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Oatmeal cookies and their spies

Weeded on May 21, 2006.

I’m up to my ears in ponytails and Shitlingthorpe–Alabaster Flapdoodles, but I can’t find a solution to these damned cookies! I tried everything: I got a turkey to gobble them all up, then a chicken, and even a real, live Turk named Kökcü, but nothing—nothing at all—worked. They still haunt me, splendiferously, churning and oatmealing their way through my life. They’re worse than the garden gnomes—at least the gnomes were only schmongelers, bless their little ceramic hearts, and not unscrupulous carpetbaggers like these oatmeal cookies.

I did a dance, an oatmealy rain dance, to try and drive them off, again to no avail. I tried slapping them, trapping them and even fapping at them, but they—and their spies, the salt and pepper shaker—just won’t leave me alone. I almost burned my house down again trying to burn the cookies up, but that only made them laugh and jiggle erotically.

I want the Westphalian Schmongeling Gnomes back! They were so much easier to live with! Wheedling and needling, whirring and purring, I can endure—even enjoy! But oatmeal cookies and their spies take it too far! Too far!!!