From January 31, 2021
Introducing Chapter CDI of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular takes a break from the plot and inserts extractions from some of her fan mail. She is hampered in this exercise by an inability to read. Otherwise she would never have let some of these letters see the light of day.
“It’s not that I can’t read at all,” she hastens to explain. “It’s just that I can’t read stuff that people write.” We are glad she’s cleared that up. “Fan mail,” she adds, “proves that you’ve got readers.”
From Cindy Indy, Rawalpindi: “Dear Ms. Crepuscular, your novel proves to be an effective decay-preventive dentifrice when used in a program of conscientious oral hygiene and regular professional care.”
Ozzie Spore, New York: “Your book is the only thing that keeps me living.”
Ms. June Spumoni, Bad Axe, Michigan: “My pet emu bit and kicked me after I lined his cage with pages from your wretched novel.”
Tom Popocatepetl, Jurassic Park, Hawaii: “How do you spell your name?”
“I have taken some flak for the elegant way in which I got rid of the monsters that had overrun Scurveyshire,” Ms. Crepuscular confides in her readers. She has run out of fan mail and needs to fill the rest of the chapter somehow. Harking back to her days in grade school, she writes in longhand, 100 times, “I must not waste paper.”
G’day! Why did the quokka cross the road?
To try to get some views!
Byron the Quokka here, mates; and it looks like our little bet with Joe Collidge, over who can get the most views, is getting out of hand. Joe has his whole Student Soviet compulsively clicking onto his last post. Good thing they forgot you have to turn the computer on first. Like, if you don’t see anything on the screen, there’s nothing there.
Here at Quokka University, we don’t cheat but we’ve only got the one computer and everybody here has already seen my last TV listings. So we are relying on humans who do not live on Rottnest Island to help us hold our own against those wackos at the college. We do not want to lose the bet and have to give that simpleton an honorary degree from Quokka University–and be laughed at by wombats for the rest of our lives.
Give us a leg up, eh?
Here’s one of those bulldogs who’s become famous by reacting to what he sees on TV. And yet a lot of other dogs completely ignore it. Ditto with cats: some get into TV and some just don’t.
I have to admit the barks scared me more than the movie.
G’day, boys ‘n’ gulls! Byron the Quokka here, thanks to a mixed-up schedule. Violet Crepuscular has already sworn to get me with her pea-shooter. But like the feller said, “What, me worry?” and “Better late than never.”
Here are a few selections from this weekend’s potpourri of nooze (are you amazed that I could spell that? I am!).
Sunday (too late for Saturday)
11:22 a.m. Ch. 64 MR. ICONIC–Pure culture rot, if you ask me
Follow Mr. Iconic down the road of Pure Cliche, just off the Meaningless Drivel Highway! This week: Learn how to say “they” and “them” when you’re talking about just one person. It drives people who care about English crazy!
3 p.m. Ch. 06 BAG THE SCORPION!–Sports
It’s the national sport of Kaboodlestan, now being played all across Europe. Today: Spatrazzini Primos vs. Yorkshire Spads, winner take the whole bag of angry scorpions! Announcer: Yi Fang Chao. Ceremonial Chant: Charlie “Mulekicker” McCroy.
6:06 p.m. Ch. 71 SELASSIE–Unnaturally smart dog (yawn!)
Selassie, great-great-grandpup of the original Lassie, has taught herself to be Lord High Mountebank of Ethiopia–and the Big Bopper (Jock Mahoney) doesn’t like it! All of these episodes were discovered in an old strongbox tucked away in a spooky corner of an old barn where the mountebanks used to play I Doubt It. This week: Selassie finds a caterpillar in her dog chow.
Well, folks, that’s a little taste of what’s in store for you today! I hope I can get home in time not to watch Mr. Iconic!
Maybe I can borrow that bike over yonder.
Byron the Quokka, signing off.
See? It is Ether “his” rihght Hand oar his Lefft Hand witch is mising, Alfrid Hich-coke Cut “it” offf whith a soard!!!!
Robbie the cat is lying on top of my notes and I haven’t got the heart to move her. This vintage “Joe Collidge” piece is the only title peeking out from under the cat.
Well, we can always use a good laugh. It’s a gift from God.
And now the cat gets up and walks away!
Happy Sunday, everybody.
From March 2, 2023
What were the baby sloth’s first words? I won’t keep you in suspense. The baby sloth’s first words were “Aaaah!” And “Aaaah!”
All right, they’re not William Jennings Bryan and Winston Churchill. But you’ll have to admit they’re a lot cuter. And cuddlier.