Loony spiced up our morning by some forced togetherness amongst That Fucking Cat and Scheissehund. I never knew that cats could roll their eyes.
I miss the effortless beauty of youth although I wouldn’t trade it for the beauty of less-effort existence of middle age.
Between courses we stretched, did handstands, crunches, and I tried to teach everyone how to make their butts and boobs bounce, which I happen to be very good at.
People ask if having chickens is hard. The answer is that having chickens is easy until someone needs an enema.
I can take a day off, I’m not so important that I can’t take a day to revel in a good book. Most of my stress is self-imposed.
Someone would come to the door and he’d let it swing open slowly and say, “Sure is dark on that porch. Ain’t you afraid of getting jumped?” Then when the person stuttered a reply, “Speak up boy! What the hell is wrong with you? Ain’t you never seen a black man before?”
We have some problems with the other flock pecking at each other so now when the Silkies go to the Coop du Jour to range during the day, Annabel the Cannibal goes to solitary confinement at the Poulet Rouge until her Pinless Peepers arrive.
I thought it would be really funny to name my dog Tardigrade and call him Tard for short and then when someone glared at me for being so insensitive and offensive I would be like, “It’s short for Tardigrade. What did you think it was short for?” and watch them twist.
I woke up around midnight to MSNBC and I seriously could not tell if I was watching satire or actual news, it was simply that crazy.
If you were wondering if my two-week absence was due to alcohol poisoning or being in a 30-day rehab, you would be wrong.