“Oh, that’s it, pal — I am so biting you! You’re in for a chomping, mister! Prepare yourself for the unforgiving wrath of my jaws, ’cause here it comes! OK, I’m really gonna let you have it! Just wait until I sink my fangs into your fuzzy little head, pencil-neck! You’ll rue the day you were pollinated! All right, no more practice chomps–it’s slobberin’ time! You want a piece of this, well do ya? ‘Cause you’re gettin’ it! Oh, don’t think I won’t do it! Knock-knock! Who’s there? Biting! Biting who? Biting you, starting now! I really mean it this time! You’re getting the tooth, the whole tooth, and nothing but the tooth! The next thing you’re gonna taste will be the bittersweet kiss of calcium death, with a saliva chaser! Oh, don’t even think about running away! Stand up and take what’s eventually coming to you!”
Marching up the street, on flat and webby feet,
Here comes the ‘Tock Patrol!
Wiggling their ‘tocks, in kinky knee-length socks,
Look out! They’re on a roll!
The bravest of the brave, no mission they’ll decline,
It’s action that they crave, no behind left behind!
Victory is their motto, Adventure is their goal,
They’re the geese of the ‘Tock Patroooool!
Now drop and give me twenty, Ryan W.!
Hey there, kids! Welcome to my super-fun TV playhouse! All my favorite TV pals are here, like Bucky Bear, and Sally the White Object That Might Be a Bunny (I think she passed out on the swing set)!
And you’re just in time to see me hop on my flying carpet and travel …
To the moon! OK, here I am on the moon… The lunar surface is really bumpy…
… and it smells just like fabric softener! Oh, well, as long as I don’t meet up with any scary moon monsters I should be…
Benny’s TV Playhouse is a Jess E. Production! Benny trained by Jess E.! Sets designed by Jess E.! Benny designed by Benny’s mom and dad! Photos by Jess E. and Jess E.’s Mom! Executive Senior Script Consultant, NTMTOM! Fake moon landing set by NASA (I knew it)! See’ya next week, kids, YAAAAAY!!!
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Photos: Sad Scottish Fold by Stephanie R., flickr fan by BeccaG
Not content to disrupt a peaceful slumber party, now those noisy goons from the New York Lottery are crashing a bucolic Bunday picnic at (what’s left of) Coney Island. Have these people no sense of decency?
Wanna split a funnel cake Nathan’s hot dog, sbovio? Theresa’s buying.
Since when do I have to choose? I mean, speaking as a raccoon, we’re sort of accustomed to doing both at once. Like knocking over your garbage cans to take all the yummy scraps; that sort of thing.
(Which reminds me: We’ll be smashing those pumpkins later, so just leave the beer and sandwiches on the step, thanks.)