Last updated on June 28, 2019
I was going to start this post with a HIGH PROFANITY WARNING, but then I read this hysterical post in the Chicago Tribune, and decided to engage in some creative profanity so more might enjoy my rantings.
Always knew this day might come, yet it still took me completely by surprise.
I am entirely out of flonks. Flonk bereft. My field of flonks is not only barren, it is overfarmed and sown with salt; flonk dust is blowing in the wind. I thought it was a temporary thing, but upon further review I appear to have chronic pernicious flonk-anemia. I’ve looked everywhere, with nary a flonk to be found. All the usual spots are empty, dust and crumbs littering the corners. Moths flew out of the flonk-wallet, and there was not a flonking thing under the couch cushions.
Thought I’d found a diddly-darn, but Rhett Butler wasn’t giving it up, the selfish rogue. He did, however, send his kind regards. How gentlemanly of him.
I own and have read the various books out there about not giving a flonk (or rather, about being more selective about the flonks you do give), but I’m so far gone that I don’t give a flonk about the books or the fact that I have absorbed their contents.
Yes, it is the tushy-end of winter. Winter can go flonk itself as well. Flonk itself sideways with an ingrown cactus. The Polar Vortex bull-poopy that piddled all over the upper Midwest this winter can definitely do various unsavory things to itself with a red-hot poker and a series of acidic compounds. So I know winter is partly to blame for my bank of flonks being deep in the red, but I can’t lay it all at winter’s frigid feet; I was having a hard time balancing my flonk account before winter took my soul hostage.
I never thought this would happen to me; I thought I was flonk deficit immune. I thought it was possible to divvy up flonks into increasingly smaller and smaller flonklettes, so that everything could get a flonk crumb. Alas, I recognized far too late that flonks cannot be divided. While you think you’re parceling them out, you are instead flinging your flonks around willy-nilly, and before you know it, you have not a single flonk left to give.
At this point, I have no idea how to go about gathering flonks again. I really do not give a flying flonk about anything these days. The flonks I have for myself and my family are ghostly habits, and I really really hope spring arrives before those fade away as well.
When spring gets here, I shall sit in the sun and plan the future of my flonks. It’s good to give a flonk, and really uncomfortable when you have none to offer.