6 August 2009 ?
I spoke to Friendzo today about his drug test. He told me that the masking agent was something that’s in his hair-loss product. I told him that he shouldn’t be using any hair-loss product — he was losing his hair fast enough already. No need to rush Nature.
He gave me kind of a funny look. I asked if I could borrow a pair of pliers. He said he could do me one better, and bought me a house. But what am I going to do with a house? I can’t afford the taxes, or the upkeep. I sold it and used the money to buy some straws for the wet bar in my basement. Purple squiggly ones. They’ll be a big hit at the next bridge tournament. Hopefully this time Winslow Homer shows.
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Posted by hornblower
7 July 2009 ?
Friendzo and I went to the mill last week, for a tour. We’ve been thinking of getting into the bread business, and we wanted to reaffirm our love for the old-fashioned mill.
The wind blew the mill’s blades only slightly, and they moved like the very second hands of the clock that would tell some true time well outside man’s erudition. And we watched it for a minute as we rode up. A minute of true time, reckoned by no Babylonian calculus. The millkeeper spoke to us from his throat and hoarse.
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Posted by hornblower
2 June 2009 ?
Ouch! Caught a train to the Middle country this morning, and my hands are aflame. I tried to walk it off, but I am in the habit of walking on my hands, so that was a poor choice. I rubbed some aloe on my nose and sniffed some begonias, and I felt better. Janezo (two syllables, remember) called me the other day, and I spit-polished my Geo Tracker for our meeting at the courthouse.
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Posted by hornblower
21 May 2009 ?
Forgot to mention, Friendzo and I went to a Mothers’ Day party/Bat Mitzvah last Sunday, the 10th. It was a dangerous place to be.
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Posted by hornblower
4 May 2009 ?
Whatta story this is. Friendzo and I were baking cookies in the basement when the tree outside fell down with a great commotion. When we went to investigate, there was a tiny man there, with orange feet and leprechaun hair — but great big fangs, too. Poisonous fangs. His name was Pantzo. He brandished a wooden spoon and spoke to Friendzo.
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Posted by hornblower
1 May 2009 ?
Brought some candy to the greengrocer today. He chased me out of town with a rattlesnake popgun and two cans of King Cobra malt liquor. So I was walking outside of town, trying to find myself an inn for the sleepin and a cow for the eatin, when all of a sudden there arose such a clatter that I smacked the ground and hollered out for mercy. It was Friendzo and the greengrocer, each sidesaddle on a palomino mare. I packed my bindle and hopped onto Friendzo’s mount. I stood atop the horse for five minutes as Friendzo finished sneezing. The greengrocer was silent, but I saw his eyes and knew Friendzo had thrown him a statue or two. The world’s not big enough for Friendzo anymore; he just keeps running people to the ground, exposing bricks and lies and breasts until the audience loses interest and folds their programs into their laps and leaves Friendzo with a stack of napkins as high as Nelson’s Column.
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Posted by hornblower
2 April 2009 ?
Friendzo called me last night with the most terrifying story. He told me how he dreamt of cats who spoke to him and coughed loudly during the ballet. And he couldn’t imagine how to avoid the embarrassment, so he had to leave the theatre.
Another day has gone by and Friendzo’s mother still has not come by to pick up her birthday present. I suspect she wishes me to bring it to her house; this, however, is impossible. I will notify her that she has seven days to pick it up, or else I shall be forced to open it myself, and enjoy what is inside. I suspect this notice will spur some action in her. I would be very pleased to share the contents of the gift, but Friendzo’s mother happens to be one of the more avid readers of this very Web log, and so I do not wish to spoil the surprise. Sorry to everyone who finds this news disappointing. Sorry also to Friendzo’s mother for perhaps giving her false hope.
I’ll count to thirty over and over again, if I have to. I’ll count until there is no more thirty.
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Posted by hornblower
29 March 2009 ?
I walked to the drugstore today for some pop. Friendzo was there with his lady friend, Esmé, drinking a chocolate milkshake — one straw. They spotted me and waved me over. The pop fizzed like 4th of July sparklers –I’ve got news, Friendzo said, I’m moving out.
I’d heard that one before, god knows. Friendzo thinks a lot about moving out. He makes these plans to run away and start a summer camp for children with extra kidneys. But when Fall comes, what then? He never makes it that far.
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Posted by hornblower
24 March 2009 ?
Friendzo and I have been in a different land for this past week, and I’m sorry to have kept you all in the dark about this matter. I know how painful it has been for everyone reading this now, but please know that this was a necessary vacation for Friendzo and me. We travelled to the underground kingdom of Guadalajara. My auntie has a time share there and she lent it to us to use at our discretion.
Friendzo got into a fight with some local cattle rustlers, and we had to cool it for a while. What happened was, he had sneezed in the saloon on No-Sneeze Tuesday, and then the lead cattle rustler, Jimbo Weathervane, challenged old Friendzo to a unicycle tomfoolery showdown — for the purpose of restoring honor to the saloon, obviously. But Jimbo didn’t know that Friendzo was raised in a somewhat peculiar situation: by wolves, and in a circus. He can sniff out and find a unicycle from twenty miles away, and then he can balance the damn thing on his nose (which same nose had done the sniffing!) for two hours, until he gets nervous and stabs himself with an EpiPen. He also plays the flute pretty well.
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Posted by hornblower
8 March 2009 ?
Friendzo and I are in a bind. He went to the bookie the other day and made a bet that the Second Coming would happen before this Tuesday, but we just got an inside tip that it’s not going to happen until Thursday. And the bookie’s not letting us change the bet, the giraffes are still in my basement, and Friendzo’s been eating Iam’s for a week and a half straight now. I’m worried about him. It’s not the money — he’s always got the trust fund to fall back on, lucky bastard — but I don’t know if his psyche can handle another loss. Ever since his Tom Clancy hunch fell through (he thought Clancy was going to get the Nobel the year Pinter won) Friendzo’s been erratic as hell, throwing his money around like a chimpanzee throws its shit. I just hope he calms down before Spring comes. Ah, Spring. Left and right, he calls me once and again and we bleed together, unified in days and nights and screens and tights.
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Posted by hornblower
