Marshmallow Love

I had my first encounter with an aggressive marshmallow today. Will write more about this after the cast is removed.

Favorite lunch so far — marshmallows and air-pufft buffalo eyes. Not that tasty but a great conversation starter. Or ender. (That's important too.)

Marshmallows never hurt anybody, except for my 17th cousin Thaddeus, who put a whole bag of them up his nose one Thursday and became permanently distended, not to mention overly sweet.

Toasted marshmallows last night. Crunch. (Too much crunch.) They turned out to be styrofoam balls, that's why. Still...not too bad with maple syrup, though they still squeak too much.

Apparently I'm the new marshmallow-eating champion, but there is no prize. Only puffiness around the gills.

Marshmallow duets. Need a second for mine. You free later?

Saw a mouse driving a stolen HUMVEE that was at least two sizes too small for it.

Have your tweezers ever gone rogue on you?

 

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Me? Got something in my eye. Think it's a bug. If'n it don't come out I'll have to call it a feature.

Soup For Two (Me & You)

 

Bean tits. Good only for soup.

Bought a bucket of soup to try out, possibly for Xmas gifts. But when the cat fell in it put me right off my feed. Never liked catsoup.

Cream of hamster tail soup. Good way to deal with excess hamsters.

Ever count your toes? If you have extra, I can use some. I'm making soup again.

Today's special at the Cafe of Your Choice is alphabet soup, and you can use it to write your very own personal suicide note.

Fingers in my soup. I always get fingers in my soup. Except that one time when there was that little toy boat.

Found another turtle in my soup. Better check the recipe one more time. Also, I have window screens on order. Am keeping my fingers crossed. Something's gotta help.

I had a bowl of alphabet soup, for a spell, but last night it ran off with the thesaurus, leaving me unlettered.

Taco cookie soup. (For members only.)

Mom made me soup last night. She's been working out. Which is where she got the strength to stuff me into the blender.

Party soup. There's music in that.

So, guatita criolla it is today. If I don't eat that, then it's going to be chicken parts. Parts of chicken, some assembly needed, as if. But they never give me a full kit. It's one of these and none of those (the usual), and I've never had any luck getting even one of my best efforts to fly, no matter how often I toss it off the highway overpass. Well, the soup is here, so I'll need to put this decision off until later.

Today it's fanesca for lunch. Soupy, soupy-soup. Easter soup. I guess. With fish. Fish. I have to share it with them, the fish. Always the fish.

Turtle soup — not that good. Maybe you have to cook it. Do you? #QuestionsToChefJoe,Etc

Well, it looks like the soup has arrived — two buckets of it. Anyway it shakes out, I'll be eating it soon. (I really do hope that it really is soup this time.)

Yeah, Mom knew what she was doing. Like that day she made soup. Put stuff in a pot, add water, then flame. #MiraclesNeverEnd

Chicken soup makes poor house paint. (True.)

 

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Got a message in the mail today: "Don't forget to count your fish!"

Smile Me Another

Someone smiled at me today. They missed.

Someone smiled at me today. It always makes me wonder. Well anyhow — it was entirely enjoyable just sitting in the park eating brains. Always is.

A simile is like a smile from your cat. Doesn't mean much unless you're a mouse.

I'd like to ask your name, but the last time I tried that, I was set on fire. Maybe I should work on my smile instead, and start bathing.

Speaking of fruit, "banana crack" is a phrase never used in any language, in any country, ever. As far as I know, and I'm supposed to be the expert around here. Makes me smile to say that. I truly am thoroughly fine.

Mom taught me never to pick my teeth. She always did it for me. There were boxes full of them in the basement. It's surprising how often so many boarders just disappeared and left their teeth behind. My gain, I guess. I have a nice smile thanks to someone.

 

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Me? Been exploding without warning all too often these days.

Lately Eeeps Doings

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, has a new hobby — making mucilage. She's so good that she'll be selling it mail order. Because she can't get rid of it any other way. And has no idea what it may be good for. Certainly not edible, even as soup. Not a decent dog shampoo. Can't be molded into lawn ornaments. Lousy building material. And so on.

Out at the Eeeps family compound and slaughter-your-own pig farm, it's "Get Stuffed Week". My love, Echinoia Eeeps, explained it all to me. That is why, I guess, that everyone is dressed as manicotti noodles. (Something must explain it.)

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, sent me a birthday present. From Siberia. It's a tiger. I need to get a bigger litter box. Pretty soon now.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is on vacation, in Siberia. Just like that. Didn't know she was going. Did get a postcard from her though. It said "Glad you're not here. I'm having fun for once. Don't forget to feed the tiger — tigers get cranky when hungry. Will return some day if things don't pan out here." What a gal. You should see her armpit hair.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is on vacation in Siberia. The last thing she sent me was a bucket of mud. With a note. Said not to tell her mother about this. And I've discovered that tigers really love fried chicken, and playing scrabble, although they can become a bit sulky when they lose, tending to revert to biting behavior, though they do hold their liquor well. Miss my gal though. You know who.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, has a world-class Caterpillar collection. Mostly the D9 models. She's also quite a stellar diesel mechanic and holds several arm-wrestling titles on the side.

 

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Me? Wondering what the gutters here taste like.