FLING, FLING, FLING!
"No! I am going to take a long bath!" Imagine my disappointment.
Actually, I am not disappointed. In that at least. I am quite at ease with the undesirability of any solids, liquids, wax, or gasses. Not just me, everyone. Modern society has no great affection for our wastes, that's why there is a pipe leading from every apartment in this building for the rats and alligators to climb up and visit us in our sleep.
It is cold and blustery outside. I can understand why she is taking a long hot bath. And while she does so, there is peace and quiet in the house, none of the stuffed animals ("roomies") will bother me while I pen this post and contemplate a dash to the cigar bar later on. This evening more than ever, because in this weather there will be fewer people there, the whisky will taste better, and the delightful perfume of my fine aged flue-cured leaves will have less competition from the horrid stogies of Republican blowhards.
Key quote from Sarcasm Society:
"Who wouldn't want to get to spend all day getting groomed by monkeys? And getting to eat all the bananas you want? And getting to fling your poo without judgment?"
Except, of course, that bananas make me itch. It's probably related to the early stage latex allergy. And by flung poo should be understood verbal missiles only, not anything actually material, and most particularly nothing in any way resembling the real thing. Because civilized human beings do not fling poo without judgment. Judgment IS involved.
[No, there is no point at asking the one-legged monkey, plus the control monkey, Sock, and Curious George about this. Their perspective is, necessarily, skewed, and bringing up the subject might give them ideas. Don't want to go there.]
I wonder what would happen at the cigar bar if I actually did that.
Eyebrows might well be raised, if they even noticed.
Amidst the smell of their cigars.
A charming prospect.
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