Well. This Surely Bites.

Happy
JACK HANDEY
Friday, mate!

" IF I WAS being executed by injection , I’d clean up my cell real neat. Then, when they came to get me, I’d say, ‘Injection? I thought you said "inspection."’ They’d probably feel real bad, but maybe I could get out of it." –Jack Handey

WHATSUP FRONT this
SparkleFarkled weekend?

TWO WORDS:

They’re heeeeere!

SERIOUSLY, has anyone seen

Designer: ChristineRenee
my copy?

DIRED STRAIGHTED, but like my dear, sweet, personal friend, Gloria, has said, time and time again, "I will survive!"
SparkleFarkle~~~~~ *

RIP, my Mollo and Drea

BIG bloggy caboose
aka P.S.

COMPLEMENTING THIS Farkled jump out of the frying pan, into the fire blog theme ("relatively" speaking, of course) I've got going, I discovered an exceptionally apropos contribution (that is to say, any type of postcard, a photo of a mailbox, mailman, a stamp image, postcard altered art, or simply a photo of something found to be "postcard perfect") to add to this week’s

Postcard Friendship Friday!

COMBINING FORCES with the fun-loving

throngs participating in

Cpaphil’s more the merrier

(And it IS! Come join us? You’re invited!)

AT

(click here to get THERE),

A tongue-in-cheek

"Having fun, wish you were here!"
POSTCARD FROM THE EDGE:

COME SUNDAY night,

I will undoubtably be
registered here.

LOL, I think? Yeah, LOL!

My Point... And I Do Have One

FUNNING ALONG WITH the gang-sters participating in ABC Wednesday ("Click" here, or on the sidebarring button --> ), sans further ado, I present to you:





is for BIRDS, with reference to
one species in particular,
and as paid tribute to in
one of my favorite poems:

POINTY BIRDS

O pointy birds,
O pointy pointy,
Anoint my head,
Anointy-nointy.

–John Lillison, England's greatest one-armed poet,

The Complete Poems of John Lillison

SEVEN WORDS:

B-b-b-bird, bird, bird,
b-bird is the word!

GOTTA FLY,

Illustrator: Walter Crane
Tweety Pie!

SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

RIP, my Mollo and Drea.

I Demand a Re-count. Or Do I? Did I Just Say Something???

ONE GOOD THING about

obsessive-compulsiveness and aging

is you don’t remem–-

What was I just counting?...

Was I counting?...
What the--?
Hmm...

RATS!
TIME WAS when it
was the thought that counted.

ONE WORD:

SQUIRREL!!!

Thoughtfully, then again, maybe not?
SparkleFarkle~~~~~ *

RIP, my Mollo and Drea.

Emerald Arf Gets Its Day OR...

Going green,

so to speak.

FOR A SMITCH of a while now, I have been

chew toying
with the idea of regularly posting
a featured-early-in-the week blog
revolving around--

WAIT!

Let’s have fun from

(Modern day Gumby OR aged Eddie Murphy?
Inquiring minds want to know.)
the gecko get go!

YOU give it a guess!

***not having to wait long for the answer***

YOU’RE RIGHT!

GOD, YOU'RE GOOD at this!
A correct reckon on the first stabatit!

UH-HUH, EVERY Monday, I hope to

(The Addams Family mailman.
If THIS guy can do it, SO CAN I!)

deliver

a bow-wowed, feel good blessing, remakably inspired by my beloved pupsy companion, Janey O'Sullivan, who says everything you need to know without ever having to say anything too out loudly (and sometimes by author John O'Neill, as well), to warm the cockles and gently jumpstart the week ahead!

YESSIREEDOG, NEITHER snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays this courier from the swift completion of her appointed rounds! That is, of course, barring dum, dum, DUM, dum,

DAHHHH!!!

ON WITH the show then? GREAT!

WELCOME
to the premiere installment
OF

ERIN GO BARK!
Monday

"MAY YOU ALWAYS catch your
breath at the top of the hill."
–John O’Neill

READY? SET? YOU’RE up!

To participate, card-shuffle
this poochified approbation
in your noggin,
then expound on it!
OR, heck,
just name something favorite
of yours that is green!
Today, the latter be mine:

REMEMBER

these?!

EVEN THOUGH I didn’t own a cap gun, my mom wouldn’t let me have them. Cripes, I was a head of my time is all! I just wanted to use them as cool, magical stickers! (Stickers, as we know them today, hadn’t been invented yet. UH-HUH. I’m a fossil.)

FIVE WORDS: Bark up the right tree.

Best week ever to ya!
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

RIP, my Mollo and Drea.

SIX WORD SATURDAY: Pork, the Other White Christmas

SIX WORD SATURDAY:

I long for pork chop weather.

I LONG FOR WHEN dinner had better be heavy-duty because, BABY, IT'S COLD OUTSIDE! Yep. I WANT to be wearing GIANT Perry Como-style sweaters. I WANT to pull out all the icicle stoppers. I WANT a COLD outdoors spilling inside. I WANT the fireside to be my zinnia bed on a winter day. I WANT to be luxuriating in flannel. I WANT ice skating on ponds without skates (ME without the skates, NOT the pond). I WANT to feel Eskimo pied. I want old Mickey Mouse records. Wait a minute, how’d that get in here?! I WANT to wax a toboggan, instead of eloquent. I WANT to catch floaty, frozen sky particles on my tongue. I WANT to bear doze in front of the TV during a blizzard. I WANT "Away in a Manger." I WANT more than a wintergreen tooth pick to tide me over.

THAT’S RIGHT. I’m coming clean: I loathe summertime. I say, "Roll UP those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer, those days of soda and pretzels and beer ALREADY!" And, PLEASE, to all you


sun worshipers out there, PUT THE STONES DOWN. Try as I may, the heat beats me --another good reason for me staying out of the kitchen as well– so, today finds me turning to

The Man
with the Perfect Last Name,
to find solace

and this lovely parting gift

JUST FOR YOU:

my favorite poem of his!

"Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening"
by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy windy and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

ARE YOU up for

another treat?

CRANK UP THE AIR conditioner to "Snow," pull yourself up to a steamy cup of hot cocoa, and go HERE! (And give that h.c. a quick blow-on: be ready to pronto-sip, as this audio clip is as short as a morsel is mere!)

***nose-savoring the chocolatety,
marsh mallowed brewski set afore***

TWO WORDS: Chug-a-lug! Chug-a-lug!

***still not totally placated***

FOUR MORE WORDS to equal another SIX:
Dr. Zhivago IT IS.

***heads out door to DVD rental store, then backsteps***

BY THE BY,
FOR MORE Six Word Saturdayisms

go to our fearless instigator’s blog:

CATE’S PLACE,
a veritable "chock-full" of others
present life descriptions
in a phrase using just six words.
Obviously, I got carried away...

Good weekend be with you,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~ *

P.S.

Merry Christmas in July!

COME ON! YOU DIDN’T think I’d actually let you
get away without seeing at least one Chihuahua,
didja? LOL!

RIP, my Mollo and Drea.

The Magic That Is Me!

"I DON’T PRETEND to have the answers. I don’t pretend to even know what the questions are. Hey, where am I?"
–Jack Handey

Happy
JACK HANDEY
Friday!

I THOUGHT IT MIGHT be do-yourself-a-BIG-favor worth your while mildly amusing if, every so often, I

spill.

YOU KNOW, TELL you a wad about me: points of interest that might otherwise remain un-naked to the human eye, or as un-plain as the nose on my regular blog entries? By now, you must be edge-of-your-seaty to hear my true confessions! Am I right, or am I right? Okay...

Bear with me anyway?

THANKS! I’ll take it slow,
building up steam over the course.

The Magic That Is Me:
Installment No. 1

Detail of "Flight to Egypt" by Flemish artist, David Gerard (1460-1523)
Way ago, Baby Jesus and I had so much more in common.
He would later give up the plastic green grapes for Lent,
and never look back.

1. WHEN I WAS just a smitch, I was a closet green grape chewer. I’d likely still be chawing, if I could get my hands on some of those artificials like the way they use to make them.

Floating utensils by Shelfterrific

2. I ABSOLUTELY ABHOR washing silverware. Yes, people, I still live in the Stone Age: no dishwasher other than myself. (Make that pre-Stone Age? Wilma Flintstone beat me to the punch with that automatic Woolly Mammoth. Gonna have to check a timeline to see exactly where I fit in. Hmm. Perhaps I’m Old Paleolithic and didn’t even knowlithic! But definitely NOT a poet and KNOW IT, huh?) It’s understandable then, that a while back, I started routinely sailing a fork or spoon down the garbage disposal, just to shave a few years off my silverware washing life.

3. I’M DREAMING of a White Christmas (Fooled ya!)
Seriously, I’m dreaming of an

Adirondak.

I’M CERTAIN, once you get to Heaven, everyone gets one. It’s one of the perks. That's what The Place is all about. Perks. I’m going to ask for green.

4. I MISS

Pixie and Dixie.

GUYS, YOU MADE ME what I am today. ***fondly chuckles*** Remember what the King of the Ungrammatical Lament use to say? "I hate them meeces to pieces!" Wrong-o, Mr. Jinx, WRONG-O!

AND IN conclusion:

5. I prefer drinking from a cup, rather than from a glass. And I go out of my way to make it happen, because everything, I repeat,

(Good God! Yet another blog installment
with a Chihuahua in it?! THE HUMANITY!!!)

EVERYTHING

tastes better coming from a cup. Ever treat yourself to a cup of salad? I kidjunot, lettuce and it’s fixings yums much, MUCH better when served in a

curvy-handled,
floral-patterned vessel

"The pellet with the poison's
in the vessel with the pestle;
the chalice from the palace
has the brew that is true !"

SORRY.

Sidetracked.

AND WHAT A WAY to keep a grip on serving portions. Mash potatoes, corn on the cob... ANYTHING! And I’m also convinced Coke Zero doesn’t loot your teeth of enamel, if it makes it to your lips via a teacup. No teacup? Grab a mug!

This one definitely says,

Ice Cream?!
Make mine French Vanilla!

***taps the boxed Pink Riesling and raises a cup, no doubt***

AHHH, my friend, ahhh!
HERE’S TO that "Allakazam!"
in all of us!

AND, YES, I CAN name that valediction in
THREE WORDS:

Yours magically deliciously!

SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

RIP, my Mollo and Drea.

Mind In the Gutter

I AM HAVING A BLAST with the
"Let’s Go Bowling!"
mail theme
at Cpaphil’s VINTAGE POSTCARDS:

SPECULATION:
WHICH IS the losing team that will be drinking
post-game beer from the opposing team’s bowling shoes?

COME ON!

I’m talking to you,
COME ON,

JOIN the fun!

(I am a computer dolt, DON'T click here.)

AT

( DO CLICK HERE!)

FOUR WORDS: Right up my alley!

At the break of the boards,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

RIP. My Mollo , Drea, and Senorita Gidget.

Doggone

Gidget
1994 - July 22, 2009
GONE, BUT NOT forgotten.

Forever in our hearts.

FOUR WORDS:
"Think outside the bun."

Eat up.
She would have wanted it that way.

Respectfully,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

RIP, my Mollo, Drea and adios, Senorita Gidget.

Pennies From Heaven

Image by Charles Dawley

"YOU’RE TRAVELING THROUGH another dimension -- a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. That's a signpost up ahead. Your next stop: The PUPPET ZONE !"
–Rod Serling, sort of

"A Penny for Your Thoughts"
starring TV’s Bewitched Dick York,
The Twilight Zone, Season 2, Episode 18 (1961)

MY DAUGHTER’S TWO CENTS always have
me rolling on the floor:

PUPPET: (gazing out the car window as we tooled through the neighborhood last Saturday morning, watching religious faith-peddlers do just that, door-to-door) If I had to be an urban missionary, I’d get a Segway.

SIX WORDS:
Ba da bing ba da boom!

SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

RIP, my Mollo and Drea.

A Rose by Any Other Name Would "Sound" as Sweet, Unless "Taste" Takes Over

TODAY, I’M IN NEED of "something"
to mollify me. Cool my jets.
Retread my tired

tires,

or Back-On-Track-Me-Already , if you will. And one word should do it. In fact, I KNOW it will. Do you ever feel that way? Get that way? When the thought, or utterance of a mere word can put the sparkle back? Brush your nap in the right direction? D'ya know what I’m talking about? I think it’s some variation on Synesthesia (because sometimes an apple sounds like a primary color?), this extension of a dissociative disorder (because things are not always as pleasant as they first appear LOL!) that I’ve never gotten around to assigning a Farkled label to.

PERHAPS SYNESTHESIA IS uncharted waters for you? Hmm. Well... uh... Let me see, then... AH-HAH! If you can answer "yes" to any of the following, then AHOY, MATIE! You’re onboard:

1. Can you see G-minor (or music in general)?

Mayhaps Peter Max is your iPodner?
That definitely counts.

2. Can you hear sweetness? WAIT! Where are you headed? Rats! I’m losing you, aren’t I? Really and tah-ruly, PLEASE reconsider. I’m talking fair shake, here, NOT jokeblog. Honestly, looksee:

***opens mouth widely***

What’d I tell you?
NO tongue-in-cheek!

3. Can you taste the shiny, smooth tabletop as your cat’s (or dog’s) toenails meet it during that checkup at the vet’s?

4. Can you feel cigar smoke? (No, seriously, set the aroma therapy aside. Can you actually feel it? THINK SPIDEY SENSE.)

5. Can you smell purple? How about green?

AND THEN THERE’S the word thing:

6. Does one single, solitary thought or the sound of a particular word send you joyously reeling to the day that should have been?

NUMBER SIX IS the one I most identify with. It’s kOoKy, I know, but I keep several special words stashed, to fall back on during "the times that try men’s souls." (Thomas Paine also had a way with words.) You know, daubers down days, painfully sleepless nights-into-AMs, "Calling Back So Soon, Mom?" phone calls, etc.

PARDON? SURE! I’D be glad to share a few of my "among thems" whicha: glitter, cupolo, sprinkle, Esther, frilly, patina, cookie, sparkle (Naturally, sparkle’d be in the mix!), lithe, cupcake, doily... Are any of these striking a cord with you? Likely NOT, huh?-- being they are from my personal collection and all. (So, if you got ‘em --others of very your own--, now’s your chance to share ‘em!)

THE WORD THAT’S my verbal

smelling salts today, though, is

***drum roll*** ( <— Didja see it?! Didja?!

Come on. Somebody out there
must have just seen the music. LOL!)

furbelow!

YES, IT’S PROBABLY safe to assume that to the majority, furbelow is a noun meaning a pleated or gathered piece of material used as a decoration on a gown or woman's garment, such as a petticoat. In other words, a ruffle whose contemptuous plural (furbelows) is saved for showy ornaments or trimmings. (*** the "worst" mind-crosses*** YIKES! Now that I’ve put furbelow in print, I can probably expect increased traffic from lewd Google searchers as well! EW! It’s a mad, mad world isn’t it? LOL!)

BUT, TO ME, furbelow is a Heath Bar ice cream bar (Yeah, they use to make them!) eaten while nestled under the wing of a larger than life Guardian Angel of some kind, whose white feathers I can feel breathing.... in... and... out... in... and... out... and it is all too good to be true and then I am little again, and riding on the downy back of a tiny Nuthatch, soaring through the cold of snow skies, and I am renewed and the day becomes MINE once more!

***catches breath***

Furbelow!

I WANT TO SHOUT it from the rooftops!

FURBELOW!

OH, HOW I LOVE this part of me that IS me! Please, if this isn’t working for you, if it is so entirely foreign that you’re thinking about assisting me with putting on one of those wrap-around, white jackets, feel free to live vicariously through the furbelow I insist on repeating, instead. It promises nothing more than exhilaration and delight and, and... the LASSOING OF THE MOON! Tell me, do you really want to turn THAT down?!

TWO WORDS: fReAkY sixth-sense

***returns from a short ride on the Wayback Machine***

YOU KNOW, come to think of it,
I was never one to use

a pacifier

(Yep. American Idol David Cook and I were separated at birth.)
when I was a baby.

BUT I DO REMEMBER my mother telling me
I began speaking at a remarkably early age.

Totally placated,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

RIP, my Mollo, Drea, Mr. Cronkite, and Gordon Waller.