As the low pressure system sweeps in, and the temperatures cool off to something approaching bearable, the dust bunnies come out in full force. This year they have a complete dust bunny army. They don’t have any tanks or anything, but they have the uniforms, and they sure march like they’re a real army and know what they’re doing.

I know lots of people like to line the streets when the weather does this weather thing that it does and watch the dust bunnies roll into town. This year we are advising people not to do this. Because of the size of the army and the number of weapons the dust bunnies will be marching with, we don’t want to take any chances. We don’t have a dust bunny ambassador yet, and have no idea if they are peaceful or not. The fact that they formed an army worries us, and seems to indicate that their intentions may be partially hostile.

At this time we recommend keeping a safe distance from any dust bunny soldiers and treating them as if they are potentially dangerous. Do not throw things at them or try to mop or broom them. Just stay in your homes, pull down the curtains, and hope for the best.

Some days it seems like the grocery store only has warbly muffins. I really don’t like warbly muffins. I mean, I really don’t like them.

There are many reasons. For instance, you can never tell what color they are. I always like to know what color my food is before it gets chewed up by my foodchewers.

Secondly, if you plant them in front of your window hoping for a snazzy window muffin tree, you’ll be pretty disappointed. What you’ll have growing in that pot won’t be anything you can rightfully call a “tree.” Shrubbery, possibly. Muffin bush, also a possibility. But certainly no muffin snazziness here. Not from some kind of second-rate warbly grocery store muffin.

So, to all the stores trying to pass off warbly muffins as edible and plantable, I have this to say to you: “No thank you, kind sirs. I will frequent your grocery establishment less frequently due to the implementation of your new muffin policies and procedures.”

My snake keeps wanting to out and play outside, but if it starts raining he can never make it back inside before getting soaked. So I made him a roof.

It’s a very stylished thatched roof that attaches directly to the snake and keeps him over 98% dry in even the heaviest rain. So far it’s even stood up to a decent hail storm without damage. With his cool new roof, my snake can play outside in almost any weather.

Before he’d always find a potential victim, spend the time to learn their habits, defenses, and weaknesses, only to have all that effort be wasted when he had to slither back inside. Now he can continue on for the kill without worrying about the forecast. My next project is going to have to be a trophy room addition, because he’s rapidly filling up the space he has now with mementos of all of his victims.

I’m so proud. And he just looks so cool with that roof. All his snake peers agree, and are insanely jealous. I could probably retire young and rich by going into the snake roof business, just from all the attention it’s getting. But I wouldn’t do that to my snake. He’s a unique and beautiful snowflake of a snake, and he might eat me if I mess with his uniqueness.

Currently in post-production for visual effects work, and coming soon to a theater near you, here’s the movie script for Crazy Pony and Highlighter.

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At the end of the road was the end of the world. Freg didn’t expect to see that there, but there it was.

Freg was trying to get to the Lampshade District, and took a wrong turn somewhere around 51st street. He was pretty sure that he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere, but he just kept going, figuring it would all work out in the end. It usually does, after all. But no, here he was, at a dead end street that had the end of the world sitting at the end of it.

“Hey!” Freg shouted at the end of the world.

The end of the world continued to ignore him. You can’t really blame it, it was busy ending things.

“You there!” Freg tried again.

Still more ignoring.

Freg decided to give up and turn around. He soon found the elusive Lampshade District, bought the lampshades that he so desperately needed, and lived for several more days without thinking about the end of the world at the end of the street.

And then, of course, the end of the world did its thing and ended the world, which made Freg go, “Oh, yeah, I remember that…”

I never know where to begin. Should I begin in the middle, so I can spread out in both directions and reach the beginning and the end at just about the same time?

Or maybe start about a third of the way through, so that most of the time I’m moving naturally forward, with a smaller amount of backwards time just to spice things up.

I could always just start at the beginning and go straight through to the end, but that seems boring. If I did that I’d risk everyone throwing glasses of water at me out of sheer boredom, and I don’t think I want to risk that.

Obviously, starting at the end and working back to the beginning wouldn’t make any sense.

I don’t know what to do. Randomize it and just jump around in time? Invent some new dimension of time and do something funky with that?

So many choices, so few choices that make any sense. That just leaves me having no clue where to begin, as usual. Maybe next time I’ll just flip a coin, and then begin on the edge of the coin. From there I can expand to the front or the back surface of the coin, whichever seems the most natural at the time. And then once the coin is covered, if I’m lucky it will be a natural progression to both the beginning and the end of the story. If I’m unlucky, of course, I’ll probably wind up swallowing the coin and getting it stuck in my throat, and wind up leaving the audience clueless about beginnings, ends, or how to properly handle coins.

There’s just no winning move, is there?

On Fridays I hop
And then glue things together
Because it’s Friday

That’s what Fridays do
Make me hop and glue all day
Don’t you do that to?

Eleventy million people knocked on my door this morning. Early, early in the morning, before I’d even hung up my morning wallpaper in the bathroom.

“What do you crazy millions of people want so crazy millions of early in the morning?” I mumbled up at the ceiling.

“We’re outside, not on the ceiling today!” they spoke in unison.

“My bad.”

I turned away from the ceiling. In other words, I showed the ceiling the top of my head. The ceiling was totally impressed by my top-hair. It stared and stared.

When I left the house the ceiling cried a little bit. In sadness. Because it wouldn’t be able to look at the top of my head for a few hours, and that would make anyone cry with sadness.

Poor ceiling. Have a cookie.

Sammy burped in my tomato soup. “But why?” I pleaded. “Hoppity diggin’”, he said.

I carefully removed one of his burps and isolated it for later study and microscopification. Once again, he said “Hoppity diggin’”, only this was a sad hoppitydiggin’, not the ecstatic hoppitydiggin’ of earlier.

You might ask if Sammy was then hit by a falling moving van. I wouldn’t burp in your soup if you asked me that, so go ahead. But I can tell you now that, no, he wasn’t.

Have you ever counted your burps? Today I have 14 ready to go. I’d take a picture for you but they hate flash photography. It makes their skin glow, I think. Silly little guys.

Hello there, Tuesday
At least you’re not a Monday
I thank you for that.