There’s no end to the entertainment possibilities around here.

In case you haven’t noticed, I made a few changes to the Howdygram’s banner! They are: 1) the logo is smaller; 2) the black outline is heavier; and 3) I’m using a different font for the tagline (“Made in Texas,” etc.) and a slightly larger point size.

Please keep an eye out for 2,000 pounds of contaminated ground beef.

This has been a very confusing day … completely upside-down. Here are the issues I’ve been dealing with, in case you give a crap.

I really want to leave behind something of myself that’s profound and memorable.

To those of you who don’t know me very well, I’ve been writing for a long, long time. I started in grammar school with short stories and my own series of comic strips with crappy illustrations. (I was never very good at illustrations.) Later I moved on to poetry, longer stories, an autobiography titled Memoir of an Escaped Dental Patient (1999) and a cookbook called The Anorexic Gourmet (2002). I’ve also published countless screwy newsletters — anybody remember Popular Manure? — and the Howdygram made its debut when Sam and I moved to Texas in 2007.

If you want to remember the Alamo, please feel free to do so … as often as possible.

Hey, boys and girls … it’s a few minutes before 5 a.m. on Friday morning, Sam is in bed, and I thought it might be fun to launch a fresh Howdygram post at this screwy hour because I just ran out of ideas for greeting cards and there really isn’t anything else to do. I’d also like to throw in some free fonts.

I’ve got a long list of physical complaints and life-threatening hoo-hahs.

Hello. It’s a quiet January afternoon, I just finished a bath and hygiene session with my hospice C.N.A., and I’m feeling fresh and peaceful even though most of the time my life is fraught with health-related chaos.

Achy, Poopy, Droopy, Drippy, Crappy, Pishy and Blecch. Meet the new Seven Dwarfs!

I’m unwell. That’s a perfect word to describe the overall condition of my health! It’s early Saturday afternoon, and I’ve been unwell all day today. After a 14-hour nap: 1) I’m freezing cold and shivering; 2) my muscles and joints are killing me; 3) my arms are so stiff I can barely move them; 4) I can’t stop peeing; 5) I ache; 6) I’ve got a recurring case of indigestion and zero appetite; 7) my hair, head and neck are soaking wet from the aftermath of an apparently substantial fever; and 8) I can’t think of anything else, and I don’t want to. (My head hurts.)

Please remember Harry and Meghan in your thoughts and prayers.

Holy mother of crap … ANOTHER LOST DAY. It seems that I fell asleep this morning, shortly after a very early breakfast, and woke up at 8:45 p.m., barely an hour ago … feeling limp, lethargic and LOUSY.

“Klatu birata nikto, dude!”

MONDAY, 1/6/2020, 9:42 P.M. Hello, hello, hello. (Hello!) It’s 9:42 p.m. on Monday night, Sam is napping on the sofa, and we’ve been watching a favorite science fiction classic The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951) starring Patricia Neal, Michael Rennie and Gort.

Everybody knows it’s against the law to eat Greek olives without bread.

Mind if I whine for a few minutes? During the last couple of weeks I’ve had far too many diabetic hypoglycemic (low blood sugar) episodes. I know my symptoms well: 1) I get sweaty and clammy; 2) I’m hot; 3) my skin feels like I’m burning up with fever; 4) I feel dizzy and lightheaded; 5) my blood pressure gets very high; 6) I think I’m going to faint; 7) I have the “shakes”; and 8) I crave sugar. (Symptoms #2, #3 and #5 are new to the list.)

I think Wal-Mart and Costco were ransacked over the holidays.

So. It’s late Thursday night, Sam is napping, and I’m lying here like a slug trying to decide what I want to eat whenever Sam wakes up because I’m really, really hungry. (Correction: I’m really, really STARVING.) Tonight my bedtime snack possibilities include: 1) a can of baked beans; 2) Jif peanut butter and a plastic spoon; 3) two sugar-free almond cookies with milk; and 4) Great Value chicken noodle soup with a bag of Miracle Rice. This afternoon I received a six-pack of Miracle Rice — a zero-carb, 10-calorie rice replacement — that I ordered from Amazon a couple of days ago. I love this shit!

I won’t live until the end of 2020. It just isn’t possible.

Good afternoon, boys and girls … and happy New Year’s Eve! It’s 6:30 p.m., I’m watching the Thin Man movie marathon on TCM and Sam is asleep on the sofa. I’ll try to be brief about my health complaints today. They include: 1) my knees are killing me and I’m stiff as a board; 2) my taste buds are completely destroyed, which means everything tastes like wallpaper paste; and 3) I can’t think of anything else right now so I’ll just post the following graphic …

Ever heard of Bengay? This shit really works!

It’s ME again … your favorite useless bedridden blogger from Texas! I fell asleep this morning before sunrise, just in time for Sam to get home from Wal-Mart, where he bought me a miracle product from the pharmacy, pictured below for your possible interest. For the last couple of days the joint pain in my knees had been positively EXCRUCIATING, even when I was completely motionless in bed. Since I’m already taking the maximum dose of opioids, Sam decided to suggest Bengay cream … an idea from a short list of “last resorts,” and I agreed.

We had a neighborhood power outage late this afternoon.

Yo, and a happy Saturday night to you and yours. It’s almost 8:30 p.m., Sam is asleep on the sofa, and I thought I’d tell you about our day, which has been seriously eventful. I’ve decided to use neatly subtitled paragraphs for you. Proceed at your own risk. Thank you.

Friday has been moving along quickly due to an over-abundance of unexpected sleep.

Hope everybody is having a pleasant day-after-Christmas … because I’m NOT. (Get ready for another kill-joy Howdygram post.) It’s 10:24 p.m., Sam went to bed more than an hour ago, and I’m trying to choke down a Stouffer’s frozen dinner that includes a rubbery breaded chicken patty, tasteless mashed potatoes and beige sauce. Not good. There is NO FLAVOR WHATSOEVER — even with too much salt and pepper — but I’m positive it’s not really Stouffer’s fault. I have to blame this on my shitty dead taste buds. (I’ve had Stouffer’s frozen chicken dinners before and never have any complaints.)

Mazel tov to me. I’m not nauseated tonight.

The best laid plans, right?