Pnårp’s docile & perfunctory page

Pnårp celebrated the Sefernday by floating down a river, issuing his own Pragmatic Sanction, and hiding that eggplant before it was too late!

Plårp recounted how hiding in holes, eating crayons, and listening to gnomish alienists are bad for your health.

Pnårp found there are no more bagels, because there were no more bagels.

Pnårp found there were no more bagels, and there are no more bagels.

Pnårp hemmed and hawed, dawdled and dillydallied, and even shillyshallied.

Pnårp has no idea what he’s writing anymore.

Pnårp wondered about a lot of words as he wandered around wondering what the unholy hecklegroober was going on.

Hypnagogic hallucinations, feral geese, synapse-rewiring ants, and pumpkin spice toenail polish visited Pnårp this week.

Pnårp experienced parasitological overimaginative verisimilitude, formication followed by disinsection, and concluded with a torrent of shrieking and hooting.

Pnårp discovered a novel way to keep the voluminous amount of trash blowing about his front yard under control.

Pnårp suffered expensive disasters, queued up some Q-Tips, then took that as his cue to tiptoe off.

Pnårp heard a wild eep at a gas pump but only saw a duck-man and a seven-foot-tall Ouagadougouan.

Pnårp continued battling bugs, then a television, then an oil tank, then a staircase.

Pnårp noshed, contended with precious metal bugs, failed, lived in starlight, pondered many questions, then snapped out of it.

Pnårp may be unsure if a nipple can nibble, but a diet of worms while riding a tiger would do wonders for Hoover.

Pnårp fought off a flock of armless, fingerless birds, had no explanation for things, then sank back into the mud from whence he came.

Pnårp wondered why so many streets are just endless rows of houses or commercial buildings.

Pnårp meditated on vinegar, vim and vigor, and other minutery best left up to wiser men to pontificate about.

Pnårp experienced rampant uncertainty, ghastly confusion, worrying wonderment, no ideas, no knowledge, ungrulious unsurety… but then sudden surety and certainty.

Pnårp realized this week that it’s all over.

Pnårp makes a lot of simple statements.

Pnårp questioned why things happened.

Pnårp mused upon many a-topic, then sank back into the mud from whence he came.

Pnårp recounts the tale of how he went from Frosted Flakes to oatmeal cookies to bagels, by way of fungus and magic.

For Pnårp this week, things were looking up.

Pnårp was left transfixed, perplexed, and even duplexed this week, as even stranger things were afoot—tadpoles, crocodiles, and other things that don’t fit in a toilet bowl.

Pnårp jaunted around town in a fez, Becasue in her cowbells, and then there was mooing and cheese on fire.

Pnårp’s purple prose asphyxiated due to insufficient spooning for more.

Pnårp opined in a most opinionated manner—on pines, onions, pinions, and more.

Pnårp expiscated some sage advice this week: “Never put a fish in your car.

Pnårp watched spring spring, his onions hatch, and his chickens sprout.

Pnårp’s nose may not be the best-smelling device he owns but it is the best smelling device he owns.

Pnårp raised more questions than he answered this week.

Pnårp watched the Sun hide behind the Moon this week, then questioned how many geese it would take to do the same.

Pnårp dealt with a colorful catastrophe, shampooed a rug, pledged his loyalty to a ficus tree, and cranched an ocelot.

Pnårp enjoyed a traditional Easter of meaty rabbit and grasshopper pie, but the mincemoose was not to be.

Pnårp discovered the new season of sprintermmertumng this week, as winter molested spring, summer tried to horn its way in, and autumn just sat back and watched… waiting.

Pnårp went digging for the joke in here somewhere.

Pnårp celebrates 25 years of bloggish zanity by abandoning everything and busing it up to Athabasca, only to trudge home sadly bereft of both turtles and dinosaurs.

Pnårp made some furry gingerbread, headed a pig, and fisted a ham.

Pnårp saw Fords, fnords, Kias, and then went “pfnk!”

With sufficient thrust, pigs fly just fine.

Pnårp is sometimes agape with agape, but he’s also agape at all the Gulphs in Conshohocken.

Pnårp knew angry monkey syndrome wasn’t far behind and his dishwasher was working in reverse now.

Pnårp always enjoyed watering those water clocks—but try as he might, he cannot catch that rabid rabbit that made off with his scalp.

Pnårp endured the mockery of trillions of angry snowflakes while rotating in place and disappointing a pangolin.

Pnårp remembered when he was a computer, then adorable little snowflakes fell from the sky.

Pnårp tapered himself back on a diet of tapered candles, taped candies, and tapped cans.

Pnårp cobbled together a pair of cobblestone shoes, recounting his past life in 1886 as a master cobblestoner.

Pnårp jingled in the new year, asshat on head and leisure suit not far behind, by reminiscing about his previous life in 1950 as a whitewall whitener.