You've Just Crossed Over Into...

HEY, Microfiction afictionado-type pals,
and welcome to another fun-loving chapter of

Microfiction Monday,

sponsored by our hostess with the mostess Miss Susan at Stony River, where the good-natured pandemonium is all about a picture painting a betweenable 140 characters or even fewer! (For more frolic, click the side-barring MM button-->)

IT WAS INSPIRATION at first sight, I tell ya!
One look at

this week’s image
(posted last Sunday for Microfiction Monday participants to
week-long consider before coming up with a tale to go with it)

and The Magic That Is Me (a-hem) instantly knew what I’d be up to with it! But heck, how in the world was I ever going fit all "that" in and still keep it regulation size? Just when I was about to chuck the whole idea, my good friend Tim Gunn pops in. Swiping away the towel I was about to throw in, he replaces it with his personal copy of a rebus how-to book (<– It’s been in Tim's family for years.) and kindly delivers a directive:

THREE WORDS:

"Make it work."
　
"Here's goes nothing! " I eagerly responded.

Proudly presenting

THE FRUIT OF MY LOOM:

*cues blog band and The Twilight Zone theme song music begins*




through another

a

only of

and

of

Jour + into a

+ drous

whose

that of the imagination.

That’s a

up ahead:
your next

The

Zone!
--109 characters

TRANSLATION: *channels Rod Serling, cigarette and all (But I don't inhale.)* "You are 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 the imagination. That’s the signpost up ahead: your next stop: The SparkleFarkle Zone!"

That’s all she wrotely,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Rest peacefully, my Mollo and ZuZu.

Image Credits:
The Twilight Zone: smh.com.au
Tim Gunn: luello.com
suitcases: BostonHerald.com
knot: abundancesecrets.com
sound: SoundPlusDesign.com
ciggie butt: promotionalpropsandcostumes.co.uk
mind: ntute.ac.uk
doll knee: fashiondollempire.blogspot.com
number one: zazzle.com

Bad to the Bone. Bad to the Bone. B-B-B-B-Bad to the Bone. B-B-B-B-Bad. B-B-B-B-Bad. Bad to the Bone.

HELLO-hello, Microfiction afictionados,

and welcome to another fun-loving chapter of

Microfiction Monday,

sponsored by our hostess with the mostess Miss Susan over tah Stony River, where the good-natured pandemonium is all about a picture painting a betweenable 140 characters, or even fewer! (BY THE BY: Thank you, Susan! It’s quite plum to be invited to this lavish party every week! <– It, too, being the perfect excuse to wear my finest jewelry and outfit at the keyboard, I jump at the chance --thanks, again! Second BY THE BY: For other participant's flashtales, "Click" the sidebarring Microfiction Monday button -->)

Here’s
THIS WEEK’S IMAGE
and MY STORY:

"DINNER WILL BE a little late," announced Too Close to the Tank Tina, looking for Band Aids after feeding the pet piranha. –122 characters

ROOM FOR ONE more? One for the road? By all means, be my guest!

THREE WORDS:

Double your pleasure!

(Arrogant of me, I know. My apologies.
BUT IF IT WAS GUM, YOU WOULDN'T HESITATE FOR A MINUTE. Lol!)

READY TO TEAR his hair out, Ted anticipated Bev asking him "for the last time, I promise": Do I look fat???" –108 characters

Live it up-ly!
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Rest in peace, my Mollo and Zuzie.

Ceilings, Nothing More Than They’re In the Ceilings!!!

"IF YOU’RE ever selling your house, and some people come by, and a big rat comes out and he’s dragging the rattrap because it didn’t quite kill him, just tell the people he’s your pet and that’s a trick you taught him." –Jack Handey

HAPPY
Jack Handey
FRIDAY, sweet bloggy cohorts!

"Onion skins very thin, mild winter coming in;
onion skins thick and tough, coming winter cold and rough."
–Anonymous pioneer farm wife with paring knife in hand and having at "it"

SOME WEATHER folklore is repeated in catchy phrases or rhymes. But it’s not a selective-memory-y verse that us Farkles fall upon each year to gain perspective on whether or not we should sharpen the family snow shovel just yet. Nope and it’s not a Wooly Bear caterpillar, whose pipe cleaner body has become more black than rusty-orange, soothingsaying we’re in for a harsh winter (<--of which I can promise you right now, we definitely are. And I’m talking Insanely cold and Insanely snowy, both with capital "I"s. And, at any minute now, it’s going to come knocking at your door!) that we're listening to either. Nor backyard squirrels already wearing their fur coats heavier, our weather indicators be. OR a high August ground fog-count, OR katydids over-"doing," OR even time-tested persimmon kernels shaped like spoons when halved, that we put our trust in enough to wake up our warm mitties, snoods and parkas from their summertime hibernation. Nope, again, and nosireebob.

INSTEAD, OVER THE NEARLY three decades that we’ve lived in our house, we’ve come to read a different clue from the natural world, which we honor as our great-snows-ahead predictor: the tried and true Lots of Rolling Thunder.


SUMMER HAD ONLY just stepped into August (<--way, waaay too early, I tell you; read on–->), when the Farkle household began hearing what sounded like about 60 thousand very small "elephants" on their way to a peanut spill, overhead. Throughout our entire pointy, little house, our ceilings are knotty pine-planked with space enough between the plaster and the wood for any mouse who just happens to be passing through, to fast and fearlessly do just that. Back and forth across the ceiling, if it wants to. Did I mention "incessantly"? INCESSANTLY. And, it typically WANTS TO.

WE HAVE ALWAYS had a small trickle of meeses making themselves to home at the our place during the winter months. Yes, a controllable lot who would soon be scared off when they realised certain furred and tailed members of our family with catnip on their breaths meant business (or at least faked it well.)

BUT EVERY night since August first, the Lots of Rolling Thunder continues. Never have we "earred" so many mice pitter-pattering over us at one time! Scurry-actively setting up camp early, we guess. Yeah, it’s cRiNgE-worthy alright. Almost poltergeisty!

"People, I just want to say, you know, can we all get along?"
--Our cat Noddy, tastelessly stealing a line from Rodney King

EVEN CREEPIER is having to watch two of the three capable cats that live under our roof, braiding Friendship bracelets to dole out to potential mouse pals, instead of sending out animal vibes to these grey imposers, as to tell them who’s boss. (Our third furball seems to have also "resigned," as she’s been stockpiling cheese for our "guests" since about the tenth, thereabouts.)

YEP. Every year near its summer’s end (but much sooner than we expected, this go ‘round --like I said), we literally get "a message from above" telling us how to prepare for long-range winter weather conditions, that of which we tah-ruly look forward to, no kidding. WE LOVE SNOW! And hold onto your beanies, because it looks like we’re in for some BIG stuff!

SO, I’M NOT complaining. Really, I'm not. About that, anyway. *knits sleepless eyebrows together and puts hands to hips* But these late night, "up there" parties have got to stop! Do you know what’s worst than spying a MAJOR throng of mice? NOT seeing the 60 thousand of them who have taken over your livingroom ceiling!!! It’s just plain...SKIN-CRAWLY! Worthless cats...Where is the Pied Piper when you need him?! Or does he just do rats and children? Got any suggestions? I mean, how does one go about putting out a trap when your floorboards aren’t where they are suppose to be?

ONE WORD:
Velcro???

Sticky wicketly,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Rest in peace, my Mollo and ZuZu, whose help I could really use right now (a-hem).

Image Credit:
Snowmouse: China, etc.

I Think That I Shall Never See a Poem Lovely as a Tree...House

HERE'S WHAT I love:

treehouses!

I would eat acorns for every meal for the rest of my life if it would mean I could live in one. It would be a dream come true for me!
SO IT’S YESTERDAY and I am down-to-the-wire frantic!! Debbiedoos B & A Party is just a few short hours away and I have nothing to contribute. Zip. Zilch. Nada. I’ve gotta come up with some "before and after" magic that is me by morning, but I am fresh out. And my brain is drained.

I DECIDE to take a little break from racking my gourd for a start-to-finish craft idea (Yes, ME doing a craft project! Can you believe it?! Me either!) and plop myself down in front of the teedlely veedlely, where a rerun from my all-time favourite sitcom,

Roseanne,
is airing.

It’s the episode that finds

newlyweds Becky and Mark
finally leaving

the Conner nest

and moving into their first "home": a tin can wedged into a trailer park in which the best thing about it (a-hem) is its perpetually bathrobe-clad, flask-toting manager

played by Sharon Stone.

THIRTY MINUTES LATER, the show ends and so do any thoughts I’m having about Becky and Mark's less than craptastic living situation. OR SO I THINK.

NEXT UP on the tube: a repeat performance of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. It took watching it all the way up to the part where Ty Pennington megaphones the order "Bus driver, move that bus!!" before BINGO!!! A GIANT lightbulb finally goes on over my head. "I will help Becky and Mark!" I shout with glee, strapping on a rogue tool belt that just happens to be passing through. (<– Talk about your dumb luck!)

HERE’S MY

"before."

HERE'S THE

"progression."

AND HERE’S MY

"after"!

(Pretty ambitious of me, eh?)

SEVEN WORDS:
You’re welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Healy!

Remember: a tree is known by its fruit-ly,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Rest in peace, my Mollo, Zu Zu, and Glenn Quinn (May 28, 1970 - December 3, 2002).

Image credits:
Treehouse community originally downloaded at majorlycool.com
Roseanne shots: sitcomsonline.com

"Armour" Hot Dog

HELLO-hello, Microfiction afictionados and welcome

to another fun-loving chapter of

Microfiction Monday

sponspored by the hostess with the mostest Miss Susan over tah Stony River, where the good-natured pandemonium is all about a picture painting a betweenable 140 characters or even fewer! (BY THE BY: Thank you, Susan! It’s quite plum to be invited to this lavish party every week! <– It being the perfect excuse to wear my finest jewelry and outfit at the keyboard, I jump at the chance. Thanks, again!)

Here’s
THIS WEEK’S IMAGE
and MY STORY:

"...and I will call him ‘Pedro’!" exclaimed a suddenly inspired Señor Wences, while touring a Medieval castle during a career slump. --133 characters

EIGHT WORDS borrowed from D. Rowland, 1586:

When one doore is shut, the other openeth.

SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Rest in peace, my Mollo and ZuZu. Pray Pumpkin comes home.
Image Credit: Pedro and Senor Wences originally featured at povonline.com

No Joke

BRACE YOURSELVES, Jack Handey Friday stop-byers, it looks like I’m going to have to scrub this week’s Handeyism. According to my horoscope, I will be in the shop for some (hopefully) minor repairs:

ARIES (March 21 - April 19)

PAIN WILL BE yours this week when the Man from Nantucket finally hears all the terrible things you’ve been writing about him.

SERIOUSLY, though, and I kid you not,

this SparkleFarkle is clean.

BELIEVE ME, it’s true. I am pretty much always the unbending arrow: I drive the squeaky-clean joke-cab and pick up only the good stuff. That is to say, I try to steer clear of holy crapola humor. Yep, much to the chagrin of the Andrew Dice Clayers and Richard Pryorers who like to think they run in my circle, I prefer the told-less-and-less-nowadays clever laughs, many times found in such ditties as:

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all his ca$h in a bucket.
But his daughter named Nan
Ran away with a man
And as for the bucket, Nantucket.

YEAH, TO ME that is funny! (Although, I must admit, the word "penis" DOES lend itself to laugher. LOL!) And by the by, the real excuse for why I have temporarily vamoosed is because

I haven’t been sleeping well lately

and I thought I’d try catching up, starting right about NOW. (I can’t speak for Jack, though, other than to say he is Heckle to my Jeckle. Jack Handey Fridays are nothing if him and I aren’t “we.” (<--OH. GOOD. GOD. STOP. ME. I sound like a line from a Lifetime Movie Network movie!) Thank you for understanding and

NINE WORDS:

“SEE YOU next week
with a brand new show!”
–Heckle and Jeckle filling in for Jack and Me

I’m scheduled for a lobotomy-ly ,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Sweet dreams, my Mollo and ZuZu.

The Man: Zazzle.com
Zelda Runestein originally downloaded at StupidCelebrities.net
Carol Anne originally downloaded at The Austn Chronicle

Wedding Bell Blues

GLAD TIDINGS, Microfiction afictionados
and welcome to another fun-loving chapter of

Microfiction Monday
hosted by Miss Susan over tah Stony River,
where the good-natured pandemonium is all about
a picture painting a betweenable 140 characters
(or even fewer)!

Here’s
THIS WEEK’S IMAGE
and MY STORY:

DAYS AFTER the altar no-show, a shattered and still tuxedoed Bill brought in his mail. –- 86 characters

SEVEN WORDS:
Ding-dong. The bells aren't going to chime.

Hold the rice-ly,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Image Credit: escaping bride courtesy of GettyImages