Tuesday, November 2, 2021



by Porfle Popnecker


(Note:  I got tired of writing this story after awhile so I gave it an abrupt, anti-climactic ending.

One morning, I was so happy that I bounded out of bed, crashed through the window next to my bed, and fell two stories into one of those really prickly thorn bushes.

I got up, ran back inside,jumped back into bed, and then bounded out of bed again, only this time being careful to bound out of the other side of the bed that didn't have a window right next to it. I landed on my skateboard, flew screaming across the room, and crashed through the window on the other side of my bedroom.

This time I landed on top of my Dad's incredibly expensive foreign sports car and blew out both the front and rear windshields while caving in the top so completely that it smashed into the steering wheel and set the ear-piercing horn blaring.

I sat there, dazed, amidst the ruins of Dad's car, and thought about what had just happened. "I could've been more careful getting out of bed just then," I chided myself. "If I'd only practiced more restraint, none of these unfortunate things would have occurred. Or, at least, they would have been considerably less likely to have occurred."

Just then, the car's radio came on by itself and there just happened to be an important news bulletin coming out of it. "Important news bulletin!" a strident voice announced. "Today's government directive is that horses are now dogs! Repeat...HORSES ARE NOW DOGS!"

"YAAAY!!!" I screamed, hopping down off the wreckage and practically flying into the house. I ran into my parents' bedroom where they still slept soundly, and leapt onto their bed, causing them both to elevate a good two feet with their limbs flailing before flopping back onto the mattress, dazed.

Shaking his head, Dad looked at me angrily. "What's the meaning of this?" he grunted. Then a sudden realization seemed to settle into his mind. "Oh, right," he mumbled. "It's you. Never mind. Why did I even ask?" For a second, it looked as if he might start to sob.

Perceiving that a more calm and rational demeanor was now required of me, I gathered myself and spoke softly and slowly. "Dad," I said, almost whispering, "how many horses do we have?"

Dad was visibly puzzled by my question, but knew that there was no use in trying to sort out my motives for asking it. "Why, we have many horses. We live on a horse ranch, after all. We have an entire herd of horses."

I smiled, maintaining a calm exterior while bursting like fireworks on the Fourth of July on the inside. "Dad," I said, suppressing my excitement. "Did you know that horses are now dogs?"

This time he had to ask. "What...? What the hell do you mean? Why are you--"

I grabbed him by the shoulders and screamed into his face with all the sheer intensity I could muster. "HORSES ARE NOW DOGS!!! HORSES ARE NOW DOGS!!! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS??? DAD!!! IT MEANS WE HAVE A WHOLE HERD OF DOGS!!! I'VE WANTED A DOG MY WHOLE LIFE, AND NOW WE HAVE A WHOLE HERD OF DOGS!!! DOGS, DOGS, DOGS!!!"

Mom, who in her half-sleep had barely followed the conversation thus far, staggered out of bed and ran to the back window to see if something had happened to their precious horses, upon whom our very livelihood depended since Mom and Dad ran one of the leading horse ranches in the state. Peering out with her eyes squinted, she said, "Why, there's nothing wrong with those horses--"

"DOGS!!!" I screamed. "There's nothing wrong with those DOGS!!!" With that, I tired of my verbal exchange with the 'rents and ran outside, clambering over the back fence and running out into the pasture amongst my wonderful new pets. I was surrounded by dogs!

Picking up a stick, I hurled it across the field. "FETCH!" I screamed at the nearest dog. "Fetch the stick, boy! Fetch! FETCH!"

The big dog merely neighed at me in alarm and ran away, its tail swishing like a giant tassel. I ran and retrieved the stick, then tried to get up a fun game of fetch with the other dogs.  One by one, they all merely neighed in alarm and galloped away, just like the first one.

I sank to my knees in the tall, dewy grass of that wide, rolling pasture and wept. Or at least I pretended to weep. I was really just squeezing out some fake "crocodile" tears designed to make the dogs feel sorry for me and come back and want to play fetch. But it didn't work.

"What do I do now?" I thought to myself. My new dogs were defective! Should I set the house on fire? Should I steal a forklift and drive it through my neighbor's ten-million-dollar mansion and into the swimming pool in his backyard? Or were there other, even more effective things I could do in the form of a protest against such an unjust fate?

Then, it happened. A rare, once-in-a-lifetime lucid thought, one which contained a precious spark of rationality, made its way warily into my head. It was as if the voice of a wise old sage had somehow wafted into my brain. It spoke to me in a calming fashion that I heeded with keen attention.

"Horses are not dogs," the voice said. "That was just one of those dumb jokes that morning radio deejays come up with. If you'd just listened to the rest of the broadcast, you'd have heard him say he was only kidding about horses being dogs now."

"Oh," I said dejectedly, regretting my failure to hear the deejay's explanatory disclaimer. "Well then, I guess all I have are a herd of plain old horses. Instead of dogs, that is."

"No," said the voice. "You don't even have a herd of horses anymore. You chased them all away."

Realizing that there was no use in putting it off, I tromped back into the house and into my parents' bedroom, where they were still lying there in shock. "I chased all the horses away, Dad," I announced. "The 'horses are dogs' thing turned out to be a false alarm. So now, we don't have any horses OR dogs."

"Well then, we're ruined," said Dad, the realization settling over his face like a shroud.

"Yeah," I affirmed. "Well, I guess I'll mosey on down to the general store. Looks like I've finally got a dandy yarn to tell around the old cracker barrel."  

And that, my friends, is how I became known as the most thoughtless, impetuous, delusional, and potentially dangerous person in the whole town. Maybe even the whole county.


Sunday, April 23, 2017


Hiya, folks--thanks for coming to my show. I'm really glad to be here. Come to think of it, I'm really glad to be anywhere, because if I wasn't, it would mean that I didn't exist.

 Hey, ever notice how people eat when they're hungry? That's messed up. I think people should eat when they're thirsty. And have sex when they're hungry. And drink when they're horny.

 I was looking at my feet the other day and noticing that I have ten toes. Why ten? I don't get it. Ten toes. Why not twelve? Why not twenty? Or fifty? Why not a thousand toes? And while I'm thinking about it, why aren't people born with unicycles between their legs? Huh? Crazy.

 I think that babies should be taught to ride motorcycles before they learn how to walk. Not little baby-sized ones, of course--that would be ridiculous. I'm talking about real, full-sized Harley-Davidson motorcycles. Choppers, full-dressers, like, hogs, whatever. This probably wouldn't be any kind of advantage in the baby's development or anything, but it would be interesting to watch. And you could set up ramps for them so they could try to jump over stuff. Just imagine the YouTube videos. "Ha, ha, here comes baby"--crash.

 Relationships...hoo, boy. I lived with this chick once, it was a nightmare. Sure, I tried to be Mr. Nice Guy, but she was never satisfied. Like, she kept insisting that I should let her live INSIDE the house. I'm like, "What? Who's gonna bark at prowlers? I can't afford to feed a dog." And she didn't share my love for Easter Egg hunts, either. Even though I tried to make them more fun by replacing the Easter Eggs with my used underwear for her to wash after she found them all. You'd think, "fun"--right? She just didn't get it.

 You know what I like? Ice cream. I like to shove it in my underwear. Like, about two, three gallons, you know? Pack it in there, right around my goodies. Makes me feel like an ice cream cone...like a human ice cream cone. Walk around in the park and say to people, "Hey, you--come lick the human ice cream cone." Anybody tries to mess with you, you just fly away. You know, like Superman.

 I tried being one of those birthday party clowns for awhile, but it didn't work out. I was Ku Klux Klown. I'd burn a cross in front of the kids, you know, dance around it chanting "white power", stuff like that, but like, funny. Then I'd make funny balloon animals. It got to where nobody would hire me after a few times. I think it might've been because of the balloon animals. Kids today just have a shorter attention span.

 And hey, what about this political situation in the world today? Is it nuts or what? Huh? Am I right? I can't believe some of this stuff going on. I look at the paper and think "wow." Just, "wow." Freaky.

 Well, thanks everyone, you've been great. Here's a little song I like to close my show with:

 (bouncy music)

 Oh, I love to entertain
 And share my funny brain
 With all you lovely people in the audience.

 I kid with some of you
 And tell a joke or two
 And even (FRRRRT!!!) release a little flatulence.

 Before you leave, I think that you should know
 I peed in all your drinks before the show

 So don't forget to laugh
 Have sex with a giraffe
 Then take a bubble bath in your commode.

Friday, December 23, 2016


(Here's something I wrote a LONG time ago for a now-defunct site called "Bumscorner."  You'll notice the prices are a bit out of date now.  Also,  my diet has changed considerably.)

Usually I spend all the Christmas money I get on DVDs. I love DVDs. If I were Richie Rich, I would take all the money he wastes on stupid stuff like robot maids and genetically-altered dogs that have spots shaped like dollar signs and spend it on millions of DVDs, and Freckles and Pee-Wee would secretly hate my guts even more. However...

Something about the Christmas season makes me really, really hungry. So I'm taking the hundred bucks that sweet old Granny Bum gave me for Christmas to Wal-Mart to buy a month's worth of groceries. "But, porfle," you're thinking, "you can't buy a whole month's worth of groceries for $100." Well, we're certainly going to give it a shot.

I like to work the food section at Wal-Mart from right to left, so first we wheel our shopping cart into the dairy aisle.

 2 gallons of cheap milk
 1 tub house brand margerine
 1 dozen house brand jumbo eggs

Money remaining: $91.50

Now we veer into the meat section. (I'll bet that's the first time today that you've heard someone say that.)

 1 package of basic, non-fancy bologna
 2 packs of standard, no-frills Oscar Meyer wieners

You'd be surprised how much stuff you can cook with just those simple elements. Two diced-up microwaved wieners provide plenty of savory meat for a whole variety of cheap dishes you can make with side-dish packets. And a single diced-up slice of bologna, fried with diced onions, really sets off a steaming pile of scrambled eggs mixed with diced tomatoes, jalepenos, and cheese. Also, four or five slices of bologna cut in half, fried, and served with canned spinach and tater tots is a feast fit for a king. Why, Donald Trump's fat ass never had it so good.

Money remaining: $87.00

Now we leave the meat section to procure some non-edible items. I know you'd rather stay there for awhile, because that's where the steaks, pork chops, rump roasts, and other wonderful, yummy things are. But we must ignore them. They are for people who have rich grannies.

Non-edible items which must be procured:

 1 box dishwasher detergent
 1 three-pack cheapo paper towels
 1 pack of Raid Flea Foggers because I have cats
 1 four-pack of deluxe double-ply Charmin toilet tissue (because there are some things you just can't skimp on)

Money remaining: $77.00

And now, although we are being as frugal as possible, we must have snacks. Snacks are what separate humans from the animals, because animals don't watch TV.

 1 15-pack of Pop Weaver popcorn
 1 party-sized can of house brand peanuts
 1 family-sized bag of no-frills tortilla chips
 1 large container of hot sauce (or "salsa")
 1 package of cheap glazed oatmeal cookies
 1 package of cheap chocolate-covered graham crackers
 4 bags of Sam's Choice cheese puffs

Forget about those decadent name-brand Cheetos. Sam's Choice cheese puffs are only a dollar a bag, and they fill the bags up almost to the top. This alone is enough to make me glad Sam Walton was born.

Tortilla chips and hot sauce are a must, because they can either be a snack or a delicious side dish for almost any meal. If you're lucky enough to live in or around East Texas you can get Albert's Hot Sauce. If not, you must settle for an inferior brand.

Money remaining: $56.00

Moving on, it is now time to hit the aisles that feature canned foods, rice, packaged mixes, etc. These are highly important because they help form the basis for the wonderful and exciting super-cheap meals that we will prepare during the month.

I love spinach. A can of house-brand spinach is only fifty cents. Another brand has a picture of Popeye on the label, but you must resist buying it because it costs ten cents more, and that's just for the picture of Popeye.

8 cans of non-Popeye spinach

Cheap rice is only forty-eight cents a bag. FORTY-EIGHT CENTS! Half a bag of cooked rice mixed with a cheap can of chili and beans or vegetable beef soup, cheese, onions, and spices makes an incredible meal that will last most people at least two or three days. HOLY CATS! Paris Hilton doesn't know what the hell she's missing.

 2 bags cheap rice
 2 cans cheap chili and beans
 2 cans cheap vegetable beef soup

Oh yeah, cheese:

 1 block house brand extra-sharp cheddar cheese

Here's another mind-boggling bargain: a large can of brand-name spaghetti sauce is only a buck! And a pound of spaghetti or vermicelli is also only a buck! That's two bucks for a huge, steaming mass of spaghetti that will last you almost a week! It's almost too much for our puny minds to comprehend.

 1 large can brand-name spaghetti sauce
 1 package spaghetti or vermicelli

Money remaining: $41.00

While we're here, we must pick up some packaged mixes, such as noodle or rice based side-dish packets, potato mixes, mashed potatoes, and macaroni-and-cheese. These can be mixed with diced wieners or tuna to create delicious entrees. If you've never let your imagination run wild with this kind of stuff, you wouldn't believe how good it can be. That's right -- you can mix diced wieners with mashed potatoes, onions, and spices, pour some cheap gravy on it, and make a meal that would have Arnold Schwarzenegger himself vowing: "I'll be back -- for seconds!"

 2 house brand side-dish packets
 1 box mashed potatoes
 2 boxes potato mix (scalloped, au gratin, etc.)
 1 box macaroni-and-cheese
 2 cans house brand tuna

Money remaining: $34.00

Bread, gotta have bread. Sandwiches are a great way to stretch your grocery dollars. And you must have buttered toast with your scrambled eggs and bologna. Get the cheapest bread available, and keep it in the refrigerator -- I guarantee you it will stay fresh for a month.

Sandwich accessories include pickles, peanut butter, and onions. (Not at the same time, however, unless you like really weird sandwiches.) And if you're like me, you also love tortillas. They're great with some melted cheese, onions, and hot sauce rolled up in them.

 1 loaf cheap bread
 1 jar cheap peanut butter
 1 jar cheap pickles
 1 package cheap tortillas

Money remaining: $26.00

And now for one of the most important food items you will ever purchase, the one that makes it worth getting out of bed in the morning and struggling through yet another grueling day of horrible, drudge-filled existence -- tater tots. Oh, the unallayed joy a pan of hot tater tots baked to a crisp, golden brown can bring. They go with everything, even other potatoes. They can be dipped in ketchup, mustard, or -- for an added thrill -- steak sauce. If I were John Steinbeck, I would have written a novel entitled "The Tater Tots Of Wrath." If I were Martin Scorcese, I would have directed a movie called "Raging Tater Tots." If I were the Beatles, my first single would have been "I Wanna Hold Your Tater Tots."

 2 large bags house brand tater tots
 1 large bottle cheap ketchup
 1 large bottle cheap mustard
 1 small bottle cheap steak sauce

Money remaining: $16.50

Gasp...give me a moment to catch my breath here. Okay, now we must have beverages. Especially the ones that I'm addicted to because they have caffeine in them.

 1 large can house brand 100% Colombian coffee
 2 family-sized boxes Lipton teabags

That's it for beverages. If it ain't coffee, tea, or milk, then it isn't worth whatever you have to shell out for it. And water is cheap.

Money remaining: $7.50

Wow! Look at all the cool foodstuffs we've bought for the month, and we still have some money left over! Now all we have to do is head for the checkout and -- uh-oh. Don't look! Avert your gaze! Rats...too late. It's -- the deli section. The place where they have crispy, spicy, marinated chicken tenders...juicy barbecued sausage on a stick...luscious mashed potatoes and gravy...impossibly cheesy macaroni-and-cheese...potato salad like Mom used to make...oh...drool...

Money remaining: $1.00

Well, that's it. We made it to the checkout with enough food for a month (well, sorta) for a hundred bucks, and a dollar left over. If we can just ignore all the impulse items they put here to scoop up your last remaining -- what's this? A DVD of "Bela Lugosi Meets A Brooklyn Gorilla" for only a buck? I'LL TAKE IT!

Saturday, August 20, 2016


I had trouble thinking of a subject for this because of my overwhelming ennui, so I finally decided to write about that.  Opening the notepad on my PC was a monumental effort.  Writing the first paragraph caused me to make a series of extreme Charlton Heston faces.  After getting this far, I had to take a break and think of even more things to not care about just to unwind.

I’m not really against ennui.  I just find being permanently afflicted by it to be an inconvenience in my everyday life.  There are things that you just have to care about in order to get by, and I just don’t care about any of them. 

I do worry a lot, but I don’t think that’s the same as caring.  My house got hit by near hurricane-force winds last week–there are huge limbs hanging out of my trees, my six-foot wooden fence blew down, a long strip of aluminum siding peeled right off the house, and my old 40-foot-tall TV antenna with a floodlight on it fell over.  I should be out there right now doing something about it, but I just don’t care.  Although I worry about the consequences, my thoroughly-ingrained ennui prevents me from taking any kind of positive action whatsoever.

I think I have an avoidance complex or something, which is an active factor in this.  I avoid dealing with things, hoping that somehow they’ll just go away.  Sometimes they do, but usually they don’t.  Usually, more bad things just come along and pile up on top of the other ones, giving me even more things to both worry about and not care about.  So when the inner turmoil and the emotional numbness that I simultaneously feel collide with each other, I can barely move except to eat or watch TV.

Actually, I think I really do care about all that stuff, but I just can’t muster a normal reaction to it.  It’s like being Jack Webb after a lobotomy.  Imagine Jack Webb just sitting there with that “Joe Friday” face but not saying or doing anything.  Then imagine some hairy, pot-smoking hippy in a paisley shirt, granny glasses, and purple bellbottoms telling Joe Friday that drugs are cool and that getting stoned and running over kids and old people in his hippy van is fun, and Joe Friday just looking at him like he was a vase with daffodils in it.  That’s pretty much it right there.

I do care about Jack Webb, though.  I love Jack Webb.  I watch Jack Webb movies and “Dragnet” reruns all the time.  Jack Webb is my hero.  When I think about Jack Webb, my ennui slowly begins to evaporate like beads of sweat on Rosie O’Donnell’s ass.  Whenever I’m faced with indecision, I think, “What would Jack Webb do?” 

Unfortunately, this doesn’t help very often, because the decisions I have to make in my life are rarely the kind of decisions that a guy like Jack Webb would have to make.  Like whether to blow my monthly entertainment budget on the “My Neighbor Totoro” DVD or the “Big, Bouncing Boobies” DVD.  I’m sure Jack Webb probably saw plenty of big, bouncing boobies in real life.  And he wouldn’t have watched “My Neighbor Totoro” if it came with a free fifth of Old Crow, a carton of smokes, and a blowjob.  Come to think of it, “what would Jack Webb do?” doesn’t really help me at all in my everyday life.  Why the hell am I talking about Jack Webb?

Monday, December 14, 2015


Hello.  My name's Forrest, Forrest Gump.  One day I was sittin' on this old tree stump down by the road right after I had put my little boy, Li'l Forrest, on the school bus to school because he was goin' to school and the school bus was goin' there too, and so I figured I might as well put him on it so that they could both go there togethah.  To school, that is. 

I had just been in a movie about me called FORREST GUMP and the movie ended with me a-sittin' right there on that old stump just thinkin' and ponderin' about what all had happened to me durin' my life and evah thang. And the movie had ended with me sittin' right there on that old stump, and so now here I still am.  I guess it was time to end that part of my story and start another one like they do on TV when there's a commercial in between parts. 

There may have been a commercial in between these parts too, I don't know.  You only know about those kinds of things if you're watchin' it, not if you're bein' in it yourself.  If there was a commercial I hope it was a commercial for Bubba Gump Shrimp Company, because Bubba was my best good friend and his pitcha is on evah jar of Bubba Gump Shrimp, and for a limited time only you can send in for your very own life-size Bubba ventriloquist dummeh and put on your own Bubba puppet shows. 

I used to just mow the football field with my ridin' lawn mowah but now in addition to that I put on Bubba puppet shows for the children of the town of Greenbow, Alabama.  But since I do both of those things at the same time, and since I'm goin' back and forth on my lawn mowah, the children have to run after me in order to keep up with what's goin' on with my Bubba puppet show. 

Well, the bad thing is that the children get tired runnin' up and down the football field, followin' aftah me to keep up with the Bubba puppet show, so I kinda have to turn around and start runnin' aftah them while I'm doin' it, and that seems to scare them for some reason.  Also since the motah is so loud I kinda have to scream out all the words that me and Bubba are supposed to be sayin' to each other during the show.

I don't know why little children would be scared to see me chasin' aftah them on a ridin' lawn mowah with a big ol' life-size Bubba ventriloquist dummeh on my knee  and both of us screamin' at each othah at the top of our lungs, but for some curious reason it show does.  Momma always said that when somethin' happens then it show does happen, and show nuff it does.  That's all I have to say about that.


Well, by this time the screaming and shrieking children had all outrun me an' Bubba which was okay since I had made a wrong turn at the end of the football field and crashed through a big ol' picture window and right into the old folks' home.  I couldn't stop since mah brakes had burnt out but the old folks was doin' a fine job of runnin' for their lives on their canes and walkahs and wheelchay-uhs so I just went right on ahead and started screamin' out my Bubba puppet show fuh them instead. 


It was a fine day, and when I met the school bus that aftahnoon Li'l Forrest come bouncin' offa there with all kinds of stories he'd heard that day about a crazy insane psycho ridin' around on a lawn mowah just like mine and screamin' his head off at a big life-size Bubba dummeh just like mine and scarin' all the little children and the old folks half to death, and I thought "My! I shore am glad I didn't run inta that there fella."

Saturday, August 1, 2015


In a startling development today, Porfle Popnecker today released a statement today.

The statement, which he made, was his. It was also made by him, being that it was his statement, which he made and which was made by him and on his behalf by himself, in relation to the statement that he, not you, but he, and nobody else, made.

The statement, which he made today, was made by him today. When asked today if it had been made yesterday, a source close to the story confirmed today that no, it had not been made yesterday but had indeed been made today instead of yesterday, when it was not made, in lieu of being made today.

Here, in its entirety, is the statement:


Please continue to watch this space for further updates, rebuttals, clarifications, bundt cake recipes, or free lifetime memberships to your local bowling alley. This has been a Filmways presentation.