Posts Tagged 'PVJ'

Lying Cups

“Look here,” I said, “I’m not sure you get the point of it.”

“Oh, I get the point of it,” he said.

“Not at all,” I returned. “If you did, you’d know what I meant when I said ‘get the point of it’.”

He put his head in his hands in a dramatic fashion.

“Can you please make some sense?” he tried again.

“Okay, look here,” I said, preparing to go over all the details again. “There’s no way this cup”–and I indicated a 32 oz. canteen–“can survive a 500 ft. drop into a canyon full of the rockiest rocks ever.”

“It doesn’t say it can do that,” he returned sharply.

I gave him the professor face. I do that from time to time, you know. It can be rather effective, too. #scary

“It says it can on the cup,” I said.

“Show me.”

So, I did.

And I quote: Able to withstand up to a 500 ft. drop!

“It doesn’t say anything about rocks being at the bottom,” he said.

“Well,” I said, “that’s my problem, see. At the bottom of every canyon, there’s rocks, double-see, and I think it’s telling they left out the rocks bit, triple-see. It’s kinda like saying the cup can survive the fall, only if there are no rocks at the bottom. But there are ALWAYS rocks at the bottom of a canyon.”

“Are you for real?

I stopped. The professor may or may not have been getting a little cranky here. #timetoriot

“Last time I checked,” I said, “I found that I was very real–and brutally scary.”

“Look,” he said, “if you’re really worried about this cup surviving a 500 ft. drop, then there’s something wrong in your life.”

I put the cup back on the shelf.

“This professor, you must understand, does not buy lying cups.”

Holiday Cut Short

The beating of your heart reminds you you only have so long to beat.

~ V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet

UntitledI woke up somewhat tired and somewhat sleepy.

Isn’t that an annoying thing?

It always annoys this professor.

I mean, why can’t I wake up somewhat not-tired and somewhat not-sleepy?

The land is against us, I fear.

Anyways and some, it was a cold day where the professor currently was messing about in the Punchy Lands.

Very much so like this.

This is where I was. Sorta looked like this. Look–a bird! I think it’s a Cardinal. Must be Catholic. #badjoke

I was at a ski resort, see. In truth, this is true: the lodge looked like a bunch of tinker toys.

The professor was spending the holiday at the resort, and it was a definite interest.

You see, that’s because the professor can’t ski.

Well, I’ve never skied before, I suppose.

I just like to go to ski resorts just to hang out and think about skiing. One of my fav pastimes, you know. #mostlytrue

Anyways, the professor had just woken up. I wrapped myself in a red Pats hoodie…

Like this.

Like this.

…and left my room to explore.

The lodge was pretty busy downstairs, and it wasn’t long until this professor ran into Daddy Salami and his son, Ruber. (I’ve known Salami and Ruber for a bit now. Always up to no good. I think they live in England. And I think Salami used to be a knight.)

They were sitting at a table, finishing breakfast.

Of course, this professor being the adventurer he is, joined them quicker than a tadpole popping out of a…

…well, you know what I mean.

“Gentlemen,” I said.

Salami’s green eyes flashed. “We ain’t, gentlemen, ya turtle. Now sit down. I have sumtin’ important ta tell ya.”

Was he expecting me? Nah…

Ruber chuckled as ripped two pieces of bacon up and plopped the pieces into his coffee. And, yes, he did drink the whole thing. In one gulp. #impressive

“What is it, not-gentlemen?”

“Shut-up!” Salami snapped. “And be quiet. It’s a secret.”

Then he leaned close: “We were one man down on our mission, but then ya showed up, and yure gonna help us.”

“Or we’ll pluck yo eyes out,” Ruber added, in his English accent.

“Come on,” Salami said.

They both stood.

“What are we…?” I ventured.

“Knocking somebody off,” Ruber said. “Get your skis.”

“Count Mastroid has ta die,” Salami added.

“He’ll be on the slopes soon,” Ruber said. “We’ll get him then.”

Salami laughed, obviously excited. “See ya in front of da lodge in twenty minutes, cur-face, or I’ll cut yure face out and use it as a wall decoration.”

A mission on the slopes sounded fun. But knocking someone off? Warriors don’t do that sort of thing.

Plus, the professor can’t ski…

PL Symbol

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.

Strange.

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.

#thud

“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. Hmm...my 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.

tumblr_mhkqrcyVUL1s51zjyo1_500

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.)

Unknown

*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:

giphy-46

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

For When the Zombies Come…

professor speaks

Okay.

So, the professor over the weekend got this epic army pack.

Sorta like this:

Just like this, in fact.

Just like this, in fact.

I nabbed it at a gun show.

Image #: 23247670    BIRMINGHAM, Alabama -- The Alabama Gun Collector Association Summer Gun Show is this weekend at the BJCC. The theme for this show is Western and vintage firearms. Show hours are Saturday 9 a.m. - 5 p.m. and Sunday 10 a.m. - 4 p.m. The big topic at this show was the shortage of .380, 9 mm and .22 cal. long rifle ammo.         AL.COM /Landov

Whoa...

Whoa…

They also have swords, by the way.

Now, you may ask why I got the pack.

Simple.

It’s for when the zombies attack and the whole grid blows up.

zombie_teaser

Hmm…she doesn’t look like a zombie. Just a badly injured chap.

Look here, this is the one that would come after me:

evil dead 2 25 zombies (Custom)

Now, in the pack I’d have all sorts of things to defeat that fellow above. Like…mustard gas, I think.

MUSTARDGASClipboar_2532687f

Then again, he looks like that was already used on him.

Dadblameit.

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.

Really.

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.

nabokov1

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:

be15987ed30907196bb583d91ef17ae2

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.

MTE1ODA0OTcxNzgzMzkwNzMz

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


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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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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