My love, Echinoia Eeeps, was field-stripping one of the family tractors when she got a great idea. Why not rip out the supercharger and transplant it into a human? Get more work out of them. I declined to be the subject on the grounds that I'm at least part weasel, and she actually bought that. And then she bought a weasel trap. My gal — nearly always not more than a half step behind, if that.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, has been cooking bakies, to see what effect doing things in reverse has on results. So far, she's said "Hello" when I've left the family bunker, and wished me "Goodbye" as I've arrived, but the biggest effect on my bowel habits has, by far, been due to her cooking.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, sent me a package. The last time she did this, it exploded. Destroyed the house. She told me that I was simply too clumsy to deserve sympathy. And should get in some quality practice time on one of her dummy packages.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, wants to specialize in high school reunions and mortuary services. She can do both, as well as pest control, which has been working wonders on me.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, gifted me a dead rat to remember her by, and I will, if I know what's good for me, though this one is not going into the soup. Been there. Et that. Got in a bit of gagging practice.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, invited me to dinner with her family on Saturday, if I'm willing to bring the food. Otherwise, we all have to spend the evening staring into each other's eyes and checking our watches a lot.
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Me? Always grateful to have been born with so many fingers.
