Pnårp’s docile & perfunctory page

Pnårp enviously outdid his own chronic witless boobery with even more hopelessly repetitive stupidity.

Pnårp surmised that a badger destroyed that toilet, fish cannot be milked, raccoons can, and the bird is always the word.

Pnårp watched it snow crabs and snow leopards this week—but at least it wasn’t raining cats and dogs again.

Pnårp was inspired by some buttocksless rats to write a paper about turn signals and measuring reptiles.

Pnårp wished everyone a glorious Sefernday, as ducks went extinct and all the pepperoni trees died.

Pnårp had a highly-polished experience quacking it up in a woodland swamp.

Pnårp is kept up at night thinking about how much of everything we see… is all chickens.

Pnårp muddled about, mumbling about mulberries in his mulbiary and mubbleducks mubbling about in his mubbliary.

Pnårp recounts tales of a sanctimonious old iceberg and an oversized capybara.

Pnårp meandered through succinct vignettes: A nobody, parkways, a chair, Carparkers, a viscous revelation, more nothin’, underdunkery, overdunkery, disjection, sonority, and pandas.

Pnårp worked his way through horrors lunatic, martial, mercurial, jovial, frigging, saturnine, and sundry.

Pnårp found himself in a letterbox desert, ambled down to the post office, and finished his philatelic adventure with one word: “Slechtstschrijvend!”

This week, Pnårp countenanced a fistfight and a fishwright, went wyoming, teased a paper shredder, and maximized his jerkassity.

Pnårp did not get his eyes pecked out this week.

On the back of a really, really big fish, Pnårp traversed the globe to transform a piscatorial purveyor of fishy footwear into beetle food!

Pilfered pink slime leads to a brouhaha, a headless chicken crashing a dance party, and corn in all the right places.

For the 500th time, Pnårp cwæþ a lot of things this week, and a lot of them in quotation marks, too!

Pnårp recounts three stories, tightly woven and inextricably linked, of goats, of presidents, and of pigs feet.

This week, flurries of bleating led to a disassembled couch, crevices full of goats, and a cat named Nurdlebutt.

Pnårp recounts a story of arms and of hammers, of baking soda, and of using a katydid in ways God never imagined.

Time passed, goats burped, cheese impacted, fnords appeared, plumbing came unplumbed, and then there was that Roman emperor who…

In quieter moments, Pnårp wonders about the dichotomy between cross-eyed and wall-eyed.

Of many varied and sundry things Pnårp wrote this week, because of many varied and sundry things that happened to him (and some that didn’t).

Damnable mammals squat in Pnårp’s appliances—a pangolin, a rat, and lawn-choking kudzu.

Pnårp was being anything and everything this week, sometimes two halves of something else at a time!

Pnårp wanted to open a kennel and breed narcoleptic dogs, like Stanford University did.

Pnårp perused the menu while a stray customer wandered by.

The eelgrass undulated.

Pnårp concluded this week that it didn’t make sense.

Pnårp cursed mightily upon many, many more things this week.

Pnårp swore mightily upon many things this week.

What’s for dinner?

Fish don’t have feet, tomatoes don’t have toes, and some people end up looking like lumpy potatoes when hairless.

Pnårp almost snapped his cortex in twain this week, the culmination of lithovory, oppilation, ostentation, and ultimate relieving easement.

Pnårp simmered down and got back to blogging—several times this week.

Pnårp was exactly six feet three this week—hanging from the rafters, upside-down, like a bat.

Pnårp was exactly six feet tall this week—all week, every day, every hour, and every minute.

Pnårp’s teeth grew longer, his hair shorter, his nose smellier, and his old car tire piles ever higher.

A poetry recital at the Abecedarium was enveloped in nightmares—of squid, of gnomes, and of eyeless potatoes.

Tuesday wouldn’t stop coming this week.

“Muu-uu-ugghh.”

Trapped under foot upon foot of snow with only pen and paper, Pnårp composed a treatise on Hollywood cavemen and quantum gumbidynamics.

Pnårp tried to catch a fly in his eyelashes but instead ended up with…

Pnårp experienced a nightmare about bagels and an ode to a gaggle of geese, then learned his trees had all flowered and his milk had all soured!

Pnårp wandered backwards through history and reminisced about square chickens, the Historiograph, mixotrophs, and using live rodents to get online.

People ask, “Who is Pnårp?”

A mystery presented itself this week: Whence came this coat hanger?

Pnårp endeavored to be both isotropic and homogeneous at the same time, failed, but still startled a clutch of confused cosmologists.

Pnårp never knew precisely how many squirrels there were.

Pnårp donned his Möbius belt and went on a Möbius trip.