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November 6th, 2026

Journal Writing

November 6th, 2026

Not Buccaneerly Enough

By `

Has anyone else noticed a taste difference between bottled and canned Starbucks iced coffee? I just want to make sure I’m getting more bang for my Starbuck.

In this economy, even Starbucks seems a little pricey. I wonder if they would accept sand dollars instead as payment.

Piracy just isn’t as profitable as it used to be, what with companies favoring other methods of transport these days. Have ye ever tried to plunder a freight train or a cargo plane? It ain’t easy, me bucko.

I miss the maritimes when all ye needed was a cutlass and a map to get yer cut of the profits.

It used to be that my only worry was raising the sails. Now it’s searching for them.

Don’t even get me started about the cost of bandanas these days. Last time I walked into The Bandana Republic, I nearly ate me tricorn hat when I saw the price tag. It’s mutiny, I tell ye!

Forget about those sneakers I be needing from Davy Jones’ Foot Locker. And the cost of a new ruffled shirt at The Swashbuckle nearly ruffled me parrot’s feathers!

I can barely make a living on these scallywages. This cutthroat business is thirsty work.

If I be sounding a little strange, it’s because I’ve had one too many coffees. I’m a salty seadog if I don’t have me salted caramel macchiatos in the morning. I just hope the barista didn’t mind the single gold doubloon I left as a tip. She should consider herself lucky. I could’ve given her scurvy instead.

November 5th, 2026

Journal Writing

November 5th, 2026

Raking Bread

By `

It’s that time of year again when I need to rake the leaves. Personally, I’d rather be raking in the dough. Knowing my luck, though, it would probably be literal dough. Sure, I could make plenty of bread with it, but not the figurative kind that would earn me six figures. At this point, I’d even settle for five.

Come to think of it, there are plenty of good things in life that have the number five in them.

There’s Five Below, for starters. It’s exactly my kind of store. They have a lot of nifty stuff for the thrifty shopper. They also don’t bat an eyelash at me when I try to pay them with a handful of leaves.

Next, there’s Johnny 5. I mean, who wouldn’t want a wisecracking sentient robot as a friend? Especially one that could double as a leaf blower.

Finally, there’s Five Guys. They have good burgers and give you a ridiculous amount of fries to go with them. But I would gladly trade my fries if those five guys would come and help me do yard work.

Luckily, I found a cheap landscaper on Fiverr. But when I tried to pay him with my leftover fries, he started raking my neighbor’s leaves into my yard.

October 31st, 2026

Journal Writing

October 31st, 2026

Otters from the Otterside

By `

You might recall my encounter with the undead guinea pigs a few anecdotes ago. Well, this Halloween, something even more terrifying is on the loose: Otters from the Otterside. Two recently escaped from the zoo. I heard one was never found…

Maybe they got the idea from watching Ferret Bueller’s Day Off.

On my day off, I came across an otter while hiking. It was acting strangely and foaming at the mouth. I think it was otta its mind!

Naturally, I turned around and headed home. Not that I need much of an excuse to weasel out of exercise. Although, come to think of it, exercising and exorcising are two entirely different things. Aren’t they?

Recently, I’ve been getting more into aqua fitness than hiking for some reason. Mostly just floating around on my back. Afterward, I usually indulge in a rather lengthy grooming session, followed by a good shave. Can’t have those whiskers getting too long. Oddly enough, the shaving cream never seems to wash off.

By the time I’m finished, I’m practically starving. Lately, I’ve been going through clam chowder by the gallon. But it does keep me warm in the water.

In the evenings, I usually unwind with some old TV reruns. Tonight it’s Welcome Back Otter.

Before long, I’ll be sawing logs. Or sleeping in one.

October 23rd, 2026

Journal Writing

October 23rd, 2026

Stitch Happens

By `

The other day, my machine at work and I got into a minor disagreement. That’s if you consider trying to slice my finger off a reasonable way to settle an argument. In any case, the disagreement ended with me requiring minor surgery.

Basically, the doctor turned me into a human pincushion. Granted, I’ve got plenty of cushioning, but I could really do without the pins. At one point, I was beginning to wonder if she was performing surgery or reupholstering me.

Usually, I try to put people in stitches, not get them myself. Even the orderly seemed to appreciate my particular brand of bedpan humor. At least, I think that’s why he was laughing. You might be thinking: Isn’t it deadpan? Perhaps, but that sounded a little too ominous under the circumstances.

When the nurse came to check on me, I begged her not to look at my hideous finger. She laughed and assured me she’d seen much worse. I’m beginning to suspect she meant the rest of me.

Then she proceeded to dress my wound, apparently for Halloween. I told her that when I hand out candy this year, I can greet the kids with Frankenfinger. Especially fitting since the doctor warned me the skin around my cut might turn green.

My girlfriend could even dress hers up as the Bride of Frankenfinger. Although, you know what would be even scarier? Putting a ring on that Frankenfinger.

Of course, that admission might result in my girlfriend having a minor disagreement with my other finger. But on the bright side, if it needs bandages too, I can just tell the kids that one is a mummy.

October 22nd, 2026

Journal Writing

October 22nd, 2026

My Nanuscript

By `

NaNoWriMo is coming up in November. Every year, I set out to write a novel but end up writing so little that the nano part of it is right. You might have heard of microfiction, which is a complete, self-contained story told in 300 words or fewer.

I don’t even write that. Instead, what I write could almost be classified as nanofiction. My stories are so short you’d need a nanometer to measure them. That’s roughly three gold atoms lined up side by side. Which, technically, makes my writing pure gold. Try telling that to a publisher.

Maybe there’s a whole genre of fiction hiding here at the atomic level. I could be writing nanobooks for nanobots. Even microscopic machines shouldn’t be deprived of the joys of reading. I already have a title in mind: The Adventures of Atom—a nuclear fiction. The story chronicles Atom’s turbulent love life. His relationship was already as unstable as uranium. Then a particle accelerator came along and split them up.

If Atom bombs, I could always try my hand at Na-Nu fiction. You know, fan fiction from the show Mork & Mindy.

I bet my girlfriend would enjoy that. I swear she’s an Orkan herself, perhaps even a distant cousin of Mork’s. Of course, if I keep splitting hairs over her extraterrestrial tendencies, she might decide to split, too. Or worse, send me into orbit. At least Atom had a particle accelerator.

Shazbot. I hope she doesn’t read that. Comedy is forbidden on Ork, which could make selling my Na-Nu fiction a little difficult. On the bright side, if I get arrested for writing it, at least I’ll finally have a captive audience.

Come to think of it, I might actually finish a novel for NaNoWriMo this year. A lengthy prison sentence on Ork would give me plenty of time to write. Provided they allow microscopic pencils.

October 21st, 2026

Journal Writing

October 21st, 2026

A Floss Cause

By `

I had a dentist appointment today. Although I’m not really sure what I needed to have dented. Between you and me, I already have enough bumps, bruises, and dents to last a lifetime.

It’s like I’m a slapstick comedian, except I don’t do it to entertain an audience. Unless, of course, my girlfriend and dog count. Come to think of it, they do seem awfully entertained whenever I squirt toothpaste in my eye. They’re practically in stitches by the time I start brushing my eyelashes.

Speaking of my dog, she could use a trip to the doggy dentist herself. But unlike me, she probably wouldn’t literally trip.

Her breath isn’t exactly the freshest, which is surprising considering I feed her Freshpet. Apparently, the freshness doesn’t extend to the pet.

On a scale of 1 to 10, her breath rates a K9. The K stands for knockout. One whiff and you’re down for the count.

At first, I thought it was just morning breath. But by evening, I was beginning to mourn. Something clearly had died in her mouth.

Naturally, I tried giving her breath spray. But the mere mention of it sends her running with her tail between her legs. Quite a feat, considering she barely has one.

Next, I took Cesar Millan’s advice and gave her cranberries. I thought it would work considering he’s the Dog Whisperer and all. But that just made me wish my dog would whisper herself.

One thing’s for sure, her halitosis makes getting doggie kisses a lot less enjoyable. Not that it was ever particularly enjoyable in the first place. Kissing a Miniature Schnauzer is like kissing the Bearded Lady. Although, to be fair, the Bearded Lady probably has better breath.

Still, I don’t understand why she always expects me to scratch behind her ears afterward.

My girlfriend apparently got the wrong idea about the whole kissing business and really busted my chops over it. As if I hadn’t already put my mouth through enough at the dentist. And the circus.

After today, they’ve literally dedicated a plaque to my plaque.

Maybe one of these appointments, I can try to sneak my dog in with me. But something tells me that after the dentist catches wind of her breath, he’ll declare it a total floss.

October 20th, 2026

Journal Writing

October 20th, 2026

A Little Foggy

By `

Lately, I feel like I’ve been in a bit of a fog. It probably doesn’t help that it was actually foggy today.

I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’ve been feeling like an old fogey lately, spouting off ridiculous sayings that don’t make a lick of sense. Why, just this morning, I caught myself saying, “That fog’s so thick, it forgot clouds belong in the sky.”

I say, I say, what kind of fool talks like that?

Mornings have been particularly rough. I used to be an early bird, but lately, when the sun comes up, it’s more like cock-a-doodle-do-not.

Once I’m out of bed, though, I tend to feel a little peckish. Lately, I’ve had a hankering for cornbread. Nothing unusual about that, I say. A growing boy needs his breakfast.

In fact, I’ve been eating so much of it that we ran out of cornmeal. I added it to the grocery list, but my girlfriend complained that she couldn’t read my chicken scratch.

She’s also been complaining about the way I talk lately. Apparently, I’ve developed a Southern accent and a habit of repeating myself. Repeating myself, I say!

She’s been madder than a wet hen about it. Which is rather peculiar, considering she ain’t even wet. It’s foggy outside, not raining.

Speaking of wet, I thought a hot shower might help clear my head. Unfortunately, when I stepped out, the bathroom mirror was completely fogged up. Couldn’t see a thing.

Then I discovered somebody had replaced my shaving cream with coleslaw. I don’t know who’s responsible, but I suspect fowl play.

Not that I was planning to shave anyway. It’s become a real pain in the wattles lately.

October 19th, 2026

Journal Writing

October 19th, 2026

That's What's 7Up

By `

Why does writing have to be so hard? Sometimes, I literally need to coax the words out of myself. Not exactly easy since I’m more of a Pepsi kinda guy. Actually, given a choice, I would probably pick Mountain Dew. Yes, I do, do the dew, dude.

Coke is fine, if you’re a polar bear, which I’m definitely not. Never mind my thick layer of blubber and luxurious white fur.

I wonder why Mountain Dew has never chosen to use a mountain lion in their advertising. Now that’s a mascot I could get behind. And behind a mountain lion is exactly where I’d want to be, because with all this extra flab, I’d never outrun one.

Another reason I’m a Mountain Dewd is because I insist my dew be ethically harvested from only the freshest mountain peaks. Thank you very much.

Speaking of bottles, maybe my writing struggle is the result of bottling up my emotions. It’s hard to get in touch with your feelings when they’re all frozen solid. That’s life in the Arctic Circle.

Maybe that’s why I’ve resorted to writing about soda. I mean, who wouldn’t want to read a hard-hitting exposé on my soft-drink preferences? It’s the kind of groundbreaking journalism that could really shake up the beverage industry. Just don’t open it afterward.

Still, one thing is certain. I definitely write a lot more freely after a couple of bottles of Mountain Dew.

As of this anecdote, I’m currently on my fourth. And you know what? I dOn’T fEeL J-J-JiTtErY iN tHe LeAsT!

On second thought, maybe this whole writing thing isn’t as hard as I thought. I mean, I did manage to coax all these words about soda out of me. And I did it all without even belching once. Maybe I should just work in the fizz business instead. Surely after writing this I must be colafied.

Although, between you and me, the hardest part of writing isn’t finding the right words. It’s typing them with these enormous paws.

October 18th, 2026

Journal Writing

October 18th, 2026

A Rocky Road to Recovery

By `

Lately, my refrigerator has been giving me the cold shoulder. I think it’s because I’ve been putting our relationship on ice. She misses the Netflix and chill, especially our midnight snacking sessions.

I can’t help it. I’m on a diet. She shouldn’t take it so personally. I wouldn’t need to diet if I was running all the time like her.

Besides, everyone knows what happens when you eat after midnight. Gremlins. Still, what harm could one little late-night snack do? You know, for old times’ sake.

That’s when I discovered the pepperoni from my Pup-Peroni Pizza two anecdotes ago was still in there. Apparently, it had been neglected for so long that it had lost all its pep. In fact, it looked downright sick. So much for cured meats, right?

It had turned a sickly greenish-brown and smelled vaguely like cigarettes for some reason.

I pulled out my stethoscope. I always keep one handy for situations like these. They happen more often than you’d think.

I placed it against the pepperoni and listened for a heartbeat. Instead, I heard something that resembled a 1980s movie theme.

Just as I was about to throw it away, it moved! Then the individual slices started gathering for what looked like a pep rally.

The slices fused into a slimy creature sporting bat-like ears and a spiky white mohawk. It flashed a sinister grin, revealing a mouthful of jagged teeth, before feverishly devouring my girlfriend’s leftover ice cream shakes.

Not that it was me, of course. It was after midnight, after all.

The following evening, my girlfriend came over and discovered her ice cream shakes were missing.

Naturally, I told her the refrigerator was heartbroken. Everyone knows getting over a breakup requires a certain amount of ice cream. I knew she’d never believe me if I told her what really happened.

She said, “If you ate my ice cream, just say so. Looks like you ate the pepperoni, too.”

October 17th, 2026

Journal Writing

October 17th, 2026

The Swee-Test

By `

It’s Sweetest Day, and I’m wondering if there’s going to be some kind of swee-test this year. I’m not sure I’m prepared for that. Oh, God, what if there’s a pop quiz about the best ways to pop the question?

I’m a hopeless romantic—emphasis on the hopeless. I haven’t read a romance novel since… well, ever. I wouldn’t even know what qualifies as romantic these days. Proposing atop a skyscraper? That wouldn’t work because my girlfriend is afraid of heights, and I’m afraid of… well, marriage.

After admitting that, though, maybe I should be more afraid of my girlfriend. Spending Sweetest Day at Urgent Care wouldn’t exactly be sweet.

Then again, at least I’d get a lollipop. Although who wants to suck on one after being sucker punched in the jaw?

Maybe I could even propose to her right there in the waiting room. That’s romantic, right? You know, somewhere there are plenty of witnesses, just in case it isn’t. And as an added bonus, I’d be first in line for first aid.

At least I’d be prepared for the doctor’s tests, if not the swee-test. Whether I’d pass them after my girlfriend was through with me is another matter entirely.

Of course, maybe I’ve misunderstood this whole swee-test business. What if it’s not a written exam at all? What if it’s some kind of rom-com competition?

Couples would compete in a series of increasingly embarrassing romantic challenges. Naturally, the winning couple would be whichever one hadn’t broken up by the end.

I really think my girlfriend and I would stand a chance, provided that couple from the horror movie Obsession weren’t contestants. Although, judging by my earlier comments about marriage, I’m beginning to think my girlfriend and that woman might get along famously.

But just to be safe, does anyone know a good tutor?

Or a good bodyguard?