The mucus conspiracy choir — coming to a sofa near you, real soon now. Watch where you sit!
The monkey finally came home to roost. (He likes chickens.)
The music in this restaurant is definitely too loud. One of the waiters just burst into flames, but they really don't take it seriously. The rest of them are clustered around, hopping to the music and roasting marshmallows on sticks. I can't wait for dessert. After that, they'll remove the cuffs and let me out. If they weren't fibbing for chuckles.
The music piped into this restaurant is so loud that my toenails fell out. Which drew dozens of rats from somewhere, all swarming like crazy, chittering away. That happens all too often in these parts.
The twelfth of April. The day I finally admitted that I am an ape. And have a pretty decent butt for an old creepy ape.
There is a door across the street, in a building, and the door is closed. I don't know what this means, but it could mean something, at least in an alternate universe where doors are really significant, high-status artifacts that people worship, and leave snacks for, and so on, but I don't think that things work that way around here. Am I right, or just clueless?
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Me? Not that flexible any more.
