Colleen Robinson – “These cookies would be worth so much more to some of us if they had Freddy’s picture … just sayin’…”
Kate Nordloh – “With his cute face they should sell at a high price. Freddy is adorable.”
Derryl Goetz – “If Amy is looking for new ideas, how about a cake of Freddy taking a dump in your easy chair?”
Dear Colleen, Kate, Deryl, et al.
It seems the Biped’s latest fundraising foray has resonated with those of you with a sweet-tooth. Two-dozen custom made sugar cookies from Al Pacino’s personal chef bedazzled with images of my Human Butler have already generated bids in excess of $500. Impressive. However, given the above comments and many others like them, The Biped has clearly misjudged the added value of including my humble countenance into his current offering of C.R.A.P.
And so, based on the overwhelming cries for my scruffy yet welcoming visage, I’ve taken it upon myself to contact Amy the Biped Baker, and forward to her the attached photos. And she, being both sensible and generous, has agreed to include another dozen cookies featuring my own fuzzy bag of bones. In this way, you will not only have a rare opportunity to eat the Biped, you’ll have the unprecedented thrill of licking me as well! Trust me, I’ve been licking myself since the moment I first realized I had a tongue and things worth licking, and I can assure you, it’s satisfying in ways that defy description.
And so, the pot is now officially sweetened. If I understand the prior offer, we now have enough cookies to justify a genuine party. Or perhaps, a gluttonous bacchanalia for one lucky human, determined to stuff themselves with all the sugary goodness of me and what’s-his-name. Either way, I have proven once again that I devour your comments, in much the same way I hope you’ll devour my Biped, and myself. Please go here, with your human lucre. If the page isn’t updated, it will be the moment something with an opposable thumb takes action.
PS Derryl – While it’s tempting to crap in His Majesty’s easy chair, I fear I’d be cutting off my nose to spite my face. You see, that chair has become mine as much as his, and like him, I’ve become intoxicated by the view. There’s a work boot however, toward the back his closet, with an old turd deposited many months ago, still undiscovered. Honestly, the anticipation is killing me…