Once I put my tri-pod away I caught up with the scientist at the Dog-Log-Bog to see if there was a surplus of heat leaking into Moonshineopolis. We arrived to the steamy blog and I could already feel my nostrils curl up and the foil around my head begin to shake. A foil hat from the Foil Fountains no less! This had to be something big, I could feel it.

As we neared the Dog-Log-Bog, sweat poured down our skulls and weighed our beards down. Every step we took was more difficult than the last. My brain was moist, nervous and drowning in its sweat. My thoughts warped from one side of my skull to another. I dragged myself onwards while  the other scientist, who didn’t seem to be as struggling as much as I was, crested the hell to the Dog-Log-Bog center.

We looked into a crater. Dogs ran wild, sausage links in their mouths and logs on their back. One of the logs was stuck inside the cog that keeps the water valve flowing. The scientist scared the more vicious dogs away with some loud clapping noises and proceeded to remove the log from the cog. The cog began to turn, the scientist high-fived and water trickled into the bog.

As the water mixed with the heat of the bog a massive amount of steam appeared. Logs caught on fire, dogs passed out, scientist quivered and my brain was filled with the madness of heat. I could hear it talking in my skull, “MAXWELL. GATHER UP YOUR SOCK COLLECTION, DAB THEM IN THE DOG-LOG-BOG AND SACRIFICE THEM TO ME. BUT FIRST TELL THE TALE OF MY ESTEEMED STEAM.”

So I turned tail and went to my type writer. I’m not sure what happened to the scientist, but I fear my fate is sealed unless I communicate this legend to you. So curl up with a nice cold beverage and sat tuned for the tale of “Stunts Steam Team.”

I followed some of the scientist up to Foil Fountain to see if there was anything hot going on. It turns out that yes, that place is hotter than a sun taking a lie detector test.  I was always told to stay away from the Foil Fountain and now I see why; the heat is unbearable and the people that work there make you do push-ups if you want to talk to them. That is why there are no quotes in this little article.

I did overhear someone saying that foil production was up much higher this year due to the quick turnover due to the intense heat. It’s no coincidence, as the heat rises and our brains begin to boil we need to buy more foil hats to keep our brain safe. Some of the kids have been wearing them, without cause, just to be fashionable.

Nothing out of the ordinary here, but it seems like we’ll be heading over to the Tupper Tower and the Dog-Log-Bog to see if we can find the root of the increase wave. In the mean time, I think I might organize my volumes of “Is it Glass or Plexiglass” by number of consonants.

This year, scientist have deployed in full force to help quell the effects of the Dawg Days of Summer and hope to keep the efficiency needle toward the “Extreme” part of the efficiency-meter. A scientist explains, “While we could just fool ourselves for a week and mis-calibrate our efficiency-meter so that it always reads ‘Extreme’ we worry that we’ll forget to calibrate it back at the end of the week. Instead, we’re going to explore Moonshineopolis, see what parts of the town soak up the most rays and then eradicate them. Hopefully this will keep brains from boiling and dogs from melting.”

It’s recommended that you wear some sort of headgear before leaving your home and that you should keep a rubberband around the hole in your mouth so you don’t say anything ill. As far as possible sources being inspected in the coming days are the Foil Fountain (where all of our foil goes to be melted down), the Dog-Log-Bog (Where all of that good stuff stews and waits for the Cog-Tog to spin the Deer-Gear) and Tupper Tower (self explanatory). Stay tuned for those results and a possible explanation.

You are probably shocked that this is going on right now. Me writing, you reading. Who missed it more I’ll never know (unless you leave a comment) but one thing is for sure–I’m probably back. Maybe not as frequent, and definitely without any real drawings but you can expect some sweet stories, hip haikus, and maybe the occasional hobo product review. I’ll see if I can get back on the press list.

Welcome back! Check your hobo calendar to see when the next update will be!

1. The roof is designed to take a decent amount of force, but what good is a roof without another roof above it to motivate the lower roof to succeed? Without your parents, you’d have no idea how to fend off cardboard-mites, warm your mittens, or prepare a shoe. What you need to do is build (or steal) a roof from materials you find lying around. Soon, your original roof will see that it has some competition and try much harder to protect your home.

2. You can get build a chute, attach it to the heavy clouds so that the marbles are re-directed into the lake if you so dare. The firemen have volunteered their ladders and have stated they’d hold any wobbly ladder steady while a hero climbs the rung to install the chute. This is probably the most efficient, but less practical, way to solve the problem.

3. Hire a nest of spiders to construct a net above your house. It’ll need to be pretty thick, and in order to have it completed before the release, you’ll need at least 135 spiders, scientist predict.

4. Open your mouth up wide. Look to the sky. Breathe in marbles like Kirby sucks in air. It’s predicted to rain marbles for a few days so this technique might work better in shifts.

These tips should be enough to ensure that you survive the heavy rain that is on its way.

Enter “Hawk Marbles” and the creator, Murbles. Murbles has been obsessed with marbles for some time, but has always resented that marbles can’t fly. His logic? “Birds can fly. Fruit can fly [Ed- We’re not sure if he’s using wordplay here or not]. And bats can fly. Why not marbles?”

So he set out to right a wrong but only ended up wronging a right. His marbles flew into the stratosphere where they found a home in the wobbly overhead clouds. And now, we are faced with the inevitable barrage of these marbles returning from their voyage. All at once. In full force.

We’ll provide tips on how to deal with the impending doom, but until then be sure to report any heavy rain you see to your local weather friend.

For instance, as I grasped the salami backpack, I saw for an instant my long-lost pet bird, trapped in a salami prison. In an attempt to break it free of its cell, I started chewing at the salami like a ravenous salami gobbler. Alas, there was no bird inside the meat, only a piece of (impressive) origami. With antics under every corner, and a gag around every turn I decided to suck it up and just devour the salami like Mr.Danish foretold.

Gnashing into salami loaf after salami loaf, I considered for a moment if this is what it’s like to live under a circus tent until the day you die.

Finally, it was done. My fate had reached its destination and the backpack weighed less having transferred its treasure to my digestive keep. A bubble rose steadily through my throat and bullied its way past my lips only to explode the second it reached freedom. This burp rang throughout the imaginarium and as the sound waves rippled across the land, they melted the maze and all the imagination that floated through the air.

Soon there was nothing in front of me but a small rusty barrel. In fear that I may be trapped in this vacuum for all time I quickly scurried through the rust barrel. Next thing I know, I’m being birthed back onto the wooden stage that belonged to Mr.Danish and staring into his garbage can face.

I said not a word to the gathered crowd, I was shaken from the inside out by the experience. Is this what I get for abusing my press credentials? Or maybe it was the overwhelming weight of the future of Moonshineopolis pressing upon my shoulders?

To this day I am baffled by the Imaginarium of Mr.Danish, but I now know that in order to deepen the divide between Bum and Hobo I must not let Moonshineopolis idle in our current wonders and achievements.

I made many turns through that maze, as a maze wanderer may do. I realize that describing the path I took would be utterly brain explosive, so let’s just say I made more turns than a wheel of fate makes during your lifetime. Eventually, I discovered a tin chest that had the craftsmanship of an elf. I opened it up, expecting a scroll with some hint of what was going on, but all I found was a backpack full of salami. I was perplexed, hurt and lonely in this salami labyrinth.

But then, out of nowhere, Mr.Danish repelled from a helicopter above my head. “Listen boy,” he said to me, “you think you’re better than this salami?” I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he continued, “If you let any of that salami go to waste, you’re no better than those bums that sit idly on the coast of the garbage heaps waiting for fortune to jump into their mouths.” Then the helicopter flew away, with Mr.Danish dangling in the air. Is this what the imaginarium of Mr.Danish was all about? Self revelations and a call to action?

It was clear now that I had to eat all of this salami and continue the battle to advance the hobo community. What salami or anything else I met in this imaginarium had to do with this, I wasn’t sure.

So then I ate a backpack full of salami and fell asleep deep inside the labyrinth.

I’ve been in an aquarium before, but never an imaginarium (which only proves my point that words that rhyme aren’t necessarily similar (dimes, limes, dog, log, smog, bog)). As my boots scuffed against the ground I could feel my thoughts being dissected and analyzed by the mist flowing through my ear canal and out the other end. Mr.Danish was perusing my thoughts like a vendor of hot dogs scouts the crowd for the hungriest patron.

Then, in front of me, a large condor landed. “Hop onto my back, Princess Maxwella,” the condor said. This was weird because I’ve never thought of ever being a princess before, because that would just be so weird and absurd for a hobo like me to yearn for the title and privilege of becoming princess of a royal moonshine army . I’m not sure where this Mr.Danish gets his information from, but there seems to be a few kinks in his imaginarium system. Hahahahaha, right?

I hopped on the condor’s back, not bothering to correct it because who am I to right a condor? We swooped under rambows (a rainbow made up of a variety of rams), crashed through brittle skeleton bones and landed on the porch of an elaborate maze crafted from salami. A sign above it read, “Abandon all hunger he who enter here. Your salami salvation awaits. Salame!”

It should come to no surprise to you that I entered this maze with such haste that a hare, late for an important date, would not be able to keep up. Stay tuned for the exciting imaginarium conclusion.

This haiku came courtesy of Jeff: