Minding Wall

I saw the Smitty up on the Southern Wall (by the road, yo. Click on “map” link)

(“Hey! Get me a “Map” link – stat!)

--this morning. He clumbed up on the rocks to smell the dirt road and then plunged out of sight over the wall and down into the Southern Woods.

As I drove to work, I searched the enchantedness of the Woods for a sign of the Smee, but all I could see was the dry grasses. Whose woods these are I don’t think I know. But our house is close to the village, yo.

Word I was in my car alone

Word I was in my life alone.

Word.

Cruz’in in the Hood, Part Deuce

The translation department of Mister Smitty DotCom, LLC offers some help with the Smitty’s peculiar patois:

“Yo!” (“Hello, Hey you-there, I say my good chap, Hey Bud,” etc)

“Whattup?” (“May one ask what one is doing?”)

“Kickin’ it ol’ skool” (We believe this refers to obscure elementary school playground games of the late 20th Century)

“Word.” (“Say Again, Beg pardon, Could you repeat that?”)

“Check you later.” (“arrivederci, sayonara baby, catch you on the flip side, ciao”)

“Peace out.” (“Go in peace, Space thyself out, I’ve spoken my peace, over and out”).

Crew’s in

Mister Smitty lets his peeps drive.

“Get behind that wheel, yo!”

(says the Smitty, lounging shotgun).

The Smitty has a purple local-kine (s)lo-rider mini truck – lifted (natch) yards high – with which to “cruz’” the strip.

Shotgun, shades aslant, mid-stogie, The Smitty peers at his peeps in the back.

“Mao! (“Yo!”)

“We got your back, Mister Smee!”

Fan Mail, Part I: Politics & Plastics

We apologize for not answering these questions earlier, but the volume of fan mail pouring into our executive offices means that your cards, letters, e-mails, ITMs, IEDs, old IUDs, tributes, “rich gifts,” tirades, jeremiads, and baksheesh pile up so high that only the Smee himself can scale those lofty heights to peruse your praises.

Nevertheless, undaunted, we proceed:

Q: Mr. Smitty, paper or plastic?

A: No-brainer, yo: read about my serialized discombobulation in “The Plastic Trash Bag Mystery Parts I – V” in the 2006 archives.

As for “paper” do you mean paper bags I like to crawl myself into or newspaper upon which I am wont to pinch a –

“…ANY-way!”

Q: Mr. Smitty, Case or Akaka? (Now moot).

A: Mao! (natch)

Keep those cards and letters coming!

Flummoxed Smitty And the (still) Mysteriously Disappeared Portal

Like an unnamed supernumerary in an epic B-movie who charges at a cave entrance only to find it close abruptly in front of him,

So, too, does our hero (no nameless spear-carrier, he) ponder the mysteries of the sliding glass door.

“I see my food dish, but I can’t smell it!”

Defying the first law of feline thermo-dynamics (I smell it, therefore it exists), the conundrum of sight-without-smell mightily perplexifies the Smee. Shall this tease him into thinking outside the box?

“I’m already out of the box, yo. I’m trying to get inside the box, where my food’s at!”