My love, Echinoia Eeeps, says she wants to exorcise me tonight. At first I thought she said "exercise", and was beginning to get a bit tingly, considering how things went last time we saw a new moon and had an empty pasture all to ourselves, but no — she said "exorcise". And I've become quite skittish about activities requiring red-hot pokers. (Or any kind of poky things, really, at this time of year.)
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, wants to try turdle farming. Her father, Obersturmbannführer Pappy Joe (Bubba) Eeeps, dug her a playtime sewage lagoon with the backhoe and salted it with a few of the family's heritage heirloom pet droppings, handed down through generations. And for my birthday she ordered me a Mattel Mini-Drooper as a starter kit. It's like an ant farm but with turds. Instead of ants. No ants at all. Only turds. (Small ones.)
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, hosted a high school reunion at the family bunker. No one showed up, yet again. The wolves have seemingly succeeded at their mission and can now be retired to the petting zoo. (Be sure to wash your hands first.)
About time to check in on the Eeeps family. My love Echinoia and I have been out of touch for a while. Presumably their raw gopher diet has been treating them well, though with the Eeepses one can never be certain of much aside from occasional furball regurgitation.
If there's one thing I can say for sure, it's that I don't know anything for sure, probably.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, comes from a family, as you might expect. It's a big one. Up to now I've been unable to count them all, partly because they swirl through family events like a storm of locusts, and partly because they put a bag over my head and throw me into the pool whenever I become deliberate. I will be slightly more comfortable with this when the pool is finished and filled with liquid water. (Rather than the clan rats.) But it's always fun at the Eeeps compound no matter what, and I very seldom come home with lice any more.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, has a new hobby — making mucilage. She's so good that she'll soon be selling it through the mail. 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. But still fun somehow.
Got something to add?
If the commenting system is out again, then email: sosayseff@gmail.com.
See if that works.
Me? Hiding now. Breathing quietly. So very quietly.
