Patricia Faecke Cooney wonders…
“Hey Freddy, are you okay? I didn’t see a post from you today. Hope your biped made it back to take care of you after his parachuting stint. I look forward to hearing about your latest adventures.”
Couple things. First of all, I’m fine – thanks for asking. Secondly, what the hell is “parachuting?”
I’ve googled the term and clicked “images.” Frankly, I don’t like what I see. Bipeds of all shapes and sizes appear to be throwing themselves out flying machines for purposes I can’t begin to fathom. From their expressions, I can’t tell if they’re having fun or having a stroke. Many resemble the bad guy who was tied to the stake at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. The one whose face melted off.
An additional search revealed images of other Bipeds, clearly on the losing end of some ill-conceived wager, tying themselves to long pieces of stretchy rope and jumping from needlessly tall places, only to be snapped back to where they started, proving one or more of Newton’s first three laws.
Knowing him as I do, I wouldn’t be shocked to learn my Human Butler is doing what he can to fend off some level of encroaching entropy or malaise with a series of poorly considered activities, but I really couldn’t say for sure. Nor could I tell you when he’ll return. So I suppose I wait here in his favorite chair, and look skyward for some grand entrance.