I'm a low-carbon life form and feel pretty good about that.
Brother Fenster, meanwhile, grew rutabagas under his bed, and quietly sang songs softly to them on moonlight nights. That was before he stole the company jet and flew off with his mistress to North Dakota.
Have I ever told you that I love you? I'm really hungry right now, so how about we take care of that after lunch?
Sad territory, all over again, isn't it?
Frammis, and I don't know why. Must review.
Huh — This coffee shop is all fulla old people. Guess they shouldnta offered lifetime refills maybe.
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Me? Considering some hydrogen for lunch. Might be fun.
Grandmother ate the dog. But not my dog. Because mine is a cat. Cat and I discussed philosophy and rodents, we two, while Grandmother sat and munched paws.
I fed all the neighborhood dogs to my cat Hermann last night. Actually, Hermann did all the work. I just came up with a good alibi. We work as a team — Hermann does the locating, selecting, stalking, killing, and eating, and I leave the back gate open and handle the police. He's a good cat. Nice, cuddly, warm, colorful Bengal tiger. My pal Hermann. He even has his own Facebook account.
If you want a friend, get a dog. If you want a real friend, get a cat. If you want my advice, get lost.
Today is National Exhume a Dead Parent for Lunch Day, but Dad keeps digging himself up every old random day. I just set out a leftover burger and cold fries by the dog bowl and that usually does the trick, though sometimes I have to shoo him away before things can return to normal. Stuffing him into the dumpster is iffy. The crew will usually toss him back out. Parents — you can't live with them, you can't get rid of them, not even by burial.
Didn't think that farting in church would sound so loud. Maybe it was because the moment of silent prayer sounded so quiet. Anyway, I was able to point to the dog, though that was when they threw us both out. Odd really, because I have no idea where the dog came from. We had a good laugh about it over beer, and then sniffed each other's butts before heading our separate ways.
Ever considered a pet snake? I come with solid references and can help out if you have problems with rats, stray dogs, or unruly children.
My dog is named Daisy. I don't have a dog. I hate dogs. She always hogs the blankets, and I can't sleep because of the moaning.
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Me? Trying to keep secrets from the cat. Hard. Very hard.
If it wasn't Valentine's Day, I'd be lonely. Found a quarter on the street next to a dead fly. Kept the quarter but left the fly for someone who needs a friend more than I do.
If today wasn't Valentine's Day, I wouldn't mention it.
It may be Valentine's Day, though I prefer Easter because I can stay home alone and eat the heads off of as many chocolate bunnies as I can handle, maybe even more than that I can handle, and no one cares.
It's Valentine's Day and the cat does not exhibit any concern over how large my brain is, or how generous my heart, as long as there is tuna on the menu. Count me in.
Once upon a time there was no Valentine's Day, and I didn't care about that either. Also, never been kissed by anyone I'd want to name in my will. Mostly content with eating the heads off of chocolate Easter bunnies and drinking alone at home.
But I did have a long talk with the cat last night. It appears that he has, truly, no special attachment to Valentine's Day either. Not quite sure that I understood him though. It is entirely possible that he was trying to con me into another serving of tuna. But I'm frequently wrong about these things. Either way, tuna. And we're buddies, so life is OK today.
It's Valentine's Day and now my carrot has left me. Or I ate it. I do that sometimes. Don't quite remember. Hardly got to know it.
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Me? Thinking maybe I'll go with rutabagas.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, plan to go into television. They think that they can do better than anything out there now. Maybe, considering that there is nothing out there now, you ask me, except the howling need for a 24-hour fart network. I should pass them the tip. They deserve it. Step on the gas, kids.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, aren't bland, they just act that way. So maybe that explains their desire to open an all-oatmeal restaurant. If that takes off they're thinking of expanding into cream of wheat, though at this stage it's still a distant high-concept semi-possibility and it will take time for the fright factor to subside.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, have just reinvented the wheel. It's round. Again. And I think I see a patent application in their future.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are not convinced that there actually are any colors other than beige. Because what purpose would they serve?
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are thinking of getting a pet. No decisions yet. They're still pondering about how many legs it ought to have. Not too many, but also not too common a number they think — something between zero and one, or approximately in that range. Perhaps. Depending on what is available at the pet recycling center. (They want to do their part.)
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, have a dog now. Malcolm. Malcolm has a degree in home ergonomics, but as far as I know, they don't even have a single ergonom in the house. Maybe he'll help them figure that out. They do truly need this kind of help.
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Me? Trying to keep it down.
