Earlier today, just after my constitutional and immediately prior to another uninspiring breakfast,
Said I had “good bones.” Said I had “classic features.
I was here when The Lying Real Estate Lady first fibbed to The Biped
Dear Freddy, Another Friday has come and gone with no word from you.
Did you know it’s not unusual for dogs to take on the physical characteristics of their owners?
It’s Friday. Where the heck is Freddy? And what does he do when you’re away?
The sock it offends me, and so it must go.
It happened again. Not as bad as last time, but bad enough to remind me of the first time.
Freddy – With respect, what the hell, dude?
Freddy – What the hell? Where have you been?
Pressed into cool beige
“Sorry Mike, but it’s not Friday without Freddy, and it’s not Christmas without The Grinch.”
I try not to judge. I try not to look too closely at the proclivities of other species and cast aspersions.
“If you don’t mind me asking, where the hell do you think you’re going?”
The Biped wonders why I’m intrigued by a potato, jammed into the neck of an oversized bottle with a duck on the side.