Posts Tagged 'Humor'

Fighting But Not Fighting

So, yes, I know: I’m horribly off schedule, but mind: Schedules exist to be broken, that’s what makes them schedules.

Whoa. That was deep.

Consider that the proverb for this episode.


This professor was with Manly-Man, who had just knocked senseless the Honi officer fellow.

You know, the one who had done something to Starlet–I mean, Starling.

At least, I think he had something to do with something that had maybe happened to her.

We were in this room:

This was it. Blah, right?

…with the Honi Officer unconscious on the floor.

I was carrying my jar of cherries, though, so all good on the professorish front.

“Time to go,” I repeated.

“Let’s do it, honey,” Manly-Man replied.

Then quicker than a winking noodle, we opened the door.

It was unlocked, see.

Now, being the exceptional thinker that I am, it was around this time that it dawned on me:

“Yo. I bet someone saw you knock that fellow senseless. I bet they’re onto us.”

Manly-Man ignored me.

He was like that, see.

We were in a hallway.

And there was nobody about.

Nobody at all.


I looked twice, thrice–still nobody.

(That’s the key, see. Always look thrice. Things pop up on the thrice look.)

And sure enough, things popped up. #LawofThrice-s

Lots of things, actually.

The hallway was crowded with figures in yellow space-looking suits. More lithe than a spacesuit, but still.

They were carrying some sort of evil-looking device.

“We better run,” Manly-Man said.

And he took off, without so much as an answer from me.

Just left me to die, in other words.

I caught up with him, of course.

Manly-Man rounded a corner and threw open a door.

It thudded shut behind us.


“We’s safe.”

“I think for the min–“

I stopped.

See, that’s when this professor saw Starling. You know, the harried lady from the international flight, the one with the big bag.

She was doing great.

Well, I lie, just a bit.

It wasn’t the whole Starling I saw.

Just her head. #NotRad

And it was looking pale.

I suppose headless heads look pale. #ProfessorishTheory

Notice how pale the head is. Then again, the body is, too. theory isn't holding up too well.

Notice how pale this fellow’s head is. Then again, the body is, too. Hmm…my theory isn’t holding up too well.

But we didn’t have time to think on things.

The door blasted open.

Yes, blasted.


Only Strider didn’t come in.

All those space suited fellows did.

They raised their guns.

This professor, of course, instinctively reached for his katana. Gone. It was gone! I nearly cried on the spot. I didn’t have it with me. All I had were the cherries, see.

Manly-Man’s suit came up.

(Yes, MM has a suit…sorta like IronMan. It’s part of what makes him so manly. Manly-Man’s suit is more bulky, though, and blue and dark gray. Now you know. Very powerful, is the manly one.)


*sigh* Love IronMan. But Spiderman would beat him. No arguing with me, children.

So, I was weaponless and everyone else had weapons. I felt sorta…sorta…like this:


One of the mean space dudes raised his weapon and shot me.


I was paralyzed on the spot, from the shoulders down.

The jar of cherries hit the floor. But the jar didn’t break! Dadblame plastic. Why is everything made out of plastic these days? Plastic that looks like glass, and even feels like glass. Double-dadblameit.

Manly-Man fought and blasted and fought, killing bunches, I think.

Then again, since I was laying prostate–ahem, prostrate on the floor, I can’t be sure. (My face was puppy-wards, tho. So not really prostrate.)

The floor view, see, wasn’t exciting.

A couple suddens later, I was picked up and moved by the evil space-fighting-crazy-mean-yellow-Honi dudes.

Not rad. Rats and a Heifer. Dadblameit. Maburnit. *cussing vocab exhausted*

PL Symbol


In Trouble

A lie is a clever way to tell the truth—subjectively.

V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet

UntitledHoni Planet.

Where do I start?

Isn’t that awful? When people say that?

They get to these epically great places that need a description and all they say is, “Where do I start?”

See, that’s just so they don’t have to explain or describe anything. Lazy, I tell you.

Then again, I’m feeling that way right now.

But I’ll fight it (since I’m such a warrior) and explain, because I’m a goodly professor.

Okay, so the planet was something. It’s basically one big city. Everywhere. Tall buildings here, short little squat buildings there; pushcarts selling everything imaginable (except beetles) lined the busy streets; there were fancy restaurants, and restaurants only fit for beetles; and every sort of store imaginable; there were also bikes, motorcycles, cars, and all sorts of different transportation devices.

It stank a bit. And it wasn’t too dirty. #ProfessorAppraisal 

In fact, it looked a bit like this–


–had mated with this:


Anyways, the streets seemed treacherous to navigate, but all the passengers were driven away from the sorta-crash in authority vehicles. It was stuffy in the authority vehicles; it stank in the authority vehicles–never ride in authority vehicles.

Now, once we got to where we were going (after about a thousand years), we were all abused and pushed around. They even took my pack.

I ended up in an ugly, plain room, sitting at an ugly, plain desk.

With Manly-Man.

This was it. Blah, right?

This was it. Blah, right?

Was hoping these would show up.

Was hoping these two would show up.

“Hey, dude,” Manly-Man said.

He was going to say something else, but I interrupted.

“I just want to say, what you did back there, landing the ship and all…good stuff. Well done. You have my approval.”

Manly-Man smiled a tight-lipped smile and craned his head one way. Almost treating me like a little kid. Like it didn’t matter he’d gotten my approval.

Rats and a Heifer.

“So, what happened? I was sleeping, see.”

“I doesn’t know. Someone fired a missile at us.”

That’s when the door opened and a respectable looking chap entered. He looked pregnant the way his belly bulged around, but rest assured, I know he wasn’t. He had a gray mustache  and he was balding. He was dressed in the Honi Empire’s colors: Yellow. Just yellow.

I think he was a sheriff.

He sat down across from us.

“Okay,” he began, but I cut him off.

See, I was cranky. After all, being taken into custody right after surviving a near fatal crash was wrong. Especially since they told us nothing. Not much of a kind reception. (Goes to show you how much the Honi Empire dislikes people from TPL.)

“Look here,” I said, but then he interrupted me.

“Don’t you DARE talk over me,” he said, wagging a finger in my general direction. “I give the order–“

But I cut him off.

“Double look here, you beast,” I said, “I’m the professor–“

He took over here, with a vicious slam to the table.

“If I have to tell you one more time–“

Manly-Man broke in.

“Quiet both of you. I’s leaving. I’s done playin’ games with you. I’s gettin’ cranky.”

And he stood.

That’s when the that chap put my can of sweet cherries on the table.

They’d searched my pack. The blackhearts.

I was even crankier then.

“You’re going nowhere,” he said. “We found this can of cherries in this one’s pack”–a thumb in my general direction here–“and you were the pilot. How’d you get that can? Did you run into Starling on the flight? What’d she tell you?”

Then, quicker than a lightning bolt, I grasped the cherries.

Yes, my bolts are blue.

Yes, my bolts are blue.

“Mine,” I said, like a caveman.

Not the professor.

Not the professor.

He stood.

“If you don’t answer my questions, you’ll end up just like Starling!”

Was that the lady with the briefcase?

Then everything happened too quickly.

The fellow pulled some sort of evil looking instrument from his belt and Manly-Man took him out–with one blow.


And then, Manly-Man said, as if to explain his actions: “I’s said I was getting cranky.”

Of course, that explained everything perfectly.

“Time to go,” I said.

PL Symbol

Crashing Safely is Key

They say you fear what you don’t know. It’s true: I’ve always feared history class.

 V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet

UntitledSo, here’s the thing: There’s a first time for everything.

Which is kinda true. See, there’s a first time for everything, individualistically speaking, mind you.

For instance, the professor was on an intergalactic flight that was going down.

First time for me.

But I’m sure it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.


(Real really quick: the professor actually search for “intergalactic flights wrecking” and the above picture is all I got. Possibly, then, this intergalactic flight going down was a first all around.)


Anyways and some, Flight #10 was going down.

And I was on it.

That was a dadblame problem.

The Briefcase Lady was gone.

And the briefcase was still there.

That was another dadblame problem.


See, she told me to take the briefcase if something happened.

Now, that’s really quite a thing. See, sounds like some sort of super-epic spy plot. And, of course, the professor wanted no part of it. (I’m boring, remember.)

So, I did the only thing that should be done:

I searched the briefcase quick as a non-wink–since not winking is faster than winking, you know–found nothing but a jar of sweet cherries, and thieved them right away.


It was a Score 1 for the professor. I love cherries. At least, I had something to eat before I died. Yo.

And I was about to start on those cherries, when Manly-Man’s voice blared through the speakers:

“Hey, we’s going to make a crash landing. Please hold on.”

And hold on, I did.

Now, the remarkable thing is this: Flight #10 did crash, but it wasn’t fatal. Points to Manly-Man on that one.

When we did sorta touchdown on Honi Planet, there were lots of celebrations (even some dancing) from the passengers.


Touchdown dance

The professor didn’t dance, mind you.

So, once the flight was landed and everything, all the passengers were taken into custody by the Honi Police to answer some “questions”.

Go figure.

See, here’s the thing: Apparently, you’re a villain if you survive an almost disaster.

I put the sweet cherries in my pack–for later.

Still, points to Manly-Man on saving the day, see.

PL Symbol

Honi Planet

The more folly you have, the more wise you can possibly become. 

V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet

UntitledThe door opened (with a ding, mind) and the mass of humanity moved forward.

Now, here’s the thing: It was so dark, I couldn’t see a thing. The path we were supposed to follow, however, was lit up by blue lights.

That was convenient, I must say. After all, without those lights, I probably would have tripped or fallen a few hundred times.

So good of them to include those.

I must’ve stopped for a minute or two, ’cause the lady behind me (you know, the one with the huge briefcase) gave me a friendly tap.

“Keep moving!” she said, quietly.

And I did, of course.

Okay, so I’ll be honest with you: The launch chairs surprised the grubs out of my ears.


Grubs almost look like noodles.

Grubs almost look like noodles.

The launch chairs were in rows. And there was a sort of canopy above each row. What a thing.

When the line stopped moving, I was in front of a chair.

And the professor did what the professor knew he had to do.

I stowed my pack in the basket below the seat, and sat down. (The seat was sorta web-y. That’s how it felt, at least. Like outdoor furniture, see.)

And I buckled in, too, because. Just because.

The lady with the huge briefcase barely got that mammoth stowed under her seat, but she managed it.

A veteran of the huge briefcase, truly.

Then she took her seat. Within minutes, everyone was seated.

That’s when the voice came back, because we’d all missed it:

Intergalactic Flight 10 is about to Launch. Green light.

And that’s when the rows left the ground, leaving my feet to dangle helplessly in the dark air, like a bunch of butterflies caught in a net.


This chap has been at the art of butterfly catching for years, see.

And we were moving, through the blackness.

I turned to the lady next to me.

“Where are we going?”

She leaned close and whispered: “We’re being carried to our launch ship.”

And she was right. We entered into some sort of rocket looking thingy (tough to see ’cause of the light, mind). Each row was above another row. And yes, the feet were still dangling.

Sorta like this:


Then there was a hiss and shout as the rocket closed us in.

Trapped, we were.

Dark, it was.

That’s when there was a loud boom, and we sorta blasted off at that point, I bet.

It was sorta enjoyable.

After a bit, lights came on, and a voice came over the loudspeakers:

“Hey, honeys, this is Manly-Man and I’s your Captain for the flight. We should be landing on Honi Planet in a little bit. Okay. Bye.”

Great. What could possibly go wrong with him as the pilot?

I decided to forget about it. See, I wiped the whole thing from my memory system. Done.

Honi Planet. Capital of the Honi Galaxy.

The thing was, The Punchy Lands was usually left alone by the Honi Empire. Even though, TPL was technically part of the empire, and therefore subject to them, it certainly didn’t seem that way.

That’s when the professor was tapped on the arm.

“Hey,” the lady with the huge briefcase said. “I know this is strange…but if anything happens to me…and you’re around…make sure my briefcase doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

“Who has the wrong hands?” 

A just question, I thought.

But she turned away. Wouldn’t answer.

I got out Shakespeare, then.


And it must’ve worked, ’cause the next thing I remember was a bunch of screaming, and alarms blaring, and Manly-Man’s voice breaking up over the line:

“We’s been hit, honeybuttses. H—o–l–d…”

I looked next to me.

The lady with the huge briefcase was gone.

But her briefcase wasn’t.

PL Symbol


Click here to read the first few stories in the tale of “The Sweet Cherry Incident.” (Just scroll down.)

It’s said, “History is the greatest teacher,” but this can’t be. Great teachers are heeded, prophets aren’t. It should be, “History is the greatest Prophet.”

V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet

UntitledSo, Manly-Man was going to the be the pilot of my intergalactic flight.

Oh yay.

Of course, maybe he was just wearing the pilot uniform for kicks and giggles.

There was hope, see.

The White Tree of Gondor. You didn't hope was symbolized by a white flower, did you? Neither did I. Peter Jackson, you visionary.

The White Tree of Gondor. You didn’t know hope was symbolized by a white flower, did you? Neither did I. Peter Jackson, you visionary.

Anyways and a few, I reached Space Dock 10.

Well, sorta.

See, once you get to the dock, you get in line–a long line–and you start making your way up to the docking station.

The line moves like a tiny crawler. Very slow. In fact, so slow, you think you’re barely moving at all.

There’s not much talking–which is a surprise, you must admit. Everyone is sorta hushed. (Their nervousness hushed them up, I bet.)

Plus, there’s a loudspeaker that’s constantly going, in a monotonous voice, too:

Once you reach the docking platform, please be patient while Intergalactic Flight 10 is prepared for launch. Make sure to stow any carry-ons in the net below your seat. If it doesn’t fit, sorry, you’ll have to lose it, bub.

Sorta what the line looked like. Only we were going up and up, see. The lighting was pretty much the same.

Sorta what the line looked like. Only we were going up and up, see. The lighting was pretty much the same.

And so on.

The wait wasn’t too bad, overall, see. There were huge flat screens throughout the line that showed all sorts of interesting footage. Mostly nature footage. With a few waterfalls thrown in.

I suppose it was a calming effect. The professor is already so calm, though, see.

Eventually, we made it to the docking station.


The voice was still going, but I ignored it.

Here’s the thing: Voices that keep going and keep saying the same things, should be ignored, see.

If you have to say the same thing over and over, it must not be important. #ProfessorLesson

Plus, there were attendants everywhere, making sure we got the things that needed done, done. Somehow–and I’m not sure how–we were all split up into individual launch groups, and lined up in front of many doors. The doors all had the number 10 glowing (in yellow) above them, but other than that, the room was completely dark. (There were some blue and purple LED lights that lit up the floor, though.)

No one was talking now.

This professor was nervous. But then, I’m always nervous about something. Dadblameit. Wait, no. I’m calm. Calm. That’s it. Can’t be contradicting myself.

We waited.

Tick tock went the clock.

“That’s the worst part, too,” a girl said behind me, as if she was having speaks with herself.

I turned.

So, okay. This lady was very nervous.

She was perspiring lots, see, and quite jumpy. Every time there was a noise–a cough, laugh, or some such thing–she’d jump, and wipe her stringy brownish-red hair from her eyes.

Her round glasses were fogging up, too, which reminded me of an invention that I’d come up with but hadn’t invented yet. (Isn’t that just it? We’re all inventors. But what separates us from the real ones is that we never invent what we imagine.)

Glasses that came complete with…windshield wipers!



Anyways, I said: “What’s the worst part? Don’t worry about it, madam. These flights aren’t bad at all.”

I lied. This was my first intergalactic flight, see. Well, I didn’t lie, I suppose. Maybe stretched the truth a little–which is good for it. Makes the truth more elastic, see. Then it can be what anyone wants it to be. *nods*

She shook her head and hugged her huge briefcase closer to her small body.


“No, no,” she said, “not the launch. Launches are easy.”

Then her pained and worried expression broke, and she laughed.

“But I can tell that this is your first! No one who’s been on them before call’s them flights. They’re launches. As you’ll soon see.”

Our conversation was interrupted at that moment.

There was a loud ding, and then the voice returned:

When the launch door opens, proceed to your launch chair. Stow items in the basket below the seat. Good launch to you.

Another ding, and the door opened.

PL Symbol

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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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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