Subscribe to all of my blatherings right in your wob browser!Subscribe to my latest 25 blatherings right in your wob browser! Pnårp in print! Made from 35% recycled toilet paper! Send Pnårp your garrulous praise… or excretory condemnation! Tweet! Tweet! Twat! Livin’ it up… on a living journal! A whole book full of my faces? Where gravity itself gets its blog avatar! Red dits? Red edits? Read its…!?
You’re my favorite visitor!

Pnårp’s docile & perfunctory page

The dingleberry/hamster song

Sung for April 30, 2006.

Dingleberry, dingleberry, dingleberry, hamster!

That’s how that old song goes;

Dingleberry, dingleberry, dingleberry, hamster!

It’s why I love Alyssa’s toes!

Dingleberry, dingleberry, dingleberry, hamster!

All the hamsters beat their meat;

Dingleberry, dingleberry, dingleberry, hamster!

It’s all about the Spice Girls’ feet!

I sang this to poor Mr. Wilson two days ago, at four o’clock in the morning outside his window. He enjoyed it so much he demanded an encore by dropping flour pots full of battery acid on my head. (He saved the actual flower pots for next time, I bet.) He strung himself out the window, dividing into six parts, he was so enamored with my serenade.

Dingleberry, dingleberry, dingleberry, hamster!

It’s why the hamsters all stay put;

Dingleberry, dingleberry, dingleberry, hamster!

And why Loquisha is barefoot!

Each one of him flailed their arms at me and shook their fists with enthusiasm. So I sang it a hundred and twenty-eight more times, wearing a different hat—and sometimes even a lampshade or an old Chuck Yeager cape and cowl—on my head each time. I pray to little Loquisha’s feet, snug in their sandals, that all ten of her toes like it.

Once again, remember, boys and girls: It’s your future—don’t leave it blank.