Tuesday, August 26, 2008

A Short History

Quoth Janglestein:

At the behest of Beaches (a Nielstein commenter / category of sandy locale found at the border of green and blue portions of the Atlas), I will allow myself to answer a series of strange question, seemingly irrelevant to my personhood. All important information about myself, and other Trollpop, are the words of inane wisdom ingrained within this Blog; etched on the tablets of Beyond Fiber Optics And The Dingo Within; scratched in the bedpost of the Internets; tattooed upon the buttock of each and every post with loving grace.

So writeth the Doubting Tomato:

Trop could be drop dead fuckable and is hiding behind a weird personality. UGH!! Or he could be drop dead weird and never been fucked

He is one of those people I would have to tell to “shut-up” after a bit..just too chatty cathy for me.

So Trop…. we are all curious

Hair Color
Body Hair?
Do you live at home?

Lets pretend you are wooing us women…let us know the important stuff.

Let me begin by stating that I am extremely, nay, SOMEWHAT offended that Mr. Beaches has likened me to a necrophiliac. I am attracted to no drop-dead body, and rest assured, when my own body has dropped dead, none shall soil it! Thy sandy loins will never be allowed near my Jangling corpse!

Offense swells equally within my other lung at the thought of myself being a "chatty cathy." Is speaking a sin? Have I in any way grieved thy bottle-strewn, hobo-infested shores, oh Beaches? I am not a Cathy, but a Man!

And thus, I answer the fourth question. Let me begin.

Age: Were I milk, I would have long ago curdled. :-)

Height: Roughly the distance from the twirlin-tips of my head to the tap-tap-tappin toes of my feet. Give or take a cubit.

Weight: I am heartily full of life, exuberance, lustful desire, and bacon. Seventeen thousand pounds, one would reckon. But very little of this is physical.

Sex: Not unlike the chains worn by soldiers, the box containing parcels, or a powerful Nordic whirlpool. One would assume my blatant attraction to Cap'n Daisy would reveal this attribute about my privatey parts.

Hair Color: Tis the shade of the gift, given by Jacob, upon his favored son.

Body Hair: More than enough for your sea-salty fingers to bask in deary ;-)

Bath: I believe made this quite clear in prior comments and as such can only give a knowing wink and smack my lips in disdain!

Virgin: That I have preservethd my blessed flower for Sarah and Daisy Nielson ought come as no surprise to you! >:-O

Employed: All jests and jocularities aside, I have a current full-time preoccupation with a very secret admirer, whose charming tails and wits continue to tickle my insides more than any paycheck.

401K: While I do, sincerely, believe it will cause a vast error in computers, banks, etc., I am happy to announce that I shall not be alive in three-hundred-nine-and-ninety-thousand years, and as such, haven't the foggiest fear in my ole tattered head :-)

Do you live at home?: I am confounded and perplexed. Where on earth would one live, were it not his home? Nay, I am not like the many drifters who sleep on thy sands at night! How would I then access these tubes by which we speak?

Lets pretend you are wooing us women: Hungry creature as I am, I am always wooing us women! That you, yourself, are not wooed, calls only alarm to thy womanhood; not my own skill.

Tis always sad to dispel a mystery. Yet now my soul is laid bare as Smokey himself, and out I puff the fires of any sense of privacy. For you, Beaches, I now vulnerate myself, and cast into thy ferocious waves, my life rolled tightly in a small glass bottle. If the sharks of identity theft snap their jaws at me, so be it!

Or, as the Great Poet once said:

Les plages est une vache laide

Sunday, August 24, 2008

A Tweet for Old Man Weatherby

Quoth Janglestein:

It is my grave duty to inform thee that, upon the request of the possessor of a fornicating visual orb, I have come into possession of a very strange contraption. The elusive, chirping splendor that is Twitter.

Strangely, I haven't a clue a-foggy how to work such a contraption. I will, upon request of aforementioned promiscuous visual organs, write often to this beast, and see, from there, what will occur. The name which I have given it is "janglestein".

I trust my efforts will not be in vain--so give Jangle a Jingle and instruct him on the ways of this mysterious flying creature to whom I entrust my secrets.

Friday, August 22, 2008

A Pleasant Deviation

Quoth Janglestein:

Tis a morn, tis a morn, gents and gently's.

I wished to write a succulent novel regarding my relationship with Sarah Bellum, as I, on most days, opt to do. However, today's wine of events has filled my moral palette with a bad aftertaste. I am speaking, of course, about the perpetual sadness which the daily news brings forth.

While the sizzling of my bacon commenced, I sat on the couch this morn, requiring a mere handful of minutes of entertainment. My eyes, instead, were filled with sorrow. Planes crashing into houses, Madrid filling with flames, and Fay ravaging Florida.

Why, I ask myself, do such wicked events occur in such a joyful, erotic world as the one in which you (and, on occasion, I myself) live?

That, however, is not a question of importance to ask, but merely a prelude. The greater question plaguing my mind is as follows: What, in fact, is in bacon, which makes it sizzle so, in a way which, say, a Pug or reproductive organ would not, when placed on a similar frying pan?

Weighty matters require weighty thought! But such is the life of one who dares to Jangle with fate.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

A Hearty Stew of Delight

Quoth Janglestein:

Forgive me, brethren, for the silence to which I have been accustomed in days past; but in my absence, a Wafflestein has sprung forth among the branches and given a warm, warm reception.

My only concern is as follows: there seems to be a fellow, lurking within these walls, named "Anonymous." On my dearest of friends' (and flame-broiled mistress to boot!) blog, he simultaneously announced my absence, responded to himself, and attributed to me a love of feet which I do not possess!. I fear for such a fellow; he appears to have multiple personalities behind which he hides. My heart crumbles for such a strange creature as this, to feel the need to mask one's own identity! The absurdity makes my smiley-parts dance with waltzy glee; laughter erupting, in 3/4, within my kidneys.

But alooth and forsack, the dream world beckons me like a podiatrist beckons a small child with lolly pops and sugary aromas. Till then, safe travels.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008


Quoth Wafflestein:

I apologize for the absence of my fellow trollpop, whose janglings so often fill this blog with mirth and jubilation. It would appear he has fallen down a well, or perhaps been left haunting the undersides of too many bridges.

Nevertheless, I believe that we can all stand together and anticipate his hasty return and recovery. What wonders await us when he finally makes his joyous return?

Janglestein has not jangled his last. Far from it. I apologize that I cannot fill this space adequately in his absence, but the muse which jangles so freely in his heart has been less generous towards my own. I leave you with a quote from the one and only Sir Manfred Esling, the first German exile to ever achieve knighthood, whose contributions to philosophy cannot be overstated:
It is not in vain that we wait. For even if that which we await never arrives, anticipation is itself a hope and a happiness, and is but a single step away from being the physical manifestation of that which we hope for, different only in its physical absence and in the amplification of its good aspects, and the dampening of the poor. Hope is, in all practical senses, a step greater than that which is hoped for.
- Esling, Of Tantalus and Temptation

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Weeks of Aching Veins

Quoth Janglestein:

Since last I spoke with you, the moon has floated 90 degrees around, and boy did I see it coming!

My rage regarding the Non-Troll mixup has subsided, only in place for a passionate lusting for all things Neilish which makes my bladder throb like so many belly aches. Ah, love, such a feeling as this few can comprehend.

My week may be appropriately summed up as follows:

Twas one loofah of a week!

But alack, my stomach yearns for the sweet fragrance of cold tomato soup and yams. Till next we meet, vaarwel!

Thursday, August 7, 2008

A Trifling Mistake

Quoth Janglestein:

It is with medium surprise that I have come upon a shocking revelation, one which fills my gelatin bones with frivolous laughter!

Recently, a certain Nielstein (who will not be mentioned to save her identity) began to date a large chocolate cake named Non-Troll Doll. More recently still, they have ceased to date.

I, naturally, bring grievous words of comfort and celebratory, melancholy nothings to attempt to ease this pain. But what toy have I found in the bottom of Cracker Jack's (the white-supremest gangster, mind thee) box of treasures?


The very thought of it makes me agonizingly gigglical. Many have mistaken ME for this fool! On what grounds? The "troll" similarity? Do they not realize how COMMON a name is troll? On this very blogs, there are six, nay, seven who all happen to be named "Trollpop"! Yet "Non-Troll" and "Trollpop" being mistaken? Sheer madness!

And yet...

A glimmer of hope resides within these walls.

If so many have made a mistake such as this...yet have posted glorious things regarding this NTD fellow such as a "catch", a "keeper", one to "keep around" -- all phrases whose meanings I haven't the slightest idea -- and followed them with smiles and joy...why...perhaps oneday in the soon future, I will indeed replace that void, and become for her the Troll she has always required. And all readers near and far will celebrate in juicy splendor, till celebration emerges from our lips like so many butterflies! :-D

But for now. Anger.

Monday, August 4, 2008

Quoth Bagelstein:

A jew is a hue of jewy chewy gooey chum. Children gather and hear your father speak of the glory days, upon the holes that they once were! I come from a land fallen from a sky most high in the air. I asked my little marsupial the meaning of life, to which he remarked pie... be off with him.

If I could ask all the sphere - o- blogs to raise their hands in settlement on our great agenda I say Nay! this.

People ask me the same question when i wear my shoes upon my brow, looking into their eyes with foul discontinuity. why must the werere be pined and asked so long as a gerbal meets the molded requierments?

I talk as if a demon caught my tougue in fierce disposition. Yet i ask a treatise of my readers to submit to the will of great gerbalitis, the king terror of the night, formely known as mother goose and her gooey ness. MorrGAN FREEEMAAAAAN!

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Adulterous Confectionary!

Quoth Janglestein:

Upon reflecting on the blog of my love and colleague Mr. Sarah Bellum Nielson, I have felt a spark of self-examination alight within my large intestine.

She has claimed to be dating a piece of Chocolate Cake. We gather, by her illustrious detail, that it contains raspberries, and as it commonly goes to parties, we may infer by deduction that it is, in fact, a Birthday cake. Appalled that another has wedged his member between I and Mrs. Nielson's affections, I hunted it down.

I have found it. It belonged, once, to a woman by the name of Taste Goblet, then proceeded to enrich the lives of "Lavanyai" and "Mohina" (see its tattoos) before finally dripping down into the rut in which our fair friend lives.

Jealousy fills my bones, as this cake-whore is allowed to delight in the company of Bellum and Daisy, while I, a cake-virgin until death (albeit not, persay, a pie-virgin) must wait in line!

I apologize. My frustration regarding this instant is rude and uncalled for, and I pray for this Non-Troll Cake and others like it to forgive the janglings of an old lovelorn, crusty-piped sailor such as myself. Each to his/her/cake's own, as the saying goes, and thus go I.