You've heard of the man who mistook his wife for a hat? Well I didn't. She's my sister and I can't get away from her. Ed is lucky. (That's her husband.) He's seriously delusional most days and loving it, as far as anyone can tell, so it doesn't really matter what sort of hat issues he's dealing with. Or not. And anyway, he's not either quick enough or strong enough to wrassle my sister when she's up on top of his noggin. She's a fighter, she is, and a bit on the hefty end even since the operation. (The one to remove those six cats from her arms). She's just been laying around since then, putting on weight, pondering her revenge, no doubt. The cats are all OK though it was dicey peeling off the velcro that my sister put on them (and herself) to prevent premature separation. And the twine. She used twine too, and tape (double-sided). It was a mess for all concerned, but she never did look the least bit like a hat, not with all those cats stuck to her, and maybe even less so now with all the tape residue, so maybe this will turn out all right.
You know, the problem with you is that you're talking to me, which is a bit disturbing. If you, for example, just tried turning around and walking away, I bet we'd both feel better immediately.
Woofton Huffsey, Accomplice Fer Hire.
Gummint — what's it good for? Like the U.S. Department of Liver, the U.S. Treachery Department, the U.S. Virgin General (well, maybe...), the United States Toast Guard, or the United States Maurine Corps.
Furniture for Lefties at the Crown Prince Of Wicker discount warehouse.
Today is the day they put the balloons back into the bag. I can't express how this makes me feel.
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Me? Can't wait for something. Bye.
