After an extended catnip high, I’m back. Been focusing on mind-melding Fred into eating all the clothing of my FS-ers. It’s working with unpredictable results. We now have – no I not jest – another dog. ANOTHER DOG. The midget FSers call it Arfur, isn’t vat coooote! No, it’s not cute. It’s gross. That thing rips em like old hen eggs, and I would know.
Summer is here, the hot asphalt driveway beckons for a glorious super flop in the sun, so dear friends I will have more time to show you my crazy foodslaves and all they are up to – Love ya – Smoosh
So I was in the kitchen, right? Knocking over glasses, ‘slipping’ on the counter so cartons of cereal fell – you know, the stuff we do when we aren’t getting our props, and that THING – little man food slave – came over to me and I kid you not, put his pajama pants on my head and made me dance. I was in such a state of shock that I just lay limp, hoping he’d think I had a heart attack and died, but noooooo – then he started kissing the top of my head, laughing and calling me a freak! A freak! Who’s the freak, boy with chocolate rimmed lips or a well groomed cat – I mean heck I can keep my grill clean and I don’t have mobile digits.