A visitation by the postal service today! Despite being almost completely uninhabited, postal deliveries to Janitor Island can be arranged, and today the proof of this statement was made crystal clarity, for United Postal Worker Odetta Clive landed her amphibious aircraft off the shore, beached it on the sand, hopped out with a mighty mighty woo! ( Read more... )

Michael Jackson, grant my wish
Improve my golf score with Manwhích
Mix that blasts from out my ears...
Watching "Webster" all these years.

The Air Penguin does not yet fly, but progress is imminent, and Alain and Maribeth guestimate that it should be ready for transcontinental soaring within about a week. I cannot wait! In the meantime, I, Alvin Stomack, giggling and reeling, have been searching the benevolent WWW (World Wide Web) for appropriate flowing robes and a giant pumpkin ( Read more... )

Operation Terracross is well underway! My janitorial cohorts and I have begun construction on the Air Penguin, a mighty soaring aerodynamic airship that will surely transport us to Christmas Island (as soon as I figure out in which direction my stalwart homeland lies; I have been using my spyglass, so remedied by saintly Mr. Smiles, and searching ( Read more... )

Thanks to the multitude of electrical outlets installed by the friendly and seemy Samuel Smiles (always an upside-down smile on his rocky physiognomy, but a smile nevertheless), so many things are possible that would be physically and metaphysically impermissable on a reasonably deserted island. After Samuel repaired my defunct notebook computer ( Read more... )

Samuel Smiles is not the only other friend (i.e. human being and/or plant/animal/paramecium) on Janitor Island. There are six others. This is a catalogue of names and souls:

Maribeth Toilet née Purcell - She specializes in all things commodious. So fascinated was she with the inner (and outer) workings of that greatest but obscene modern invention ( Read more... )

The island on which I have resided for the past eight weeks is called 'Janitor Island', I have come to learn. It is 'officially' uninhabited by human philosopher friends; however, during the 1980s, it was the fashion for the highway convenience store conglomerate known as Stuckey's (fantastic pralines!) to send aspiring sanitation engineers to a ( Read more... )

Today as I was searching for Kenny Loggins guitar tablature to re-arrange for my unique and inventive sand ukulele (which I created from the beach of Janitor Island where it will forever remember it's birth (I named her Bert)), and while nursing the first of a skulk of bananas I had recently successfully hunted down with my bluntspear and sipping ( Read more... )

Samuel was charming and discombobulating all at once. He smelt of old peanuts and sassafras. I would have sworn that his bald head reflected the sun with the same ease that I cook up a batch of spinach marshmallow paté on a brisk summer morning out in the ol' back forty. When he spoke, his voice was like nails penetrating the surface of a serene ( Read more... )

As I was expostulating, I have found other friends and followers of the avian species: other living, breathing human peoples, to say the least. It all happened on Thursday (or it least to me it was Thursday, as I have decided that here on this island, away from the modern calendars (colanders?) and clocks of prehistoric (wo)man(kind), every day ( Read more... )