Oh the Farmer and the Henry Should Be Friends

Okay, peop-holes. Sorry I been long gone for so long.

I feel like I have a lot to catch you up on. The big news is... I've taken a major step in my life. It's a baby-step, but I think it will lead to many great things. I've decided to no longer move about the world via ambulation. My savior, a Dr. Haroldo Itcherberg, has devised a new method, and no it's not a "Segway". Although, I can't technically fly, if you were to take a picture of me 90% of the time, it would still look like I was floating. Yes, the most clever of you have no doubt guessed it - I now travel exclusively by trampoline. It's a little robotic one that moves around directly under me at all times. Her name is Samantha.

Being a rock star does have certain privileges. I'm sure many of wish you had the kind of money and fame to go through life spending much of it up in the air by means of repeated trampoline use. Well, I'm a living role-model to you, I'm sure. I'm proof that getting lots of fortune means you can reach the sky, or the ceiling, or at the very least, many tallish trees (I've never eaten so many coconuts!). For those of you aspiring "tramps" wanting in on the good life, keep dreaming and hoping and then eventually become a rockstar. I'm looking forward to seeing you up in the air!

What's the weather like up here, you ask? Sunny! (with a 20% chance of sleet)

I want everyone to know that my new life-style choice will in no way effect my relationship with the band. Everyone hated me already and will continue to do so. I will still play a musical instrument, and that instrument will still be called "drums" by me (and hopefully everyone else, if they know what's good for them). Our new bandmember A-Train knows how to rock and roll and is quite the Idea Man. He is planning on hooking up a theremin to a trampoline so that I can play it during concerts and in studios. I will simply jump from Samantha to the specially-rigged instrument, and then back again when I am done. You guys know what a theremin is? A person playing a theremin never comes into physical contact with it.



This is great for me because, with the exception of trampolines, I'd like not to come into contact with any physical objects at all. This means no autographs! How many times do I have to say it? And no, "not being able to hear me because I'm 10 feet above you when I say it" is not an excuse!

In other news, I did go to the farmer's convention. A-Train had the novel idea of disguising me as a woman. I still got recognized, but they all thought I was a transvestite and were a lot more polite to me after that. Either that or they were weirded out by me and Samantha. Traveling by trampoline did have its thrills. I killed at hopping over cows and things. I made rodeo clowns jealous. I even up-staged the cows! Many of the kids in the audience told me afterwards that after watching me jump over the cows they no longer liked the cows, and would not ever become farmers. I think I am doing God's work.

One last thing... Marfa: the letter you posted from CeCe "Henry" Kobravski must be a forgery. It's just not possible. I saw her with my own eyes fall over the waterfall into the abyss after our climactic duel. There's no way she could have survived. Could it be? Could it be that my arch-nemesis CeCe "Henry" Kobravski is alive?! She did mention sporks. That is her signature. Could this be a copy-cat CeCe? I will have to increase my vigilance. What CeCe doesn't realize is I have Samantha now. The advantage is mine. I can, like, fling crap at her from above. Ha!

Man Alive! Zeitgeist.

Hey Worries, I've been out in the field with my 10-foot long microphone and headphones and homophones, getting the best of the world, audio-wise. Here are some noteworthy 24K golden moments to be included on the 'wich:

-Siamese donkey brayings. (got access to the special FFA secret room)
-90-year-old man going down a slip-and-slide with the greatest of speeds and the lavendarest of Speedoes. He was in great shape. The war cry on that man!
-A fat lady sitting on a BLT. Over and over and over again.
-Playing my double bass in the Erebus Glacier Tongue, Antarctica, accompanied by the soft chatter of penguins watching the performance.

I've begun programming the sounds into some compositions for "Hey Lady Where's My Sandwich". It's total schadenfreude, or nebellicht, or heidelbeere that you wrote a song about a lady and a sandwich and I recorded the sound of a lady and a sandwich. M + W's 4-evah.

Also, Henry, I have received a letter for you in my mailbox (when are you leaving the halfway house?). Here goes:

"Dear Henry, the only Worthy that really matters,

I love you and want to be with your forever. I will hold you just like you are cradling the chicken on the cover of "It Only Hurts Part of the Time". Which, by the way, I had the other sounds removed so that I could hear only your drums. Only your drums. I do your riffs all the time in the cafeteria. I have my own table where I eat Honey Buns and tots and I don't care what Mrs.Cunt-ing-ham says, I'll play drums with my spork and butter knife all day, I don't care. Please come to the Homecoming Dance with me. I knitted a dress with your face in it. I can make you a matching suit with your face on it too. Then it would be like 3 Henrys, and that is triple heaven. I love you forever.

Love you,

CeCe "Henry" Kobravski

P.S. See? Your name is my middle name. Because I want you to be part of me all the time."

Sigh. There you go, Henry. Disturbing.

-Fraulein Marfa

No need to thank me, Community

In response to the recent letter:

Dear Mildred,
Don't have that man's baby, Mildred. That is all.
Me

Dear future Mildred's baby,
Your mother loves you. Never give up hope. I have decided your name is Bella. Mildred, if you're reading this, you know what to do. Bella means 'beauty' in some other language.
Me

Wow, that was easy. I feel like I am serving my community well.

Hey Mr. B, that was an excellent song! The one about the sandwich, I mean. You sing something like that action and I'll bang on the drums to it. And in a matter in which it was like I was born to do it. By the way, when I haven't been incarcerated, I've been working on a new "riff" that might just revolutionize our particular country's concept of the riff. When you scream "AND MAYBE A LITTLE BACON" at that one part, I plan to let rip the riff. It's going to blow beer out of people's noses, even the noses of minors. I will probably be held responsible for bringing back moshing, but I am okay with that. Let my power be felt throughout the land.

Oh, and about the Farmers... I don't think that's going to work. I have never gotten along with them, and without even trying have found ways to make them seriously hate me. I'm willing to go through with this plan, but expect some major tensions.

Doin' my time

Sorry about the drug binge I've been on and was subsequently busted for, guys. The law enforcement officers have informed me I have to perform community service. I'm pretty sure blogging counts. Aren't ya'll a community? Bingo. So what am I supposed to yap at you about? And what sort of service should I provide? Uhhhh. I'm blankin'. Well, giving advice is a form of service. Hey, send me some questions, like about dating or something. I'll answer them here. Aren't I a good citizen now? Anyway, if anybody has any "HORSE", email me on the side. And yes, officer, I am talking bout the animal. Geez!

My adventures in Phoenix

Hi Worth-heads. I just got back from Phoenix. Wow. Don't let any "New-Age Geographers" discourage you from thinking Phoenix is a quaint little Spanish villa in the heart of Germany, because it is. Phoenix is a woolly-lover's dream. By "woolly" of course I mean woolly mammoths. If you want a shirt that says "woolly mammoth" on it, or even "woolly-lover's dream", you're in the right place. Phoenix is the home of all such shirts. Scientists have a new theory that all the woolly mammoths came to Phoenix and lived there comfortably until their gentle deaths. It became something of a retirement home for them, that's what one scientist is quoted as saying. And this led some very bold and daring entrepreneurs to recognize its amazing shirt potential. The first woolly-related slogan slapped on a shirt was in 1971. JFK's son was 11 years old and visiting Phoenix for the first time (He would later live there and call it "the Paris of the Andes"). During his visit, he gave a speech to the patrons of a meat plant that inspired a Mr. Hancock Peckman to put "Phoenix Gives Me the Woollies" on his apron. He sold it to 1000 people in five minutes for 451 deutschmarks. A shirt of this kind would cost something like 2.8 million U.S. dollars today. Too bad Hancock burned them all for personal reasons. But what brought me to Phoenix, resting place of all the mammoths, you ask? Spelunking. Yes, besides its prehistoric pachyderms, this quaint Spanish villa has the most amazing underground caves. They were discovered centuries ago when somebody suddenly realized there may actually be something more under our feet than mud and rock. Like gold, for example. Sadly there is no gold whatsoever in Phoenix. Or there was, until JFK, Jr. took it all. Now in place of the gold are a whole lot of empty spaces. Or as the Germans say, caves. I went all around them and bought like fifty military planes for our next video. Fun time had by all! Now I'm back and I want make music. Me rocker. Me want rock. Let's play and sing. I make with the drum. We record. We tour. I the glue that keep band together. Rock rock rock. Ding ding ding. Raaaaaaa.