http://www.lefthandedtoons.com/1167/

Nostrils.

Poop Monster at YOUR School? No...

Not in the mood for imagery? Deal with it. I, slowly consuming an unhiemal ice cream sundae, sit on the couch in front of a ping pong table in the dark. An obese tabby rests at my side, safely sedated by a heaping serving of boiled mushrooms. What? She likes those. Unlike some people. The only light in the dark cave is the backlit surface of a lone iPad. I am clothed tastefully in PJ bottoms hitched well above the average ostrich, penguin, (abnormal mammal here) waistline, let alone the normal human's. Barely visible beneath my pants is a SCHRUTE FARMS BEETS T-shirt, belted at the waist and covered with the button-up top that matches my bottoms. An ensemble worthy of th most sophisticated abnormal mammal.

This state is my creative fertilizer. Now, with aformentioned image in mind, I begin your story. The story of a celestial friendship between Wooden Backscratcher (WB) and Him (PM).

One day, three vertically-challenged friendsies (Eoz, Seabass, and D) were shopping at AutoZone for bow-ties, taxidermied wedding-cake hats, and paper plates, all of which were going to furnish the trio's annual M.I.S.S.S.U.Z.I.E, or, Maybe Identifiable Sleezy Supper Shindig Under Zombie Influence Entertainer. This yearly bash reenacts every. Little. Thing. That ever happened to the three friends' mother group, The Elite Eighth, or simply The Eighth Grade. This faction of friendly families is forever free from froof, formalities, and formerly fusty floundering feet. (Even I will admit... Not my best alliteration ever.) Moreover, these nine uniquelings (Eoz, Sebass, D, Larkinator, Super Stephen, Meredith Browns, Jake the Player [Ms. Boyles, Miss Suzie?], Skylark, and AAM97) hold said party to inhale the warm, fuzzy, nostalgic memories of Gee, I Wish There Was A Perfect World In Which We Would Not Be Separated By Metaphorical Walls Of Society. With a zombie theme.

Back to the three friendsies. They were at AutoZone shoppi-- Wait... I somehow strayed from the Wooden Backscratcher Road. Allow me to imbibe in a personal moment lasting approximately 24 hours. In this moment, my thoughts shall reconvene into an entertaining tale of truth and triumph in the tough town of Terror. Also, a sickly alliteration.

The Problem with Cats

All of my pets are certifiably insane. Rosco, Tibby, Swayze: these are the members of the nationally aclaimed Schramm's Ward for Emotionally Vulnerable Mammals. Although all three are complete basket cases, today we focus our psychoanalysis upon Rosco.

Enjoying life on a hippy farm commune, Rosco was a kale-loving feline who often could often be found purring over some contraband catnip. His human subjects housed Rosco in a rickety barn loft with his siblings, meowing of peace and love and harmony until the cows literally came home. Then it all ended. I infiltrated the Woodstocky hollar to capture their beloved Rosco, and I offered him the chance to be the king of my urban shanty. Rosco, offended by my suggestions of mainstream hierarchy, lashed his spider-like legs and cried his petulant moans until the the curves of the broken Southern roads lulled him to sleep.

Weeks later, I still refused to fathom that I had commandeered such an immature, frustrating creature for my own. Rosco's aloof personality agreed with the city, but his heart remained with the gravel and chickens of down yonder. The backyard and beyond was his kingdom, and he came inside only for the drab yet mandatory meetings with the Purina bowl. Although our feud had reached a stalemate, Rosco knew that he had a clear advantage from the beginning. Only then did he realize that his personal situation was not going to improve unless he himself intervened.

Days passed, yet a solution had not been reached between girl and cat. I petted him, picked him up, fed him, only to be ignored or even scratched. Tibby, the reigning Schramm feline, was perfectly friendly with Rosco; the question was, "Why can't I?" That answer was locked within the impenetrable walls of Rosco's dysfunctional mind. I began to believe that our relationship was a lost cause, a burnt fuse put out by ignorance and disconnection. After all, were these traits not what humans are burned by in the real world without the help of cats?

Rosco and I are friends now. I came to understand that Rosco is Rosco and Larkin is Larkin, and they will get along if they truly want to. My other option was to become a lofty, catnip-smoking feline, but not everything is possible in this world.

RESUMATION STATION!!

Yes, minimal followers and subjects, RESUMATION is a word! It's definition is as follows: "the act of resuming work on a blog, specifically a blog based from Larkin's household. Commonly used by people of the genus Awesomenus Peoplas."

There ya go, folks. Resumation. I am resuming posting prodigious posts prior to playing ping-pong with a petite paddle. This blog will run solely as a personal creative outlet for myself, even if no one reads it but me, myself, or I. Your loss.

Since I enrolled in ------- High School, I feel that literally tons of stress has been placed upon any and every humorous bone in my body,including my humourus. (See what I mean? That is the highest joke caliber I've reached in a long time.) No, it's not stress, it is more of neglect. People at HHS have no use for my sort of funny, so the humor bone has shriveled and gone all floppy-like, somewhat like Miss Susie's facial skin-- the part around the, what do you call them, jowels.

So that explains the errant emails you have received, which detail everything from Madison-era anecdotes to pictures of "Don't Mess With Texas" bumper stickers. Please disregard these communications and accept that they are part of my strategy to regain my normal humor-bone functions. From now on, those emails will be posted here instead of clogging your mailbox with ludicrous megabytes of brain drool.

You know what this means, right? Am I mistaken? PREPARE YOUR MEASLEY SELVES FOR MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND FURTHER MORE AND MORE OVER AND MORE AND MORE BRAIN DROOL!!!!!!! Hopefully, said fluid will be delicately articulated and at best, somewhat entertaining.

Thank you,
L

Sorry, Sorry...

I am sorry, but I have been on a sort of break from blogging. I suppose the Poop Monster has gotten the best of me, from the Elusive Spring Performance to The Yearbook of Death.


I guess that these are all excuse for being lazy and procrastinating. Unusual.

Apologies,

Blog Proprietor

An Interim Installment

Between Sally's tragic story of community college-theme Snuggies in Santa's Land and the hallowed Easter Post, there is the thoroughly less holy "Interim Post." This year's is about (drum roll, please, it is a big surprise)... POOP!! So go ahead, indulge yourself by clicking on the Popular Science link below and learn to your heart's content about The Future of Poop.

THE POPULAR POOP LINK (YOU CLICK THIS)

A letter from the editor:

 So, I recently visited Santa's Land (cough, in a day-dream, eh-hem, cough). It was a thoroughly eerie experience that was enhanced by a preceding visit to Wal-Mart to pick up my Catawba Valley Community College-theme Snuggie, pictured below:

Don't you love it? It brings out my eyes. 

Anyways, I wanted to go to Wal-Mart because I needed a new accessory to wear to Santa's Land. If I didn't buy the Snuggie (it was $19.99), I would have had to wear my old Depends underwear over a floor-sweeping, tiered jean skirt, which is so last week. 

When I debuted my outfit at Santa's Land, everybody's jaws dropped to the ground. I looked so good! I was even wearing my hot new bedroom slippers, which were a great find at the local Plus-Sized Consignment Store. With those shoes on my feet, I knew where I was headed- the Elf Workshop of Doome. 

As my be-slippered legs crossed the threshold of the workshop, I could just feel the radioactive rays emitting from the mechanical Doome Elves while they crafted cheap toys for the undeserving children (and some adults) drooling at their feet. 

Evil elf employee #4 carving "ham" 

Suddenly, as a modicum of drool passed from the chapped lips of one of the workshop-worpshippers to the tasteful neon pleather shoe of an elf, IT HAPPENED. The elf-puppet EXPLODED into a fountain of fetid feces, flowing freely from and fro. Cacophonous crowds of caca-coated clients raged out of the Elf Workshop of Doome and into the rest of Santa's Land, spreading confusion everywhere, along with the scent of rotting defecation. 

I stood, a calm, fashionable beacon in the epicentre of this holiday-induced quake, observing the scene unfolding around me. The clouds suddenly opened, and a gigantic storm poured down upon the burning remnants of Santa's Land, a place that had held so many sentimental memories for me. 

I recall a voice booming over the land:  THE POOP MONSTER WAS HERE. 

And that was the last time I visited Santa's Land. 

Your loving editor, 

Sally MacFiber 

The Promised Post

And, finally the Burke Educational Tour group arrives at our final destination, The Promised Land Post.

 lets see i believe the poop monster graced the (southern accent) christian tours Ve-hickle . ( more commonly known as the coach) anyway i think the poop monster definitely made his presence known in the "emergency bathroom" at the back of the bus. how do we know this? well a certain someone had to use this bathroom NUMEROUS times and could not find the little button that said flush... well i ran out of steam there so um yeah i did my best. I guess i should add something about the god awful stink that practically killed the people in the back of the "coach". but i really have to do homework now.  - COOKIE MONSTER 

zack jake and alan were all rooming together and one of them plugged the toilet and another went on top of that so they called for the maintenance dude who well unplugged it....then later the same thing happened and they left it for the nxt pple to come lucky whoev they r :)  -AMELIA MANGAN 

who are you, cookie monster? we'll never know..... harharhar. Here is my contribution, and i have to say it was one of my favorite "On the Coach" moments. Here goes.....

A man walked onto a "bus" one rainy day, and was immediately confronted by a winged, fanged, and fairly frightening-looking creature. The creature snarled, "Mith Thuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuthy hath fouuuuuuuuuuund you!" And yes, she snarled with a lithp. She then followed that declaration with a variety of colorful words. The man, who was actually a lowly student but could be portrayed as Captain Jack Sparrow if you need more excitement in this anecdote, was unfazed and simply replied: "Did you just BS my biracial number seven?"


hardy har. back to mithith king'th mathththththth.........   - ANONYMOUS 

Thanks to all those who have participated so far. If any more miraculous comments arise, they will surely get a place here. 

Oops, I forgot.

St. Patrick's Day! I completely forgot! At least this saint has a good relationship with the Poop Monster, unlike Saint Valentine... 


     One day, Saint Patrick was floating ghostily along (because you can only become a saint after you die, annoyingly enough), sprinkling gold and clovers in his wake, when suddenly something hits him on the head, and it falls through him, because he is a ghost (and you can only become a saint after you die, annoyingly enough). 
     
     He looks up to see what rude form would purposely try to harm a saint, for saint's sake. "Now that I am dead, I don't have to be so saintly any more... So DARN YOU, FALLING..." Wait, what was it that fell again? Saint Patty (he hated that nickname, but he had to put up with it to be nice while he was alive, because you can only become a saint after you die, annoyingly enough) looked up, and he saw...


And he saw... 


AND HE SAW... 


The POOP MONSTER!!! MWAHAHA!!


Saint Patrick just laughed good-naturedly, because he is indeed a saint, and saints are usually saintly. 

The Sacred Earth Has Been Infected

NO, not the Sacred Land! I cannot believe His disciples have traveled that far, all the way to a different country: Cherokee, NC! Is this a foreshadowing of what is to come? Possibly.

Blog Name

Ehem, Ehem.

The time has come, the walrus said, to make a nice, concise way to say "Phenomena 13: the Poop Monster and Morphsuits." Because we all know that we say it frequently, and it is a bit of a mouthful.

So here it is:: P13TPMAM 

Yes! That is pronounced Pee-THUR-teen-tee-PEE-mam

Thank you, and may the Poop Monster bless you.

Say "Hello" Like You Mean It

Hello again.

Somebody needs to come up with some new ways to greet people these days. It's all, "Hey!" "How are you?" "What's up?" "Greetings!" "Hello again." 

Maybe the people who name Crayola crayons can help with that. They are good at coming up with names, right?  No, because then we would walk around, and whenever we had to say hey to somebody we know, we would say, "Wild Watermelon!" or, "Burnt Sienna!"  

So I think I will take the liberty to make up some new greetings on my own.  

Ahem. Here we go. 

1. "I saw you yesterday and now I saw you again right here."

2. "Frame store entrance!"  

3. "I would buy you something but I have no money so 'hello' will do." 

4. "I would buy you something but you just aren't worth it!" 

5. (this one works well) Just say "good-bye" ahead of time.

6. (say this one quietly to people you don't like) "Watch out, a car is coming..."  

Good-bye, and... watch out, a car is coming.

Unky the Bellhop

So, it looks like the Poop Monster just made a friend... UNKY THE BELLHOP!


Unky the Bellhop is just like your normal bellhop, large and green. Wait, what? Yes, that is what I meant. Large and green, and grape-ly. You see, Unky happens to be every green grape, while also balancing the task of hopping bells. Bellhopping.

So, you might ask, "Is this what Unky looks like?"

And I would say, "Heck, no!" 

Then you would be all, "Then is this what Unky looks like?" 

And I would be like, "NO! For the sake of The Poop Monster, get your Unky imaging right! This is what Unky looks like..."

"Duh!"

Unky The Bellhop Green Grape. Watch out, he might whisk your luggage away.

-l

Haaaapppy Birthday....

Happy birthday to you/Happy birthday to you/Happy birthday, dear Monnnnstteerrr..../Happy Poopday to youuuu!!!!


Soon it will be His Birthday! Yes! It is on the day of... Wait... He hasn't actually disclosed that date. Oh well, let's just say it is in February. Yep, the month of Saint Valentine. Did you know what there is an ancient feud between Saint Valentine and The Monster?

Saint Valentine 

Poop Monster

So here is the story...

Saint Valentine was walking out in the square one day (Valentine's Day Eve, actually), planning his annual Valentine's Celebration. This year, he had decided to release a flock of doves out over the crowd when the clock struck twelve, to symbolize Love and All That Jazz. 

Saint Valentine would keep the doves in the belfry, along with the bats. The bats would stay in there, though. No one had to know about them.  

Then, when the bells ring twelve, the doves would Totally Fuh-reak Out and exit the belfry dramatically, causing gasps and fainting among the crowd. Yes, Saint Valentine thought, that is just what we need at this year's celebration. With that, he retired to his chambers and went to sleep, awaiting the joyful Valentine's Day festivities tomorrow would bring.

Little did Saint Valentine know Who Else was hiding in the belfry that night... Someone who had also planned ahead for Valentine's Day, and that doesn't just mean buying some cheap cards for friends at the last minute. No, this planning was (relatively) elaborate:

The belfry-stowaway would secretly infect the bowels of the doves that would be released over the entire town tomorrow. He knew that nothing was worse than an epidemic of plagued, bird-poop covered villagers, so He went an extra mile and made sure that every single dove would bring a little more than Love and All That Jazz to the townsfolk tomorrow... 

I bet you can guess who our batty belfry guest was that night. Yes, it was the Poop Monster. 

(terrific screaming)

The Poop Monster had ensured that the flock of birds would let it rip over everyone on Valentine's Day, just to tick off ol' Saint Valentine. I mean, what had Valentine ever done wrong except from being a little to emotional sometimes? The nerve that Monster has, it just gets me. 

Anyways, Saint Valentine awoke that fateful Valentine's morn, he waited anxiously until noon. He headed out to the square, and he could just sense Love and All That Jazz floating in the air!! It was the best turnout yet: Almost every villager had packed into the town's center, awaiting the surprise Saint Valentine had in store for them this year.

DINGDONGDINGDONGDINGDINGDINGDONGDINGDING LALALALA , went the bells in the clock-tower.  

Majestically, hundreds of doves dove. The doves diving Dover, Delaware. Dive Diving Dove Dived. The doves dov flew out over the crowd, and their eyes squinted in awe at the miraculous sight.

Then they closed their eyes because poop got in them. 

And that is the story of how Saint Valentine and The Poop Monster got to be such good friends. 

Happy Valentine's Day! And happy birthday, P Monster!

INVASION!!!!!!!!

AHAHHAHHAHA! SCREAM!

Okay everyone, listen up: I don't know how SHE found this blog, but we are in GRAVE danger. We are now officially initiating Code Magenta, which calls for.... PLAN X. Everybody remember the code? Here we go...

HolyPOOP cowPOOP youPOOP guysPOOP! IPOOP reallyPOOP hopePOOP wePOOP don'tPOOP havePOOP herPOOP againPOOP thisPOOP timePOOP!

mwahahahaha... she'll never decode THAT fanciful cipher!

-hpooterfan, and so on...

2 hours later:

Greetings, minions. It is I, His Royal Feces. I have heard about the infiltration of your secret blog and decided to provide assistance to my faithful followers. This "Suzie" woman has been infestified. And yes, that is a word. Don't contradict me. Anypoo, she should be experiencing some nasty symptoms for the next month or so, and may need to call a plumber. Or fifty nine.

I would also like to let you know that I have struck! Again! This time, I decided to disguise myself as... should I tell you? I suppose. My consumer believed me to be an innocent blob of Nutella with equally innocent banana slices... (well, those actually WERE innocent, but... moving on...) The Ziploc full of "Nutella" (notice quotes) just adds to the whole effect. I believe the innocent bystanders thought it was just their crazy daughter trying to squirt Nutella on her bananas like icing. They were WRONG! WRONG! WRONG! WRONG! WRONGITY! WRONG!

MWAHAHAHAHAHA!

THE WORLD IS MIIIIIIIIINE!

Wait. What? No, I didn't say anything about taking over the world. You humans have terrible vision. Jeesh. Get some glasses, people...

Until next time: May the poop be with you.

And I solemnly swear I'm NOT your father.

-P.M.

I Thought I Might Come Back for A Visit

Greeting, boys and girls!

Miss Suzie here! I hope that you all are enjoying your school days as much as I enjoy riding 8 hours on a bus to same place every week. Boy, it sure is fun! And guess what? This past trip I escorted (I am trained in escorting, you know) 56 seniors to Missouri to see the World's Largest Ball of String, not twine. I don't think they remembered actually seeing it, though. They just contributed to the adjacent World's Biggest Ball of Drool and bought some new tennis balls for the ends of their walkers.

Anyways, boys and girls, some good news! Don't Mess With Texas and I are getting engaged! We are so happy together. The only time I get aggravated with him is when he falls asleep driving. Also when he spits at people who aren't from Texas, which is mostly everyone. Even me. So I think we might agree to get divorced after we get married, but it is what it is in Texas.

I'll have to go down and meet his family. Here is their photo they took to welcome me into the family.

Although I don't understand the entire idea, I am sure they have good intentions. I am so proud to be part of the family!


Mind your Ps and Qs,

Miss Suzie and Don't Mess With Texas

ALERT! LETHAL DISEASE RAGES

ALERT: THE MAYO HEALTH CLINIC HAS ISSUED A WARNING

An offshoot of the skin condition psoriasis is alive and ready to kill in suburban America. Dubbed rhinopsoriasis (RHI-nossoh-RHYE-ah-sis), this disease's symptoms are just plain appalling.

The first stages of the condition seem friendly enough: itchy skin and a small, "harmless" rash. The rash sends strange messages to the victim's brain that tell the body to bite or flick at this rash, causing inflammation, leading to stage two.

In the second stage of rhinopsoriasis, the rash spreads and begins to turn scaly and flaky, gradually coating the body fully in silvery-grey raised patches.

Afraid yet? Too bad. Rhinopsoriasis' next victim may be you.

Before the final stages are explained, let's enjoy this look at what rhinopsoriasis may do to you.

TEST PATIENT BEFORE CONDITION

TEST PATIENT AFTER CONDITION

It's all very disturbing, really...

Ah, yes. The final conditions. The third and final stage of rhinopsoriasis is the worst. The patient completely morphs into a rhino before death, so it is recommended to have a few pre-slaughtered wildebeest on hand in case the patient in hungry. It makes everything easier if the wildebeest are de-boned.

There has only been one survivor of rhinopsoriasis, and the only reason she lived is because she had the PhotoShop-induced version of the disease. She is shown above, before and after PhotoSho-- I mean, rhinopsoriasis. 

Never let your guard down, and always wash your hands, if you do not want to contract this awfully contagious disease. The tell-tale first sign is when your poop is blue and begins to resemble safari animals.

This has been L for Mayo Health Clinic, saying thank you, and may the Monster protect you from rhinopsoriasis. 

-l

The Conspiracy of Pedro

NEWS FLASH:   The POTUS has issued a warning: the government just released one of the monsters they keep in Area 51:

The President only has one comment about this: "Contrary to popular belief, Pedro is not chocolate ice cream."

The Winter Break

...from the blog. Sorry. It was all just so exciting, I mean, why blog when you could be lunching with the CEOs of Crest™ Toothpaste, Campbell's Soup, and Gas Stoves Inc? I know. Excitement overkill, right? I almost had a heart attack of excitement. Wow. Like, I was really excited. It was like I was in the mall, and I walked by my ex, whose name is cited. That's how TOTALLY EXCITED I WAS!!! But then I got attacked by the Poop Monster, and it wasn't so exciting anymore. Durn. Anyways, someone I know got this thing for Christmas. It's called a Morphsuit, and I am totally jealous; I have been wanting one for ages!!!! I just used a semi-colon! I hope in the right way!!! Whoo! So now, I officially change the name of this blog to: Phenomena 13... the Poop Monster (and Morphsuits).

I am excited about it.

-l