Hello, my friends, and good morning.

As you know, yesterday was Armistice Day, a celebration of the glorious conclusion of World War I. The armistice signed on November 11th, 1918 and the subsequent Treaty of Versailles would be remembered as a sound, just conclusion to the Great War, sure to resolve the fundamental problems of Europe and the world.

At least, I assume that’s the case. I’ll be honest, I haven’t studied world history beyond 1938.

Armistice Day is perhaps my favorite day of the year, because it gives me pause to reflect on the brutal defeat of Kaiser Wilhelm II’s kraut army, to say nothing of the wondrous humiliation and shame forced upon the ethnically impure Austro-Hungarian empire and the backwards Ottoman Turks. Has there ever been a similar collection of slope-headed, mustachioed half-breeds? The Hun, with their predilection for aggression and hostility (dating back to the Franco-Prussian War of 1870), goaded the Habsburgs to war against Serbia and then proceded to lash out against the hated French according to the precepts of their vaunted Schlieffen plan.

Seriously, what a bunch of dicks!

When the war was over, and the final bloated trench rats had been blinded and suffocated to death with mustard gas, the world rejoiced in victory against the lesser peoples of Europe and various other parts of the world that aren’t in Europe. These celebrations included joyous street parades, ribaldry, rapscallionship, and opulant supper-feasts like this one.

My word, what delightful company! No doubt that man wallowed in the carnal delights of concubinage long into the November evening! But why shouldn’t he engage in such moral depravity? After all, 1.8 million Germans were dead in battle! Glory, hallelujah!

Very well, that’s enough history for today. Come back tomorrow, when I will teach all of you about how Abraham Lincoln defeated the Russians in an outer space submarine battle.

Hey, buddy. Yeah, you. Come over here.

Hurry up. Come stand next to me.

Wanna look at my duckbucket?

Check it out. I took a regular metal bucket and filled it with ducks. Now it’s a duckbucket. Pretty sweet huh?

They’re still because they’re dead. Most of them are dead, anyway. I basically mutilated them. Ain’t no duckbucket if all the ducks run away.

Don’t walk away. Stay with me. Here, hold my duckbucket for a while. Heavy, huh? I also put a brick in there. Then I covered it with ducks.

Don’t you just hate ducks? The way they walk around so slow and follow each other? Yeah, me too. I hate ducks so much. I haven’t been able to sleep in four days - I got ducks on the mind.

Do you have any ideas what I should do with this duckbucket? I’ve been carrying it around for a couple days, now. It’s getting kinda heavy and stinky. Should I put more ducks in it? Do you have any ducks I could use for a while?

The last thing my father said to me was that I’d never make anything of myself, that I’d never amount to anything and I’d spend my days working menial jobs in exchange for half-eaten cheeseburgers. Now I’ve got a bunch of ducks in a damned bucket. Take that, Dad.

Okay friend, I should probably get going. I’m running late. I need to get to city hall, where Minneapolis mayor R.T. Rybak is introducing me as the new Fire Chief. I’m going to show everybody my ducks.

Guys, I’m sorry, but I really think I have to revisit this:

Seriously, what in the hell are we looking at here? So many questions haunt me when I consider this disgusting abomination…

The website called it a blobfish. Is that its actual name? Would any other name be appropriate? The JonLovitzfish?

What is that little tendril of nastiness trailing out of the corner of its mouth? Is that leftover from dinner at P.F. Chang’s?

Look at this thing. Look at its gray, soulless eyes. What sort of intelligence lies behind them? Is it self-aware? Has it looked in a mirror lately? Has it considered laying off the 20-piece McNugget meals?

Did Jim Henson create this thing the morning after his wife left him?

Look at its filthy, slimy mouth and jowels. Imagine it calling your name in a soft, clear voice. Now imagine it barfing out an inside-out rabbit. Imagine it urgently pleading with you to shoot it in the head. Now imagine yourself pulling the trigger and watching this fat bastard’s guts spray against the wall like they hit the back of a jet engine. Do you feel remorse? No, of course you didn’t. That’s nature.

Okay, I think I’ve got that out of my system. I think I’m ready to move on to other topics.

Next time Matt Terry redesigns this site, though, we’re using that blobfish photo. Maybe we’ll swap his head for Ben Franklin’s.

See you in hell, blobfish!

Thursdays are delightful times for friendship and cloud-time cuddles!

Let’s race each other beyond the rainbow and make our dreams come true! The only thing stopping us is the limits of our imagination! Can you see the sunbursts and peppermint skies?

Welcome back children, I’m Professor Tickles!

Did you know that the laughter of children fuels my soul’s insatiable curiosity? Of course it does! Come here, you with the red hair and eyeglasses! What’s your name? Billy? Yes, I like you the most. It’s time to sit on my knee.

I’d like all of you to gather round and listen to a fantastical tale of magic and whimsy. Yes, that’s right Billy, sit right here snug on my knee. Did you take a bath this morning? You smell like fresh tulips! Just sit still so I can get my nose into your nice red hair and sniff…

Yeah, that’s the stuff.

What’s that, Billy? Don’t be silly, of course I’m not grabbing you too hard! No, those red marks aren’t from my fingers, those are magic spots! They mean that somebody loves you! The more they love you, the longer the spots will last.

Well that’s all the time we have for today, children. I have to help Billy with his homework now, so the rest of you should go back to your homes. Be sure to come back next Thursday for another adventure with Professor Tickles!

Here’s what popped up when I did a Google image search for “troll rape”:

Wow. That’s nightmarish. Imagine that fellow having his way with you, huh? I guess if there’s a plus side to it, he’d definitely stick out in a police line-up.

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Here’s what came up for “Octagon Delights”:

Huh. I suppose that makes sense. Not sure how delightful it is, but the octagon part is quite accurate.

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“Goat scepter”:

Okay. That seems about right. Let’s move on.

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How about something innocuous - let’s try “pickle”:

I see. A teenaged, mentally-retarded pickle with some sort of hip disfigurement attempting to eat an oversized sub sandwich and napkin. That is genuinely unpleasant to look at. This must be an artifact from some aborted marketing campaign. At least let’s hope it was aborted. What focus group in the world could react positively to this image?!

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And lastly, “Forlorn foam”:

I really don’t know what to say about this image, other than that my search was somehow completely accurate.

Bravo, Google image search!

Hi there folks. I’m television’s Alan Thicke.

Remember when I lovingly reared Mike, Carol, and Ben Seaver on Growing Pains? Did you notice how I always seemed to have an attitude of leisurely bemusement at the antics of my kids? Remember how I also took care of that girl that showed up during the later seasons for some reason? I remember all those things. I think about them pretty much every day.

Nowadays I make promotional appearances at casinos in exchange for poker chips.

Look at me now:

When did I grow a beard? I don’t even remember growing a beard! What the hell has happened to me?! I look like a stunt double for Kenny Rogers!

By the way, do you think Kenny would be interested in doing some promotional appearances with me? I bet we could get free drinks if we joined up.

Do you want to have me appear at your gathering? I do graduations, first communions, and bar mitzvahs all the time. You just tell me where to be, and I’ll be there. I’ll do some gladhanding, slap some backs, and smile my winning grin for up to three hours. You can pay me in cash or whatever else you’re comfortable with. Last night I did a gig for Wendy’s gift certificates. I’m kind of pathetic.

No? Not interested? Hey, it’s no biggie. I’m television’s Alan Thicke, after all. Things will start looking up any time now, I’m sure.

If you change your mind, I’ll be sitting in the back of the McDonalds across the street nursing a Diet Coke for the next six hours.