Hilda’s Revenge

…Because you’ve seen Hilda’s ears, right? It’s like two furry Venus Flytraps just sprouted out of  her head – oh, poo! Sweetie, did I not mention that I needed a French manicure today –anyway, I mean, Hilda has a cute face…it it weren’t for those pipe cleaners she calls whiskers. It’s like, ‘What, did a 5-year-old invent you?’

By the way, how do my brows look? It’s like the one thing Hilda does right, you know?

I'm going to look angry for a very long time.

Um, no. I did not ask for two “creepy cocoons” to be placed above my eyes. Where is Hilda. I need to speak with her.

They may look like furry Venus Flytraps, but they hear all.

You could just use Chunk’s whiskers as Q-Tips, Deidra L.

K.I.T.T. Never Had These Problems

He was no Michael Knight. And he didn’t even come close to a Magnum. Hell, even with espadrilles, he couldn’t hold a candle to Crockett or Tubbs. The sad truth was, despite what he wanted you to believe, he was no babe magnet.

Can I get a little help here?

And since he didn’t even know how to drive, he spent his days working it as a hood ornament; it was a pointless exercise in futility.

Someone tell Tawny Kitean that she's been replaced.

I’m guessing there are Jersey plates on that thing, Lindsey Y.

We Need to Talk

Listen, we both know this hasn’t been working for a while. We’ve been drifting apart for some time, and well…there’s someone else. You can’t be surprised. I mean, what did you expect? He gives me everything you wouldn’t – namely, table scraps.

It's not you, it's me...OK, it's you.

Ouch, Sarah V. Photo by Elizabeth V.

Blooming Doom

Authorities believe the photographer is also the owner of these cicadas pugs. She has not been seen since this photo was taken, and with the petals found ditched on the side of the road, police are fearing the worst.

I'm Mugsy. That's Bugsy. You don't get no hugsy.

Halloween is a dangerous day.

Photo from Boston.com, via Josh N.

That Little Hangy Thing Looks Like Fun

Yeah, I don’t see a canary down there, so it looks like you’ll be OK. But again, that scenario typically applies to coal mines only, so I’d advise you to see a medical professional for a second opinion.

What, are you just going to gum me to death?

I hope you’re not allergic to floof, Allison L.

The Neighborhood Will Never Be the Same

Willard and Wanda Worrywart were, perhaps predictably, two nervous nellies to be begin with. Willard often compulsively paced in circles, while Wanda fretted over the smallest disruptions.

The sky is falling! The sky is falling!

But in recent days, the Worrywarts often found themselves on the verge of suffering full-blown panic attacks. Their mental states were deteriorating, and Willard was especially affected.

I know I'm not a big prayer, Cod, but if you could help me, I'd appreciate it.

It was their new neighbor; he was bizarre, and frankly, terrifying. It was like living in an episode of the Twilight Zone.

When googly eyes aren't cute.

They had no one to complain to, so they were forced to endure the daily harassment. Neither Willard nor Wanda knew how long they’d last. But they knew one thing for certain: When they woke up, he would be there.

Call me Brimley and prepare to die.

Call some therapists, Vicki C. and Regina C.

Much Like the Rhythm, the Shame is Gonna Get You

Just as he did every afternoon, Sanford told his friends he was headed out to the river to relax while listening to Bach and Mozart. He didn’t like to lie, but the shame of the truth was too great: Alone on the waters, he’d place those ear phones on his head, and disappear in the sweet, sweet sounds of (similarly coiffed) Richard Marx.

Maybe I'll be able to patch that hole in Ma's washtub with some of Wendell's mashed potatoes.

And, you’re welcome:

I turn my nose up at the Riverbottom Nightmare Band.

Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will be right here waiting for you, Angie C.

Bono, Sting, Stevie Wonder, Elvis Costello, Phil Collins, Cyndi Lauper, Willie Nelson, and Bob Geldof are on Stand-By

It’s rumored that Bono has already written the lyrics; and if he stops conducting foreign policy initiatives for the White House, you know the situation must be dire. Poor little Topper. One minute he’s playing with abandon, the next he’s falling down a well into a cardboard box.

Listen furless beings, can’t you see I’m trying to take a nap here?

'It puts the lotion in the basket?' You can put whatever the hell you want in your basket, I'm going to sleep.

Sing as many songs about me as you like – I don’t care. Just don’t tell that Angelina Jolie about this. She’ll see I’m sleeping on kitchen towels, assume I need rescuing, and before I know it, my name will be changed to Toppox.

All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up.

What do you use to wash dishes, Kat C.?

That’ll Do Pig, That’ll Do

Winnie the Pig had a date. A hot date. It was his first in weeks, and since he wasn’t about to go and blow it, he had to make sure everything was just right. So obviously, he brought in reinforcements:

Listen, if it was your intention to bathe in Drakkar Noir and possibly kill your date with cheesiness, then you exceeded expectations. I mean, I think my nose may have stopped twitching.

I'm not one to talk about unmanicured feets, but it looks like you stepped in a dozen marshmallows.

Here’s the thing: It looks like Arthur Fonzarelli took a greased comb to your hair, and yet it doesn’t occur to you to pluck a nose hair? It’s surprising considering they’re practically hindering your eyesight.

Just because you go over your fur with a fine tooth comb doesn't mean you have to turn your nose up at me.

Here’s to the partnership, Maria L.

Where’s My Sake?

Great. Now teach him how to chew with his mouth closed.

I’m not at all convinced that’s not some animatronic fluff ball with eyes, Thayer P.

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