I’m your favorite website!Feed me! Feeeed meeee!!Email Pnårp!Tweet! Tweet! Twat!Livin’ it up… on a living journal!Corrosion!? But websites don’t corrode!A whole book full of my face!Oogle boogle google!Where gravity itself gets its blog avatar!Linked in… to what? A pair of moose antlers?Red dits? Red edits? Read its…!?
You’re my favorite visitor!

Pnårp’s docile & perfunctory page

My oatmeal cookies

Surveilled pursuant to May 7, 2006.

Pam & Meg’s is gone. From what I heard through the gravepine, the whole building scampered off one evening after Pam forgot to put it back on its leash and Meg was too busy singing “In Excelsis Deo” in a deep baritone to notice. I’ll miss that old place, and Pam and Meg too—I wonder if they’re back at their old jobs at our local brothel. (It’s in the city hall basement now, under Mayor Julian Rhoodie’s protection, after it got busted again with him in it. I don’t think it’ll have to move anymore.)

I also heard through the gratefine that my oatmeal cookies have returned from their stay in southern Moravia! I’m overjoyed—I wonder if they had any “fun” with Regina Maria-Theresia Louisa Ilsa Ollanthorpe, Countess-Prelate von Sträsmussenbörg—or her daughter or their pet geese. I ate most of the cookies before they could tell me, and they sure as sure didn’t taste like goosefeathers, so yours truly is going to have to guess that they bobbed up and down in a frying pan while Rome fiddled and Nero burned. I wonder if George W. Bush, or George H.W. Bush (his father), or George G.H.B. Bush (the local rapist and level-one sex offender) knows anything about this. I don’t trust these cookies anymore!

My oatmeal cookies have spies everywhere…