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.
This, has come to my attention.
I wanted to share with you this photo my husband snapped of me as we entered the Labor & Delivery floor at our local hospital on Labor Day.
“Stairs,” Valkyrie said, disappointed. “Not just ordinary stairs,” Skulduggery told her
Dear Freddy, Your Biped has been surprisingly quiet about the controversy
Until this morning, I was under the impression that everyday was National Dog Day