting, Divine was sitting at a table with Sandra Salami–and they were laughing.

That’s a bad sign.

You see, Sandra just wasn’t laughing; she was giggling. There’s a difference: Girls only giggle when they’re embarrassedly happy about something rather worthless. (At least, that’s what I’m told, and you can’t argue with me: I looked it up in the dictionary.)

They were having speaks, and—in my shock, I fear—I stood and stared a bit too long.

Divine saw me and tilted his head. “And what are you looking at, lad?” He may have an accent of sorts. A brogue? I’m not sure. But I bet he has one.

Lad. That was quite vexing, and while I was mulling over that, he followed up with: “Why don’t you get lost and leave us be?”

“Yes, please,” Sandra said. “I’m trying to study for a medical exam I have coming.”

And that’s when this professor asked a rather innocent question: “Does your father, Sandra, know you’re here?”

“Now, now,” Divine interrupted, wagging his finger. “I’ll have none of that. No more Mr. Nice-Divine. You better get lost—and quick.”

Sandra seemed to agree.

And I was about to.

But when I turned abruptly around, I ran right into Ms. Higgins. (She’s always sitting at the front desk in the library.)

“Ms. Higgins,” Divine said, “can you escort this nosy lad elsewhere? Me and Sandra were trying to have a conversation.”

“Certainly,” she rasped.

Yep, I thought: She’s in his pay.

Ms. Higgins always has her hair pulled back into a bun. And she also has a pointy nose (which doesn’t have a direction) and some glasses. She was wearing a black dress and some stilts. The perfect librarian.

“This way, Mr. Duke,” she said, trying to escort me away.

“Now hold on for a few and some in between,” I said, slapping  her hand away. “What am I being taken away for?”

“One is not allowed to speak in the library.”

“Very good point. I’m glad you brought it up: Time for us to be quiet, then.”

“Speak loudly. You’re not allowed to speak too loudly. And the last thing I want is for you and Mr. Divine to get into a fight. Please, Mr. Duke.”

And this professor couldn’t refuse.

As we were heading back to her desk, she said: “You know how it goes: Deception leads to Doubt; Doubt to Despair; and Despair to Death.”

She looked at me hopefully.

“Very nice,” I said. “If I were there, I’d clap.”

See, Ms. Higgins is in some sort of English class, and she’s always rehearsing speeches she has to give. She likes to run them by me as well.

“Oh good!” she said, clasping her hands together. “Do you suppose they’ll like it?”

“If they don’t,” I replied, “they won’t.”

She nodded, understanding.

And that’s when Ruber Salami barged in. “Shaun!” he was yelling. “I’m coming for you, you brute, eh?!”

This professor could just hear Divine: “If it’s a fight you want, I’m game.”

It wasn’t going to be good.

Ms. Higgins set off to stop it, and this professor disappeared. Not literally, of course, but somewhat close to it.

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Professorish Smiley:




Depends on the day.

Punchy Argot:

1. Manothunder.
2. Dadblameit.
3. Maburnit.
4. Punchinny.
5. Wowawee.
6. Humdinger.
7. Punchalicioius.
8. Plumbtastic.
9. Chickit.
10. Chicky-woot-woot.
[abbrev. C-W-W.]
11. Laws.
12. Malediction.
13. Ja-beanwicky.
14. Rapscallion.
15. "Jazzy Couldren Laughed!"
16. Gardoobuled.
[alt. spelling: Gardoobled.]
17. Congratulilolations.
18. Togoggin.
19. Gargonic.
20. Warts and Popcorn.
21. Two and Five Gurgles.
22. Rats and a Heifer.
23. Two nods, a wink, and an astroid.
24. A bit, bits, and little bits.
25. Huff-Hum and a Roar.
26. So many thanks, I can't begin to thank you.
27. Ri-do-diculous.
28. Humphalicious
29. Grossapopoluss

Punchy Questions?

If you have any questions for the professor—about the Punchy Lands, specific characters, or anything Punchy in general—contact me immediately!


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