Dodging Festivities

In a crowd it’s possible to hide effectively; it’s also possible to get trampled effectively. 

V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet

UntitledI wasn’t falling for too longly long. In fact, as soon as I jumped, I hit the ground.

But there was a bit of a fall.

This is terrifyingly confusing, isn’t it?

What this professor means to say is that it wasn’t a long fall.

But I did hit with a thud.

And I landed on my back.

Sadly, this professor landed right in the middle of some sort of festival.

There were all sorts of people about, dressed in fancy things–with masks. All different types of masks, too: small, large, black, purple, gray, yellow, lavender (same as purple, only uglier) and Jacob Masks.

It was a festival, for sure.

Something like this. Only it wasn't a painting. And it was night.

Something like this. Only it wasn’t a painting. And it was night.

It was quite noisy.

The professor got to his feet as quickly as an ant runs when about to be crushed.

I came that close to getting trampled myself.

The professor made sure the pack was safe, then–


“Watch it!” some mean, wicked person shouted, banging past me.

I got hit again, on the other side, by a couple roughly dancing about to some sort of rotten music.

Then it became obvious: It was a game of dodge.

And the professor started bobbing, weaving, dodging, and spinning about.

As I moved, it became clear as to where I was. The professor had fallen somewhere into Medieval England, probably very close to King Arthur’s castle.

This was a weird thingy, for sure.

And also perfect.

Since this was the medieval age, after all, there was bound to be someone about who could fix the katana. Blacksmith, see.

Perfection. Sweet-sauce. Yo.

The professor made his way out of the little village (leaving the festival, see), and it was a little village, towards a huge tower-like thingy in the distance.


A path led up to it, and it was just sitting there on a hill. Quite like it deserved to be there.

A guard post or house, no doubting at all.

The professor approached quietly.

First thingy: Needed to find food.

Second thingy: Needed to take care of the dadblame wound.

When I came within an inch of the tower, two fellows in chain mail jumped out.

“Who goes there?”

Typical question, see.

A pike was pointed right at my chest, touching it, in fact.


“Yes, who goes there?” the other guard repeated.

“None other than PVJ,” I answered.

The guards exchanged glances. “What’s he want?”

“Some food, I’d say, and some bandages.” 

The guards kept exchanging glances.

This was worrisome. Glancing guards are worse than biting spiders.

Quicker than a noodle, I turned, and took off, heading back towards the festival.

Something was up.


“Come back here!”

It was a chase. A pursuit.

Too bad the katana was broken.

It wasn’t long before the professor was back in the festival, playing the game of dodge again.

“Watch it, man!” a guy said, as I ducked left.

But that’s the thing: Don’t duck left unless you know you can duck left.

I banged right into a lady, knocking her over.

In the process, the professor hit his head. That, combined with the wound and lack of food…was all it took.

I was out cold in a second, like a fly caught in an electrical surge.

PL Symbol

Falling Without Reason, Really

Without falling, there is no climbing; without climbing, there is not reaching the peak.

V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet

UntitledAs soon as I stepped out of Fats Henry’s house, it came to me, the sudden, like a wave hitting the  beach:

The professor hadn’t eaten in quite some time. 

No wonder I was feeling a bit dizzy.

The wound was the cause of that, true, but some food would help.

Now, how to get off Fat Man Island?

I looked about. Then looked about again. Because that’s what people do when they don’t know what to do.

Then I looked about a third time–just for kicks, giggles, and antidotes.


But then my left eye caught sight of something rather spicy.

Oh, goodness!! Check out this professor's left eye! #cool

Oh, goodness!! Check out this professor’s left eye! #cool

You see, at the edge of the island, there was this ladder.

Very much so like this, see.

Very much so like this, see.

And it was all curled up.

This professor walked over to it, slowly, looking for any villains that could be lurking about.

Nothing. Coast clear.

I kicked the ladder over the island.

And it fell.

The professor leaned over, taking a peek.

It fell down through the clouds, obscuring my view. Hopefully, the ladder went all the way to land.

I made sure the pack carrying the katana (both halves, mind) was safely secured to my back, then I swung a foot over, and started to descend.

Soon, the professor was floating with the clouds.


That’s when I got to thinking: What if Fat Man Island wasn’t over land? What if it was currently over water? (It floats and moves about, see.)

That’d be a thing.

Now, here’s another thing: The professor, you must understand, is not a horrible swimmer, he’s just no good at it.

I was hoping many times over that I would end up on land. Oh dear me.


Then I started to think again. This time, it was a bit different:

See, I was dizzy from lack of food and my wound. How smart was it to be climbing down a ladder?

Not very. Then again, it’s something Hector would do. And Hector was the professor’s mentor, don’t you know.

He was. (Before he died, but enough of that sad tale.)

I climbed and climbed. For hours and hours. The professor was, the sudden, like a lemur, jumping between trees to get bugs. Only I wasn’t jumping between trees or getting bugs, see.

The professor.

The professor.

It was completely dark now. The professor couldn’t see a thing.

That’s when I heard it.


No mistaking it.

Fats Henry was roaring about something.

The professor started to climb faster.

Then, it even got worse. The ladder started to go upwards.

“Dadblameit!” I said. “That fellow is pulling me back up!”

And that’s when I did a thing only very brave professors do: I jumped.

See, it was better to kill myself then get back in the hands of Henry. Plus, I’d been climbing for quite some time. Chances were I was near the bottom.

The professor fell like a rock.

Of course I didn’t scream at all.

PL Symbol

At a Birthday Party, Blood Diets, and Old Fellows

professor speaks

So, the professor was having a seat.

Well, I mean, I was sitting. I wonder why it can’t be said ‘having a seat’?


It can, I’ve decided, the sudden.

Let’s start again:

professor speaks

The professor was having a seat. Period.

I was at this table with a few other chaps.

It was an old fellow’s birthday party, see. He was turning 95-years-old. That’s rather old, you must admit. Old enough to grow a beard.


Anyways and some, the professor was at the worthless table.

You know what I mean, I’m thinking.

At parties–big parties–there is always a table or a few that get filled by people no one wants to have speaks with.

That’s where I was sat. Well, not really. That’s where this professor sat, since it was the only free place left about, see.

Now, here’s the thing: Dinner conversations can be interesting.

Or even scary.

So, this professor, to play it safe, started things:

“Do you suppose we’ll get any cake?”


“Probably, probably,” the guy across from me said. “Now, look, did you all know there is this thing called a blood diet?”

“What in the world?” one girl said.

“Yes, yes,” the guy said, flopping his bangs around like water sloshes in a cup of wax and noodles. “It’s a diet…based on what blood type you are. Isn’t that fascinating?”

“Horrifying, you mean,” another girl said.

“No, no!” the guy said. “Not at all. See…”

And that’s when this professor interrupted. Time to change the subject, see.

“Do you suppose we’ll get any of the cake?”

“Who cares about that?” the guy said. “Listen, according to this blood diet–”

“I can’t take it anymore!!” another guy said. He had a pointy nose. “Stop talking about the bloody blood diet! NOW!

And he rose swiftly, crashing his chair back. The party sorta stopped.

We never got any cake.

Moral: Don’t have speaks about blood diets, and you’ll get some cake.

Kodiak Bear vs Crocodile

professor speaksOkay, so the professor is quite unsure and vexed, the sudden.

See, I was debating with a friend, and this is how it went:

“I’m strong,” my friend said. “Like a crocodile.”

“Which isn’t too strong,” I said. “I’m strong like a Kodiak Bear.”

He laughed. “Dude, a croc is stronger than any bear.”

“Not a kodiak bear!”



And then I started to have thinks. Was he right, do you suppose?

Okay, definitely fake eyes. Those are cameras.

Okay, definitely fake eyes. Those are cameras.

Don't mess with this bad boy.

Don’t mess with this bad boy.

Things Aren’t Good When They’re Halved

When something is stuck, it sometimes comes back in two pieces, proving that more of one thing is not always better.

V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet


The katana was stuck like this:


Only it was stuck in the middle of the dead Robot chap, and it was a katana.

Oh giggling crap.

My whole shirt was turning red, on the one side, but I minded not. (It was sorta a neat feeling if you think about things that way.)

This professor grabbed the hilt of the katana, put my boot (sounds better than foot) on the Robot’s mid-section, and pulled with the strength of a hungry water buffalo.

What a handsome thingy.

What a handsome thingy.

Things went south in a hurry. You know, even souther than south.

The katana…split. Or cracked rather. Right in two.

I stood there for a second, not believing it, in truth.

This professor had just cracked the Jeweled Katana in half.

Well, technically, the Robots did.

But I sorta helped them out.

Then it came rushing back to me:

What was I doing? See, I’d stolen this sword originally from Prince Beef to save it from being used as bargaining power for Fats Henry to steal the Diamond of Drake. So, my thieving was actually a good deed. But somewhere along the line, things had gone wrong. I started focusing on wanting the katana just to want it. And now, I’d busted it up.

Phooey-fat-phooey. I was vexed.

This professor grabbed a quilt lying on the bed, wrapped it around my hand, and pulled out the piece of the katana that was still stuck in the Robot.

It was clear. I had to fix this sword.

And give it back to Prince Beef.

See, I’d acted wrongly trying to be rightly right. But acting wrongly is always acting wrongly, no matter what.

And that just dawned on me.

Now, by this time, my wound was pounding pounding pounding pounding. It was affecting this professor’s balance.

I sat on the side of the bed.

Things were spinning, see.

Spinning. These colors were going on, too.

Spinning. These colors were going on, too.


It jolted me.

Bud Parker stood in the doorway.

“Bud!” he said again, cranky this time. “You broke it!”

His face was the face of a shocked mammal.

Shocked Mammal.

Shocked Mammal.

“We have to get it fixed and give it back, Parker,” I said. “Back to Prince Beef.”

Parker was aghast. “Bud! You said you were going to help Schwarz and I get it! It’s not going back to Prince Beef, bud.” Then he added, slightly amused, “Doesn’t look like you can stop me from doing what I want either.”

And he approached for the sword, which was laying at my feet. Well, one piece was. The other piece was on the bed.

He got close, real close, then I smacked him hard in the neck.

Parker collapsed, gurgled for a second, then didn’t move.

He’d feel that later, but he was fine.

This professor grabbed the katanas (it’s like there was two, see) and wrapped them in a quilt, and stuck the bundle in a backpack that was under the bed.

Time to move. Get it fixed, resmoldered, remelded, resmithed, rewhatever, then back to Prince Beef it would go.


I exited the room and climbed down the stairs. Things were still dizzy, I’m sad to report, and my side felt like a bull had rampaged it.

This was not good, I should’ve taken care of it.

In the entrance, I found Schwarz Tauptinker sitting on the red couch. Just lying there. Sorta immobilized, it seemed.

Red couch.

Red couch.

No wonder he wasn’t with Parker.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, you good?”

“Yeah, you?”

Filthy questions. We both weren’t good, and we both knew it.

“They stretched me good, you know,” Schwarz said. “Can’t feel my legs.” Higher pitched: “Can’t feel them, chickit!” Pause: “Is Parker coming back soon? He went to get the sword, oh yeah.” (The ‘oh yeah’ was sorta up two octaves, or three.)

“Where’s Fats Henry?” That was a thing to know, for sure. 

“He banged his head on the wall after the stretching match ended. Where’s my sword, you know what I mean?” Then he screamed, “Can’t wait here forever for you, Parker! Do it, just do it! Where is it? Do it!!!

He was getting loud. Time to double-go. (Much faster than just going.)

And this professor stumbled out of the front door.

PL Symbol

TPL Schedule

Sunday: OFF — Day of Shalt Nots

Monday: OFF — All Day Sleep Does

Tuesday: Professor Speaks

Wednesday: TPL Story

Thursday: TPL Story

Friday: Professor Speaks

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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