Pffthht — er, I mean, it’s very, um, distinctive. I especially like the way the silver lamé tutu complements the spaceman helmet. And the corrugated-tin epaulets with the pink satin trim make a very, um, interesting statement.
So you run along, get lotsa candy, etc. You’ll be back early, I assume. (snort, pffht!)
Evil never looked so garsh-darned adorable, Eden B.
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.
Every time I see her, I just can’t look away. I try to tell myself I’m over her, but then I see that face, those eyes… and that’s when I say to hell with the restraining order…
Here I am, my darling! I’ve missed you so much — did you miss me, too? I got so worried when you didn’t answer my last 47 letters that I just had to see you…
Wait, who’s this? Not him again! I thought I told you to stay away from him! Can’t you see he’s no good for you? He’ll never love you the way that I love you! Never!
Yes, just the two of us now… Oh, my sweet, how I’ve longed for this moment to come once more… to gaze into those faraway eyes, to kiss those full pouting lips, ohhhharrghthphth hrrarghtphht slobber slobber mmmghpth hmrrphth…
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.
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.
It was their new neighbor; he was bizarre, and frankly, terrifying. It was like living in an episode of the Twilight Zone.
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.
Aye-yup, caught this sucker ’bout twenny miles offa the Cape, coupla summers ago. We was just ’spectin’ ta catch a few Siamese, they like ta school out that way, ya know, but then I get this big tug on my line, damn near yanked me right offa the boat!
So Brian says it looks like an Orange Spotbelly, you hardly ever see them up this far North, and so I gotta reel it in careful-like, because my line ain’t rated for a cat that big, ya know. An’ o’course it’s fighting me all the way, hissin’ an’ thrashin’ about an’ spittin’ hairballs like they do…
Well, we finally land the beast and head back for the docks so’s we can get it measured for the record books, and of course everybody’s gotta get their picture taken with the damn thing. Anyway, that’s it over the mantel, f’ya don’t believe me.
Lauren B. notes that “William” was just one year old when this was taken, so we assume he’ll be visible from space before long.
It’s called “Delirious,” essence of rotting leaves with just a hint of dead squirrel. The saleslady at Macy’s spritzed me with some, and I just had to have it!
Wait a minute. I thought we agreed that you would create an emulsion of a 16-oz prime New York strip. You know, on the bone, seared, broiled in a 1600 degree oven, and blended into a delightful goo. With fries. Also goo-ed. Yet now I hear I’m getting a mixture of salty water and B12??? Can I speak to the president of something please?
“Tough Cookie” was found in a box after being hit by a car. She recovered and is presumably doing well with her new owner.
Creamed spinach IVs and all thanks go to Lyndley P.
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