I am returned.
And just so everybody knows, I accidentally hit “send” too early whenever I sent that note back to Bob’s pickles. Eggs. Whatever.
And I only had one shot.
What the note should have said is, “No column this week, it is time-bound imperative that you do not publish any portion of this communication whatsoever, not even a single word or letter. If you do, you risk causing a Time Rupture on Uranus. And by Uranus I mean your butt. I hope you haven’t already published anything before you read this note. Especially not that bit where it got cut off because I accidentally hit send too soon. Because posting that would be absolutely devastating to your rectal health.
Ok, that wasn’t exactly what it said. But you get the gist of it.
It basically said I was going on holiday. So long suckers.
But it turns out nobody got the message because I’m a moron.
So let that be today’s lesson. I’m a moron.
Back when I first told Schmelnoz the Incomprehensible that I would be writing this column he looked me dead in the eye and said to me in the most clear, concise and plainspoken manner in which I have ever heard him speak even unto this very day, “If you cannot dazzle them with brilliance, then razzle them with bullshit.”
So I just wanted to say I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to post anything here in awhile.
I’ve been off scaling the Himalayas in a jock strap.
You may not have known it, but scaling the Himalayas in a jock strap is an old rite of passage begun in ancient Roman times which is pretty much unknown to anyone today except for myself.
So I guess you’re just going to have to take my admittedly expert word for it.
But scaling the Himalayas wearing only a jock strap (and occasionally a pair of mittens) is really the easy part.
Because once you get to the top, where of course you collapse with exhaustion, while you are asleep all these tiny little Himalayan children come out and start braiding your chest hairs, and then when you wake up they hang onto the braids and won’t let go, so you have to walk around with all these stupid little Himalayan kids swinging around from your chest hair.
But that’s not even the worst of it.
After that, all the Himalayan women come out, and they’ve all got children swinging from their chest hairs, and they collectively force you to copulate with them in strange and grotesque positions, with all these kids swinging around all over the damn place and a bunch of Himalayan mountain goats standing around watching to boot.
But that’s still not the worst of it.
Because then all the Himalayan men come back and catch you copulating with their women with their children swinging around on your chest hairs and their mountain goats learning about things that no decent self-respecting mountain goat should ever know. And the Himalayan men become enraged, and then they heave you right off the side of the mountain!
And believe it or not, that’s still not the worst part!
Actually…yes it is.
That part really sucks.
NO HIMALAYAN CHILDREN WERE HARMED DURING THE COURSE OF THIS STORY.*
*This statement has been evaluated and certified as essentially true by the Law Firm of Howley, Crowley & Palsey®.