The Worst Campfire Song: Part 2


banjo or ukelele accompaniment recommended, but optional

If I were a haberdasher
I would dash habers
and those habers would be dashed

If I were a haberdasher dasher
I would dash haberdashers
and those haberdashers would be be dashed

[repeat until bored, adding 1 “dasher” where appropriate with each repetition]


This isn’t writer’s block.


Nor is it love. I don’t think, at least.

I have lots of ideas for how this story will end, but it’s taking a while to sort them and pick the ones that both make sense and I like.

I have a feeling I will end up writing multiple endings and letting readers choose their favorite. But then again, I might not.

Thanks for your your patience and continue maintaining up the excellent function while you wait.

One who blogs about narwhals and cheeses

Langres (cheese)

Langres (cheese) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

may see a sudden increase in visitors.


Therefore, it is tempting to write about these topics exclusively.




It never ends well. It sometimes ends blubbery.


It is hard to STOP



The Flansman of Roosters Edge (to be read aloud in the dark, softly and accompanied by flan)


There was a time before this rhymed

in a place called Roosters Edge

I met a man who worshipped flan

and always carried a wedge

He’s making plans for making flans

here in Roosters Edge

This is the time for squeezing limes

but that, he will not pledge

Limes do not bleed the juice that he needs

here in Roosters Edge

The Flansman sees beyond the trees

where there are no bets to hedge

So if you have plans for eating flans

here in Roosters Edge

Be aware that there’s a chair

below the bog just dredged


Image via Wikipedia

Fewer lies


I’ve decided that I’m probably not actually losing my mind. It was a result of thinking too much about what to write here and not doing enough other activities. I am now happily distracted from my problems and everything is OK.

I have seen the mouse that has been entering my apartment and keeping me awake while causing strangely little physical damage. It is not invisible; just very small. I have named it Sturbwin, which is a stupid name that I will never use for anything else.

Little Lies

I hate Fleetwood Mac almost as much as Sturbwin.


More lies


I made the decision the other day that I would not write here about myself anymore. That is no longer the case and this post is about me.

I do not want to jump to conclusions, but I think I might be either losing my mind or gaining a better one. I would choose the latter option if I have a choice. Do I? Thanks.

Beyond Lies the Wub (collection)

Image via Wikipedia

I think my existence will be somewhat normalized in the next few days. I know it’s normal enough to be stressed, enragitated, sad, or otherwise messed up during the holidays. It’s never happened to me before, but maybe now is the time to start.

Many insane/wise people around the world think this year will bring great changes and going crazy is a great change, so I’ll take it. I think that will be my New Year’s Resolution.