Goldy Frankton

Good evening Ghost McGhostington. That's more than likely not your real name, but I have too many library cards to recognize that your name isn't Ghost McGhostington. At least that's what the yodeler in Oregon told me. That's a story for another day. A day that's already occurred as a matter of fact. I don't think I ever mentioned that the guy I met in Oregon was a yodeler though. So I shall tell you now. The guy I was talking about in my Oregon post from days ago was a professional yodeler. It was amazing. He shared with me some of his secrets of the yodeling arts. I am not allowed to tell you about them however. They are super secrets. I would like to continue typing now, but I have to clean my keyboard. It's not like cleaning my keyboard would prevent my from continuing this post, but I'm just a bad multitasker. I don't even use a keyboard to type. I just collect antique keyboards. The one I'm talking about is a bit dusty, and I need to clean it.

I'm thirsty. Thirsty for food. I want to eat food. For I am thirsty. I do, however, not want mustard. Mustard should never be allowed to be. It sucks. Large groups of mustard are considered the crime gangs of the condiment world. That's not what we need right now. Bloomberg has his hands full with banning large sodas as it is. But that's all beside the point. Actually underneath it. Anyway, the story I wanted to tell you today was about submarines. Specifically, events that happened on top of a submarine.

So, once I went to North Dakota and they had this Army Submarine Museum. I, being the intellectual that I am, decided it was a good idea to leave and find a different Army Submarine Museum. Then I traveled south to Kansas to find the other Army Submarine Museum. I decided to take a tour because submarines are cool and stuff. When on the tour we stopped on top of this model of a German U-Boat. The tour guide said something about it being able to travel hundreds of knotical miles without refueling. Then I asked him if he meant ibuprofen instead of knotical. But then he left.


Then I went to Goldy Frankton's house where he has his homemade museum of fossilized onions. I saw some that were in dirt, in clay, in meat, and some that were even in ice. I asked Goldy how he kept these fossilized onion shards safe from melting. He never told me. I think he didn't have a tongue. He never said anything. Oh, come to think of it, I think he's dead. Yeah, that has to be it because he never moved when I got there. He was just sitting on his front porch with the front door open. Come to think of it, the only things in his house too were the onion fossils. Oh well. I'm sure he'll work that all out. 


Isn't it amazing how bacon lettuce decides on how many legs of lamb to feed the swallows? Are they African swallows? Can they carry coconuts? No one knows the answer to these questions. We do all know for a fact, however, that cylinders do. But one thing cylinders can't do, is be. They cannot be. At all. Ever. Don't question my fish bowl. For empty fish bowls cannot answer questions that you may present to it. We'll just let the tears of Matt Damon put out the fires.


-Griffin

OOPS

I MISSED A POST YESTERDAY. SORRY. EXTRA LONG POST NEXT THURSDAY.

-GRIFFIN

Do You Remember Hey Look Ice Cream

Oh hello there. I don't suppose that you are a grape vine. Grape vines do not have access to the internet, let alone a chair. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a grape vine. But since I do know better, as previously stated in the previous statement, you are not a grape vine. Anyway, there are little children at my house, and I have no idea why. It's like if toast grew onto your plate when you specifically ordered bacon and eggs only. It's weird. I can't even believe it. It's happened so barbeque.

Do you remember the Alamo? I only ask because the title has something about you remembering something in it. And since I write the titles of these posts long before I actually write them, I'm required to include words about the title. It also mentions ice cream. I won't say anything about ice cream in this post however. That would be too tacky. Speaking of, wouldn't you like some ice cream right about now? It's really good. Like, you can get loads of different flavors. Some of those included mustard. But since mustard tastes like poop and mustard flavored ice cream probably also tastes like poop, I don't see why in the world you would want that.

This is the second post in June, but it's the first real post of the month. The last post was a poop flavored post, much like mustard ice cream, because I was way too busy that day. I am pretty busy today as well, yet my shampoo quit it's job today. So that gives me some time to actually do things. My shampoo worked as an accountant for US Bank. He turned in his two week notice two weeks ago, and I've been given the work of dealing with all my shampoo's taxes. It's really bad. Anyway, Morgan Freeman.

-Griffin

Important Notice

I have no idea if I will have enough time to make an actual post today so this may be the only thing for reading on the sixth of June. As long as butter isn't on the grape vines, Louisiana will not be under popcorn.

-Griffin