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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:

images

Important Things

So, yes, it’s Christmas this week.

Like in two days.

Maybe it was nine. I really can’t recall. (Don’t laugh. When you get my age, this sort of thing starts to happen. That’s what I’ve been told, though. How age affects the mind is still a mystery. But it does.)

Now, here’s the thing:

I’ve decided to announce a few things of importance.

First off, the Patriots won the AFC East. Again.

aptopix-dolphins-patr_acco-1024x729

Steelers deflate balls, too.

Second, it’s the season of the Krampus.

krampus

This excites me lots and lots.

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They say the best way to get the Krampus to pay a visit is to insult his brother, Santa Claus.

This doesn’t work.

I’ve tried.

Thirdly, and lastly…

…well, I did have something, but I forget what it was.

I’m old, remember.

Oh I remember!

Merry Christmas, everyone! Make sure to eat a few cookies for me.

Each.

The Professor Returns

Many hi’s to you all! (I’m thinking if that should be “hies”, since it looks better. But that reminds me of pies, and we can’t have pies, so let’s forget about this whole thingy.)

How’ve you all been?! I want details. But not too many. Maybe one or one and a half.

You’ll all be excited and dismayed to know that I’m back. The professor has many awful plans, of course. Plans that I’ve not really spoken about too much yet. Or thought about.

Maybe we shouldn’t even call them plans, actually-ish.

I’ll be getting TPL back online in just a bit…a few days, maybe.

In interesting professor news…I actually taught a class on this book! Well, a chapter from this book.

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And I learned two important things, of course. (I’m always learning things, you know, you know… This goes to show you even old people can learn things.) 

One, I learned how to spell feminist. Yes, I happen to be the worst speller ever. No judging. Or I might get a complex.

And, two, I learned that this professor can counter-lecture other professors quite effectively. It was an interesting debate.

That’s all.

I shall be around with more useless news, of course.

Since it’s around Christmastime, Merry Dadblameits to you all.

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.

“Why?”

“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.

#Won/Lost

Introducing my new spirit animal!

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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.”

“Okay.”

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.

midland_metro_tram

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:

edelman

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.


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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