Uncle Craig's Modern-Day Fables:
A long time ago around last Thursday evening in a Swiss town called Uhl…………..
There lived a delicately frosted cupcake. But this was no ordinary delicately frosted cupcake, mind you.
This cupcake could yodel.
The delicately frosted cupcake was known throughout Switzerland and all the bordering countries- that being Austria, Germany, France, Lichtenstein, and Italy- as the greatest yodeler that ever lived.
Ever since it was first baked, the delicately frosted cupcake yodeled with the greatest of skill and beauty.
Everyone that heard the cupcake yodel agreed; there was no sound on the planest…NAY!...in the whole universe, that was as perfect and as heavenly.
“Yeah,” the delicately frosted cupcake would smugly nod.
“I know.”
The cupcake yodeled for visiting foreign dignitaries. The cupcake yodeled for the Pope. The cupcake yodeled for the President on a regular basis.
After every praise-filled performance, the delicately frosted cupcake would haughtily strut through the streets of Uhl and hike up into the mountains.
Once the cupcake reached a certain cliff right under a snowy overhang, it would yodel a song of it’s supreme greatness.
“I am the greatest at yodeling, can’t you see. You may know how to yodel but not as greatly as me.”
This song would echo and reverberate throughout the peaks and valleys of the region, bouncing off the deep packs of snow, the rocky bluffs, and the icy glaciers; falling on the ears and annoying the citizens of Uhl and all of the surrounding towns.
After a high-profile performance for the Prime Minister of French Toast-istan, the delicately frosted cupcake swaggered through Uhl on it’s way up to the cliffs above the town. The thoroughly annoyed townsfolk ignored the arrogant cupcake and all went indoors to seek shelter from the songs that were about to echo around the countryside.
The cupcake reached it’s singing spot under the snowy overhang and began it’s self-congratulatory song. The cupcake puffed out its chest and yodeled with tremendous might It sang with new-found pride and volume. The song of self-absorption once again echoed all through the peaks and valleys, bouncing off the deeply packed snow and rocky mountain tops.
And as the delicately frosted cupcake sang, suddenly a loud bang was heard. A bullet grazed the top right side of the cupcake removing a sizeable chunk of it’s frosting and many of it’s sprinkles. The cupcake, in a state of shock heard the second shot very clearly. That bullet tore through the cupcakes mid-section, nearly tearing it in half and severing it’s spine. The cupcake looked down at the thick, creamy filling that spilled out of the jagged gunshot wound in it’s belly and oozed between it’s clutching fingers. The third shot, taken from the church tower down below in the town of Uhl, went right through the cupcakes’ head, killing it instantly, finishing the job, and leaving it dead on the rocky bluff in the mountains above the town.
A long time ago around last Thursday evening in a Swiss town called Uhl…………..
There lived a delicately frosted cupcake. But this was no ordinary delicately frosted cupcake, mind you.
This cupcake could yodel.
The delicately frosted cupcake was known throughout Switzerland and all the bordering countries- that being Austria, Germany, France, Lichtenstein, and Italy- as the greatest yodeler that ever lived.
Ever since it was first baked, the delicately frosted cupcake yodeled with the greatest of skill and beauty.
Everyone that heard the cupcake yodel agreed; there was no sound on the planest…NAY!...in the whole universe, that was as perfect and as heavenly.
“Yeah,” the delicately frosted cupcake would smugly nod.
“I know.”
The cupcake yodeled for visiting foreign dignitaries. The cupcake yodeled for the Pope. The cupcake yodeled for the President on a regular basis.
After every praise-filled performance, the delicately frosted cupcake would haughtily strut through the streets of Uhl and hike up into the mountains.
Once the cupcake reached a certain cliff right under a snowy overhang, it would yodel a song of it’s supreme greatness.
“I am the greatest at yodeling, can’t you see. You may know how to yodel but not as greatly as me.”
This song would echo and reverberate throughout the peaks and valleys of the region, bouncing off the deep packs of snow, the rocky bluffs, and the icy glaciers; falling on the ears and annoying the citizens of Uhl and all of the surrounding towns.
After a high-profile performance for the Prime Minister of French Toast-istan, the delicately frosted cupcake swaggered through Uhl on it’s way up to the cliffs above the town. The thoroughly annoyed townsfolk ignored the arrogant cupcake and all went indoors to seek shelter from the songs that were about to echo around the countryside.
The cupcake reached it’s singing spot under the snowy overhang and began it’s self-congratulatory song. The cupcake puffed out its chest and yodeled with tremendous might It sang with new-found pride and volume. The song of self-absorption once again echoed all through the peaks and valleys, bouncing off the deeply packed snow and rocky mountain tops.
And as the delicately frosted cupcake sang, suddenly a loud bang was heard. A bullet grazed the top right side of the cupcake removing a sizeable chunk of it’s frosting and many of it’s sprinkles. The cupcake, in a state of shock heard the second shot very clearly. That bullet tore through the cupcakes mid-section, nearly tearing it in half and severing it’s spine. The cupcake looked down at the thick, creamy filling that spilled out of the jagged gunshot wound in it’s belly and oozed between it’s clutching fingers. The third shot, taken from the church tower down below in the town of Uhl, went right through the cupcakes’ head, killing it instantly, finishing the job, and leaving it dead on the rocky bluff in the mountains above the town.
Two Young Pennsylvania-Dutch Lovers: Amish Softcore Porn
Levi Yoder stood virtually motionless behind a dense growth of thick, green hedges; his pulse quickening in his Devil-ish nether regions. An audible, dry click was heard as he swallowed once again for the seemingly hundredth time, his eyes unblinkingly fixed on the slow, seemingly deliberate, beckoning way that Ruth Wittmer churned butter. Ruth Wittmer stood perched on her front porch glowing in the mid-day sun as Levi Yoder peered from his hedge-y blind not more than 10 yards away from her along the Wittmer family property line.
Levi Yoder had known Ruth Wittmer since before he could remember, his family living neighborly next-door to the family Wittmer…“neighborly” for the section of Lancaster County that they resided in which meant that both his family and the family Wittmer lived just over half-a-mile apart from each other as the crow flies.
Levi Yoder had spent many a prayer service and many a barn raising with the fair Ruth Wittmer either playing tag, reading scripture, or playing scripture. But over the years as he grew up into the able-bodied young man he was today- that stood hunched over behind the bushes longingly gazing at the rhythms of a working Ruth Wittmer- he found he had a deeply swirling lust for her; a surge that went completely unrecognized by the freshly-tilled-soil-brown eyes of Ruth Wittmer.
Other boys of the community had expressed a similar feeling of physical wantonness for the demure Ruth Wittmer. Jonah Mueller had mentioned to Levi Yoder in private one day after services, that he had daydreamed of helping Ruth Wittmer take off her shoes. And Caleb Troyer had told Levi Yoder of a dream he had enjoyed in which he and Ruth WIttmer and Eliza Hershberger had all fallen into Spencer’s Creek, which ran alongside the Northeast corner of the family Koenigs’ property where many of the children of the community would congregate and throw rocks into the waters.
The dream, told by Caleb Troyer to Levi Yoder, had the three of them, the two young women and himself, laughing and wading in the shallows of the cold and stimulating water and Caleb Troyer watching the heavy, black, all-natural, hand-woven material of the girls’ dresses cling to their ample feminine forms.
But these childish fantasies were not even located in the same hayloft of similarities to the desires that Levi Yoder had for Ruth Wittmer. These intensifying desires were the ground soil that which brought him here now to his hiding place, peering through the leafy cover as his distant dream worked the heavy cream into ever-hardening butter for the supper table.
Levi Yoder watched as her coaxing motions made him ache with lust. Ruth Wittmer brought the churn handle up and then down, raising the straight sturdy rod up to the top of the churn lid, slowly working the handle back down to the base, twisting her hands at the bottom to aerate the cream, slightly flaring her nostrils and curling her lip just a bit before repeating the seductive motion again and again and again.
Butter was never made so pleasurably, thought Levi Yoder.
"Oh yes," Levi Yoder whispered. "We will dance some day...you and I will dance. And you will be mine. Praise be to God.”
As his thoughts drifted to steamy scenarios of hand-holding, shelling peas together, and laundry day, Levi Yoder did not notice that the object of his desires, Ruth Wittmer, had stopped performing her buttery duty. She was now squinting her eyes and looking in the direction of the hedge that ran alongside of her family’s property.
“Levi?” she called raising a hand up to her forehead, blocking the sun from her vision. “Levi Yoder? Is that you?...son of Ezekiel Yoder and Iris Yoder? Is that you crouched in my hedges casting an eye in my direction as I perform my chores?”
Levi Yoder froze in terror. Waves of guilt and shame rippled through his mid-section as his mind swirled with the possibilities of the punishment that he would receive from both his parents and God. He couldn’t run and he couldn’t remain where he was. He was trapped, snared; a tragic horse pulling the lustful carriage of the devil.
He slowly stood up, realizing that a barn-raising of another sort had happened in side his heavy woolen britches, nearly bursting the buttons on his trousers…that is if buttons were not deemed unholy and against the will of God, which they were. He hitched up his suspenders with his thumbs and slowly parted the bushes. Even the wide brim of his black hat could not shield the scornful viewing of this sinful drama from the eyes of God as he trudged up towards the direction of his fleshly desires.
“Yes,” Levi Yoder mumbled with his head tilted down in shame. “It is Levi Yoder.”
He slowly walked up to the porch of the small house where the family of Ruth Wittmer lived.
“Levi Yoder what is it that you were doing there? Is there something wrong? Is all well with you and the family Yoder?”
Levi Yoder stood silent. His face still hung downwards in the direction of his fleshy-shamed weakness.
“Come up here Levi Yoder and speak with me closer so that I may hear you clearly,” Ruth Wittmer beckoned.
Levi Yoder slowly climbed the front steps of the porch that belonged to the famly Wittmer and stood directly in front of Ruth Wittmer. He slowly raised his head so that he could look at her with his pained and guilt-squinted eyes. His hands fumbled with each other as he removed his hat in respect for the pure Ruth Wittmer and his nervous gaze finally fell upon her work-flushed face.
A few strands of her honey-blonde hair had made their way out of the bonnet she wore on her head and she brushed them aside with a swipe of her hand. She then rested one hand on her hip, delicately cloaked in the finest hand-made, black linen and the other she held onto the handle of the butter churn with which she had just been handling. She had rolled the sleeves of her dark dress up to attempt to cool off during her arduous churning and was exposing her soft, milky white forearms. In order to combat the heat of working the churn, Ruth Wittmer had also undone two snaps on the neck of her dress, revealing a tempting two to three inches of her bare neck to Levi Yoder, an erotic vision he had played over in his mind again and again.
Levi Yoder then noticed a single, bead of sweat that had started making it’s way down the neck of Ruth Wittmer; beginning at the base of her hairline behind her ear and making it’s way down the side of her neck. It sparkled in the sunlight and glinted as it crept downwards, a gleaming jewel of glistening carnal temptation.
“Perhaps you should make an oil painting,” Ruth Wittmer laughed snapping Levi Yoder out of his lusty-visioned sleep. “That way it would last a long time and also seeing as it would be against the Lord’s command to use a camera to capture such an image.”
Levi Yoder looked directly into Ruth Wittmer’s face and noticed she was smiling. Once again, he felt the blood rush from his face and coarse downwards into his own churn handle. Feeling confused, shocked, and more than mildly randy, Levi Yoder worked a smile across his face, one that was met with the smile of Ruth Wittmer.
“I must admit, Levi Yoder,” Ruth Wittmer snickered, hiding her smile with one of her hands. “I have had one of my eyes on you for some time. Ever since the widow Mildred Hargroder had that cow that birthed a calf directly following services that time when we were but young parishoners. I have noticed you. I have noticed you well.”
Instantly aroused and harder than hitching a startled mare to a greased buggy, Levi Yoder stepped forward and stood within about six inches of Ruth Wittmer’s face.
“It is you,” he breathed out toward her. “It is you Ruth Wittmer that I want to lay with…with ferocity.”
The eyelids of Ruth Wittmer were now half-closed with lust, her ample, child-suckling breasts raised and lowered with a quickened pace. Forbidden visions ran rampant through her mind; scenes of electrical appliances being repeatedly plugged in or of that one time she saw those two goats out behind the barn “fighting” as her father had said, or the multiple times she rode the horse at the birthday party of her friend Hannah Guth.
Ruth Wittmer could not stand the delicious torture any longer. The devil may be in them both, Satan may be guiding them down the roadway of the sins of the flesh but at this point she did not care. Sparks of passion tickled her in places that needed immediate attention. She had to lay with Levi Yoder and she had to lay with him now.
“I am wanting you,” Ruth Wittmer said in a lust-husky voice her lips gently grazing the ear of Levi Yoder as she leaned in close, her breath hot on the nape of his neck.
“And I am wanting you,” replied Levi Yoder looking down at his farm-calloused hands as the found the buoyant globes of Ruth Wittmer’s camisole mounds.
“My dewey thatch quivers and waits for your entrance. Pleasure my holiest of holy’s, Levi Yoder. Mount me.” She then reached down and gripped him by the man-root, punctuating her statement with action and seriousness.
Astounded and very, very pleased, Levi Yoder straightened up.
“Yes,” he whispered. “We shall have intercourse…wild, animalistic intercourse.”
Ruth Wittmer gasped as Levi Yoder pushed her back into the house of the family Wittmer.
"I will be fornicating the common sense from you,” Levi Yoder grinned. And Ruth Wittmer grinned back for she knew her parents would not be back home from the horse auction until sundown, a good two hours from now. And that gave her plenty of time to finish her chores.
Uncle Craig's Modern-Day Fables: The Dainty, Little Tomato
Two weeks ago last Thursday back in 1996……..
...there lived a dainty, little tomato.
This tomato lived on a tomato plant in a garden owned by Farmer Fred.
Farmer Fred watched over his tomato plants very closely but he watched the dainty, little tomato closest of all.
“You are so beautiful and perfect,” Farmer Fred constantly told the dainty, little tomato.
“You are the most beautiful and perfect tomato in all the world!”
This made the dainty, little tomato swell with pride and it often told the other tomatoes on the plant what Farmer Fred had said.
“Farmer Fred said I’m the best and you’re not,” bragged the dainty, little tomato.
“I’m better than all of you!”
The other tomatoes didn’t like this and told the dainty, little tomato not to be so arrogant.
“Hah!” laughed the dainty, little tomato.
“It’s obviously true! I’m better looking than all of you and you just can’t help being jealous.”
The other tomatoes just shook their tomato heads and didn’t speak to the dainty, little tomato.
“Pfft! That’s fine with me,” continued the dainty, little tomato.
“You know it’s true. I am the best looking tomato ever and farmer Fred knows it.”
Then the dainty, little tomato dismissively waved one of it’s leaves at the rest of the tomatoes on the plant and laughed at them.
For may weeks, Farmer Fred would water the tomato plants and tell the dainty, little tomato just how perfect it was.
And for many weeks, the dainty, little tomato proclaimed it’s uncompromised beauty to all the other tomatoes.
Early one morning as Farmer Fred watered the tomatoes in his garden, he held the dainty, little tomato in his rough hands and said,
“Oh, you are so perfect and beautiful! I must take you into the house.”
The dainty, little tomato laughed and stuck out it’s tomato tongue at the other tomatoes as Framer Fred plucked it off the plant and carried it into the house.
Farmer Fred placed the dainty, little tomato under the faucet and gently bathed the perfect, red fruit in warm water.
“The beautiful should always be pampered,” gloated the dainty, little tomato as Farmer Fred then perched it on the counter top, directly in the sunlight.
The dainty, little tomato closed it’s eyes and smiled.
“Ah, yes,” sighed the dainty, little tomato.
“I rightfully deserve this for being so beautiful and so perfect. To Hell with the ugly tomatoes of the world.”
The dainty, little tomato then slowly opened it’s eyes just in time to see Farmer Fred walk forward with a large serrated knife and carve a sizeable chunk of the dainty, little tomato’s perfect body clean off.
Wide-eyed with shock and not feeling the excruciating pain, the dainty, little tomato watched as Framer Fred lifted the slice of the tomatoes own body up to his mouth and eat it.
Then the screaming started.
Farmer Fred then carved another slice of the dainty, little tomatoes body off and ate that too; not hearing the horrific, high-pitched shrieks of the tomato as it remained on the counter top, watching the jelly and seeds of it’s insides spill out of it’s beautifully perfect body cavity.
The dainty, little tomato continued it’s pained screams as farmer Fred slowly worked the knife, sawing through a third section of the tomatoes mangled body, lifting the slice up to his mouth and eating it in front of the dainty, little tomatoes own eyes.
Now lop-sided, it’s breath hitching in it’s throat, the dainty, little tomato fell over on one side.
As it lay there, gasping it’s final breath in an ever-growing pool of it’s own juice, the dainty, little tomato heard Farmer Fred make a long, satisfied yummy noise.
“Perfect,” Farmer Fred smiled.
Astrology Horror-Scopes
by Ms. Roberta
Aries – (March 21-April 19)
Remember playing “rock, paper, scissors” when you were a kid to settle your differences? Well, the impatient guy behind you in traffic will play you and win at a game of “crowbar, machete, baseball bat”.
Taurus – (April 20-May20)
You are the sign of the bull. Bulls have horns. A violent run-in with a Dixie Land jazz group leads to severe head trauma. I’m seeing Thursday as the big day.
Gemini – (May21-June21)
Hey there, Twin. This week brings 1) Your birthday. 2) The start of Summer. 3) A homeless crack head who will sodomize you with his bare feet.
Cancer – (June 22-July22)
Can you say “inoperable blood clot in your brain”? I knew you could!
Leo – (July 23-Aug.22)
Someone nearby is having a cookout. And those steaks would smell divine if you didn’t have that massive nosebleed.
Virgo – (Aug.23-Sept.22)
You just found out that you are allergic to air. Good luck with that.
Libra – (Sept.23-Oct.23)
Business transactions take a turn for the worse this week, Libra. The stocks you’ve invested in will bounce a bit higher than normal and that’s good. But you’re gonna get caught up in a botched bank heist later in the day. I see lots of stitches.
Scorpio – (Oct.24-Nov.21)
You might want to stay in the house on Tuesday. Your mail guy is driving his route at 60 mph and he’s been hitting the tequila harder than normal.
Sagitarius – (Nov.22-Dec.21)
That cute guy from the accounting department will take a fancy to you. And you’ll go out. And you’ll get there. And he’s waiting there with his Mom. And he wants a three-way.
Capricorn – (Dec.22-Jan.19)
Hey! How’d you get all those scabs all over your neck? And just in time for that job interview.
Aquarius – (Jan.20-Feb.18)
The death metal band Satan’s Colon just moved in next door.
…..and they practice a lot.
…...usually at 2:00 AM.
Pisces – (Feb.19-March20)
Getting that tattoo in the back of that guys van wasn’t your brightest move. ‘Cause, Honey? The smell of gangrene is not a date getter.
by Ms. Roberta
Aries – (March 21-April 19)
Remember playing “rock, paper, scissors” when you were a kid to settle your differences? Well, the impatient guy behind you in traffic will play you and win at a game of “crowbar, machete, baseball bat”.
Taurus – (April 20-May20)
You are the sign of the bull. Bulls have horns. A violent run-in with a Dixie Land jazz group leads to severe head trauma. I’m seeing Thursday as the big day.
Gemini – (May21-June21)
Hey there, Twin. This week brings 1) Your birthday. 2) The start of Summer. 3) A homeless crack head who will sodomize you with his bare feet.
Cancer – (June 22-July22)
Can you say “inoperable blood clot in your brain”? I knew you could!
Leo – (July 23-Aug.22)
Someone nearby is having a cookout. And those steaks would smell divine if you didn’t have that massive nosebleed.
Virgo – (Aug.23-Sept.22)
You just found out that you are allergic to air. Good luck with that.
Libra – (Sept.23-Oct.23)
Business transactions take a turn for the worse this week, Libra. The stocks you’ve invested in will bounce a bit higher than normal and that’s good. But you’re gonna get caught up in a botched bank heist later in the day. I see lots of stitches.
Scorpio – (Oct.24-Nov.21)
You might want to stay in the house on Tuesday. Your mail guy is driving his route at 60 mph and he’s been hitting the tequila harder than normal.
Sagitarius – (Nov.22-Dec.21)
That cute guy from the accounting department will take a fancy to you. And you’ll go out. And you’ll get there. And he’s waiting there with his Mom. And he wants a three-way.
Capricorn – (Dec.22-Jan.19)
Hey! How’d you get all those scabs all over your neck? And just in time for that job interview.
Aquarius – (Jan.20-Feb.18)
The death metal band Satan’s Colon just moved in next door.
…..and they practice a lot.
…...usually at 2:00 AM.
Pisces – (Feb.19-March20)
Getting that tattoo in the back of that guys van wasn’t your brightest move. ‘Cause, Honey? The smell of gangrene is not a date getter.
Astrology Horror-Scopes
by Ms. Roberta
Aries – (March 21-April 19)
Rams are known for butting heads. You will just have yours separated from your shoulders in a freak ceiling fan accident this Wednesday…..in Ikea.
Taurus – (April 20-May20)
You’re going to slit the tip of your finger off on the band of sharp metal from the canned ham you’re hurriedly opening. The in-laws are repulsed.
Gemini – (May21-June21)
The Video Hut will be calling and leaving a message on your machine which you will hear in the presence of three others…including one blood relative. It seems that your card member number got confused with someone else’s. And that someone else owes $11,000 in overdue movie rates. And it’s all for anal, midget porn.
Cancer – (June 22-July22)
You’re attacked by slugs.
Leo – (July 23-Aug.22)
While blowing into the hand-written envelope addressed to you from a guy you beat out in the fourth grade spelling bee, you disturb the anthrax powder he sent you. Seems he never really got over the loss.
Virgo – (Aug.23-Sept.22)
I simply can’t imagine what it must feel like to be lying in the grass and have thousands of ants crawl up my pants leg…nope, couldn’t imagine it.
But after tomorrow, why don’t you tell me about your ants in the pants experience, Honey.
Libra – (Sept.23-Oct.23)
There’s nothing better than a nice, cool, healthy salad, eh Libra? Nutritious, refreshing and very healthy except for that wood screw you bite into.
Scorpio – (Oct.24-Nov.21)
Tapeworm….big one, too.
Sagittarius – (Nov.22-Dec.21)
You are a helper, Sag. You lend a hand to anyone who may need a little assistance. You sure are a giving person. But now you got trench mouth form that dirty water fountain at the gym.
Capricorn – (Dec.22-Jan.19)
Say there, Capricorn. Today, try and avoid, um, everything.
Aquarius – (Jan.20-Feb.18)
Didn’t know you were allergic to things made out of wood, did you Aquarius? Well, you certainly do now.
Pisces – (Feb.19-March20)
While trying to get the protective, plastic seal off the vitamin bottle you bend your fingernail backwards.
….and off.
by Ms. Roberta
Aries – (March 21-April 19)
Rams are known for butting heads. You will just have yours separated from your shoulders in a freak ceiling fan accident this Wednesday…..in Ikea.
Taurus – (April 20-May20)
You’re going to slit the tip of your finger off on the band of sharp metal from the canned ham you’re hurriedly opening. The in-laws are repulsed.
Gemini – (May21-June21)
The Video Hut will be calling and leaving a message on your machine which you will hear in the presence of three others…including one blood relative. It seems that your card member number got confused with someone else’s. And that someone else owes $11,000 in overdue movie rates. And it’s all for anal, midget porn.
Cancer – (June 22-July22)
You’re attacked by slugs.
Leo – (July 23-Aug.22)
While blowing into the hand-written envelope addressed to you from a guy you beat out in the fourth grade spelling bee, you disturb the anthrax powder he sent you. Seems he never really got over the loss.
Virgo – (Aug.23-Sept.22)
I simply can’t imagine what it must feel like to be lying in the grass and have thousands of ants crawl up my pants leg…nope, couldn’t imagine it.
But after tomorrow, why don’t you tell me about your ants in the pants experience, Honey.
Libra – (Sept.23-Oct.23)
There’s nothing better than a nice, cool, healthy salad, eh Libra? Nutritious, refreshing and very healthy except for that wood screw you bite into.
Scorpio – (Oct.24-Nov.21)
Tapeworm….big one, too.
Sagittarius – (Nov.22-Dec.21)
You are a helper, Sag. You lend a hand to anyone who may need a little assistance. You sure are a giving person. But now you got trench mouth form that dirty water fountain at the gym.
Capricorn – (Dec.22-Jan.19)
Say there, Capricorn. Today, try and avoid, um, everything.
Aquarius – (Jan.20-Feb.18)
Didn’t know you were allergic to things made out of wood, did you Aquarius? Well, you certainly do now.
Pisces – (Feb.19-March20)
While trying to get the protective, plastic seal off the vitamin bottle you bend your fingernail backwards.
….and off.
Uncle Craig's Fables: The Other Muffin Man
Mrs. Glickman opened up her oven door and peeked inside.
“Oh good-y,” she smiled. “They’re done.”
She put on her big, purple oven mitts, reached into the stove and pulled out a pan filled with freshly baked, blueberry muffins.
Smelling the sweet, fruity muffins, Mrs. Glickman placed the hot pan on top of the stove and left the kitchen to give them time to cool.
When she returned 10 minutes later, she noticed that one of the muffins was missing.
“That’s odd,” she said out loud. “I wonder what happened to the muffin.”
“Hah, haa! Wouldn’t you like to know, you big dummy,” said a mocking voice that came from the stove top.
Mrs. Glickman looked down and stood shocked and still when out from behind the tea kettle walked the missing blueberry muffin.
There was a long period of quiet as Mrs. Glickman stared at the little muffin on the stove.
“What are you looking at, Stupid Head,” sneered the muffin.
Mrs. Glickman couldn’t believe she was staring at a walking, talking muffin. Or at how impolite the muffin was.
“What?” shouted the muffin. “You’ve never seen a blueberry muffin before?” The muffin then stuck its tongue out at her.
Mrs. Glickman frowned at the rude, little muffin. She then reached out her hand to pick it up and place it back in the muffin pan with the other muffins who didn’t walk or talk nasty.
“Hey!” screamed the muffin. “Don’t touch me!”
When Mrs. Glickman pulled back her hand, the bad muffin laughed, turned around and wiggled his rear end in her direction.
Then it made “poopie” noises at her.
Mrs. Glickman had had enough of the bad mannered muffin. She reached down and quickly grabbed the muffin as it tried to run back behind the tea kettle.
She then peeled the paper wrapper from around the wriggling, little muffin.
“What are you doing?!?” screamed the muffin. “Why are you taking off my clothes?!?”
With the paper covering removed, Mrs. Glickman then raised the shrieking, little muffin up to her mouth and took a big bite out of it.
As she chewed the mouthful of muffin, the yelling stopped and she got to enjoy the fruity tasting muffin in peace and quiet.
And it was the best tasting muffin she ever ate.
Mrs. Glickman opened up her oven door and peeked inside.
“Oh good-y,” she smiled. “They’re done.”
She put on her big, purple oven mitts, reached into the stove and pulled out a pan filled with freshly baked, blueberry muffins.
Smelling the sweet, fruity muffins, Mrs. Glickman placed the hot pan on top of the stove and left the kitchen to give them time to cool.
When she returned 10 minutes later, she noticed that one of the muffins was missing.
“That’s odd,” she said out loud. “I wonder what happened to the muffin.”
“Hah, haa! Wouldn’t you like to know, you big dummy,” said a mocking voice that came from the stove top.
Mrs. Glickman looked down and stood shocked and still when out from behind the tea kettle walked the missing blueberry muffin.
There was a long period of quiet as Mrs. Glickman stared at the little muffin on the stove.
“What are you looking at, Stupid Head,” sneered the muffin.
Mrs. Glickman couldn’t believe she was staring at a walking, talking muffin. Or at how impolite the muffin was.
“What?” shouted the muffin. “You’ve never seen a blueberry muffin before?” The muffin then stuck its tongue out at her.
Mrs. Glickman frowned at the rude, little muffin. She then reached out her hand to pick it up and place it back in the muffin pan with the other muffins who didn’t walk or talk nasty.
“Hey!” screamed the muffin. “Don’t touch me!”
When Mrs. Glickman pulled back her hand, the bad muffin laughed, turned around and wiggled his rear end in her direction.
Then it made “poopie” noises at her.
Mrs. Glickman had had enough of the bad mannered muffin. She reached down and quickly grabbed the muffin as it tried to run back behind the tea kettle.
She then peeled the paper wrapper from around the wriggling, little muffin.
“What are you doing?!?” screamed the muffin. “Why are you taking off my clothes?!?”
With the paper covering removed, Mrs. Glickman then raised the shrieking, little muffin up to her mouth and took a big bite out of it.
As she chewed the mouthful of muffin, the yelling stopped and she got to enjoy the fruity tasting muffin in peace and quiet.
And it was the best tasting muffin she ever ate.
How Would You Describe This Beer?
- Sardonically cliched with two pinches of lemon zest and a heady daydream of weeping ponies.
- Angular…like it lived in Fresno. You need this.
- Have you ever had that dark, basil Lambic?....that was dry-hopped with bald eagle?...and aged for two years in a Franciscan monk? Seriously, you haven’t? Well, it’s just like that, Brah.
- Like they used Lucille Balls’ pap smear during fermentation. You need this.
- I don’t do Sours.
- Mmmm. Chum-tastic!
- Reminds me of my beard on “Beards Night Out”.
- The nose detects a bit of Ron Jeremy.
- I don’t do Belgians.
- Glicky, petronic, and shevlacious without the argloshic back end.
- Like Vin Deisels’ handkerchief and an ermine made of 65% cacao totally boned in my mouth. You need this.
- Danza. Total Danza, Brah.
