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Blobby Log Owners Manual

Tagged: Beard Saloon
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Blobby Log Day 69

As written by Professor Fliggins in Chapter 3: Moustachio Territory > Vol. 1

Timestamp: Evening; Day 69
Weather: Jovial!
Landscape: On a dusty Beard-street, with the goatee-like tumblescruffs a-blowing by.


Thank you for inviting me to your Beard Saloon, Whiskerton.  I cannot wait to meet your friends.

Whiskerton: Yeah, well, just make sure to be cool.  My buddies are a little rougher than me.

PF: I AM COOLNESS PROFESSORFIED.  Do not fret.  I am sure your chums are just as lovely and comfy to hug and hold as you are!

Whiskerton: Oh boy.


Whiskerton: Oh, hey Face-Fist, this ain’t a Moustachio.  It’s my new friend, Fred.

Face-Fist: Looks like a deformed Moustachio to me.  We don’t let moustaches in here.  This is a BEARDS ONLY saloon!

PF: Face-Fist?  Why he is ADORABLE.

Face-Fist: Tarvis, tell your Moustachio spy buddy to stop huggin’ on me right quick.

PF: What’s this stuck in your hair?  A decorative seashell?

Face-Fist: It’s broken glass!

Whiskerton: Fred, please don’t hug Face-Fist.

PF: You got it, chumly!

Face-Fist: I oughta smash that little Moustachio into paste!

?: I wouldn’t mess with that there Moustachio, Face-Fist, he’s got all kinds of scars all over him.  He must be a real bad dude!

Face-Fist: I don’t know…

PF: This place is so EXOTIC, Whiskerton.  All the little beards playing cards and spitting right on the floor – I am just dee-lighted by Discovery!

Whiskerton: Fred, try to calm down.  Do you want a drink?

PF: Surely!  You do not have Ginger Fizz, do you?

Whiskerton: Naw, but we got Beard Beer. It’s made from Hair Root!

PF: Flavorful follicles!  Magnificent!  I think!  Barkeep, two Beard Beers – one for me and one for my deeply intimate acquaintance, Whiskerton!

Bartender: You sure this guy is cool, Tarvis?

Whiskerton: He’s cool.  He’s just from some foreign place where everyone’s got developmental problems, apparently.

PF: I am working on an advanced degree!

Bartender: Two Beard Beers then…

Whiskerton: Let’s just play Stache Darts for a little bit and then we’ll go home, okay Fred?  Here, just try throwin’ ‘em at that target.

PF: All righty! How does one throw?

* C R A S H ! *

PF: Sorry! Let me try again.

* r e E E R !*

PF: Oops – sorry, tumblescruff creature!  Curse my clumsy nubbins.  Last one!

Face-Fist: Hey!

Whiskerton: Oh no.

Face-Fist: What’s the idea?  You just threw a stache into my face! MY FACE!!!

PF: My bad! I am more book-smart than arm and coordination-smart…

Face-Fist: I oughta barbecue yer brisket!

PF: Come now, friend – let us not be a Big Beard Baby now.

Face-Fist: There’s a STACHE on my FACE!

Whiskerton: I think we better get out of here, Fred.

PF: No, no!  We should be able to enjoy our evening just as everyone else.  I shall not let one dour albeit adorable Beard keep me from sitting here and enjoying my Beard Beer!



Whiskerton: Oh no oh no oh no…

PF: How can one stomach this bilious slop?  Drinking it is akin to sucking on a hairball soaked in garbage water!  Oh what now Big Baby Fist-Face, I suppose you do not like having Beer spat into your stache face?

Face-Fist: I’m gonna fustigate ya!

Bartender: Wait, Face-Fist!  Look at all them scars: he’s clearly a BAD dude!

Face-Fist: Well let’s see how the bad dude likes beer all over HIS face!


Bartender: Hey, wait a sec… His scars are washing off!  He’s a phony!

?: Yeah, he’s just some Moustachio with a fleshy, plaid sack attached to it! GROSS!

Whiskerton: Let’s get outta here, Fred!

Baby ‘Stache: Don’t huwt my Mama!

PF: Moustachia, what are you doing here?  You are not of age!

Face-Fist: Another Moustachio in here!  I knew he was one o’ them flyin’ dandies!  Get ‘em, boys!

PF: Foots, do not fail me now!

Current Mood: Running!
Discoveries Made: The limits of good manners!

Hereinto referenced: ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤