Mr. Snuffy, Soft Serve & Side Effects©

“COVID side effects are up! Eat more soft serve!” – Mr. Snuffy

“No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness” – Aristotle

My name is Trudi Glockenspiel and I am sooo super lucky! My hubby Mr. Snuffy is bein’ super bitchin’ nice to me even though I got afflicted with COVID-19 Looney Tunes Personality Disorder (ELL-TEE-PEE-DEE).

OMG! The COVID side dishes were terrible! “No, Trudi, not side dishes! COVID side effects!” OK, my hubby, Mr. Snuffy!

And you wanna know who told me I got ELL-TEE-PEE-DEE? World famoso shrinky dink to the stars, Armando Fauci-Bulles-Drôles, MD! Smokin’! {Confidential secret numero uno: My hubby Mr. Snuffy has a lot of connectivity down in Washington D. of C. because of his work in the soft serve industry. So he called Armando as soon as he saw my eyeballs rollin’ around in my head like loose change in a Vegas slot machine.Armando and I zoomed for five whole minutes and he totally got me. Whoa! It was amazin’. You know, in sorta real life, Armando’s super yummy.}

When he isn’t blabbing about COVID cases…blah, blah, bah.

Being Monotonousnessized Leads To No Good

What got this whole kerfluffle goin’ in the first place was that I’d caught a humongous case of virus monotonousness (that’s English for bored out of my mind) because absoloootly nuttin’ has been happenin’. “I got plenty o’ nuttin’ an’ nuttin’s plenty fo’ me. I got no car, I got no mule, I got no misereeee…”

Excusez moi sil vous plait. That’s not exactly true. I did spend seven months sharin’ recipes for arroz con pollo, chicken feet soup, pierogis and PB&J sandwiches with the cross-cultural ethnic mosaic in which we co-mingle. My hubby Mr. Snuffy gave out lotsa soft serve for free. But then my neighbors got all pudgy and they got rockin’ pissed off at him. You see, gettin’ pudgy is a soft-serve side effect.

But I was watchin’ Fox News and that scary lady with the big blonde hair, humongous earrings, and stone-cold, plastic-surgery frozen-face came on. She said, “Sharing recipes and being a better person are over. Are you listening, Trudi Glockenspiel?” Then she said, “Now it’s time for ya’all to get pissed off at everybody else. And if you wear a bag over your head to keep you safe from the virus, like the Democraticans tell you to, you’re a loser.” I had to listen to the scary lady. ‘Cause if I didn’t, her friends, ya know, those zombies she works with, would come and get me. And force me to gargle with rubbing alcohol and bleach. So I wouldn’t get COVID side effects.

America is a Free Country

Bottom line: you wanna know what I think? Wear a bag over your head; don’t wear a bag over your head. Stay 600 feet away from your goldfish; don’t stay 600 feet away from your goldfish. Hey, this is America. Where we don’t worry about nuthin’. Not even COVID side effects. La, de la, de, da!

It’s your right to snuff out the lives of Bubbles and Nemo and even take your family and everybody else’s family down with you. Ho, ho, ho! Maybe even your whole town! Love it or leave it, that’s what I say. We do what we want in America. In fact, did you know that in some towns you can go grocery shoppin’ with a loaded AK-47?

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!

So…Not only am I doin’ a lotta nuttin’, it’s takin’ me longer to do it. OMG: it takes me like 89 minutes just to get out of bed, eat a bowl of cereal and change out of my PJs. By the way, while I was eatin’ my Cheerios, there was a Neutrogena ad with, you know, Jennifer Garner. And she says, her perky little boobies bobbin’ up and down like apples in a barrel of water, “Who has time for wrinkles?”

And I start screamin’, “Well, you know what, Jennifer!? I have time for wrinkles, Jennifer! I have time for gray hair, Jennifer! And, if you wanna know the truth, I have time to pick lint from the carpet, one tiny fleck at a time, Jennifer! I’m lucky if I know what day it is, Jennifer! It could be next week, Jennifer! It could still be yesterday, Jennifer! No, like really, it could, Jennifer!”

As you can see by now, I’ve been jonesing for a little fun. {Confidential secret numero dos: The other day I was so bored I asked my hubby Mr. Snuffy if I could watch him do his nasal flush. It was like watchin’ somebody waterboard himself!} I was thinkin’ like maybe I should call the FBI. ‘Cause ain’t waterboarding torture? Sure looked like it to me!

The True Story of My Looniness

So I decided to get dooded up in my $37 Manolo Blahnik stilettos, padded bra from Kohl’s, and vintage babydoll dress from the Salvation Army. {Confidential secret numero tres: If you have a flat chest, you can use it as an ironing board.}

Anyhoohoo…I called an Ooober and told the driver to take me to the best bitchin’ super-spreader parté in town. I heard they’re sooo fun with everybody rockin’ out and gettin’ totally shitfaced! You wanna know where the Ooober guy took me? An all-night frat party at Alpha Sigma Tau Beta Zeta Gamma Ramma Lamma Ding Dong on the campus of Ozark Technical Community College.

It’s next to the Fluff ‘n Suds where you can secretly buy illegal over-the-counter medications. Like Pepto Bismol. Whoa!

Anyhoohoohoo…The party was so psychodelic! I mean the freak flags were flyin’! Jell-O shots up the wazoo. Blindfolded darts. Pole dancin’!!! I got drunk as a skunk and high as a kite! And nobody was wearin’ a bag on their head.

And just when a really cool dude with a doobie stickin’ outa each of his nose holes was gonna let me have a toke, BOOM!!!COVID-19 Looney Tunes Personality Disorder (ELL-TEE-PEE-DEE). Like right away I started seein’ little round things with like red hair brushes stickin’ out. And then they started doin’ the tango. They were gooood! Like Dancin’ with the Stars gooood.

The next thing I remember I was lyin’ on the top of a Volkswagen bus with a bungee cord across my chest. And then it was the next mornin’ and I was runnin’ around our house like a lunatic, wrapped in a toilet paper Mumu with my Dollar General tiara hangin’ from one ear, screamin’, “Mr. Snuffy, why am I running around the house like a lunatic? Why?”

“Trudi, you are a real COVID case, you know that? And now it’s time for your straitjacket.”

Oh, yes, my hubby Mr. Snuffy. I would like my straight jacket. And my Elmo doll. And my Mr. Potato Head blankie. And a tablespoon of vanilla soft serve. With four Graham crackers.

I am a robin sittin’ in a tree. I see the world beneath my knee. Oh, no, how can that be? I am a bird; I have no knee. So here I sit, atop my tree. I see the world beneath my breast. Oh, no. I just fell from my nest. And now, chirp, chirp, I’m dead.

This is Mr. Snuffy speaking. If you don’t want to end up in a straitjacket like Trudi, follow these free tips and everything will be groovy.

Roll with the punches, but not while eating potato chips.
Always blame the cat.
Never climb a ladder with a beer in each hand.
If you’re nervous, don’t be nervous.
Take two shots of Sheep Dog Peanut Butter Whiskey and call your shrink in the morning.
Sometimes you’re the dog and sometimes you’re the hydrant.
If you’re having side effects, eat more soft serve.
Most importantly: find someone who understands you and loves you anyway.