A FAMILY-SIZE CAN OF MALT LIQUOR

Sometimes the roomies ("stuffed animals", to boring normal people) wish to bear testimony against each other and everything that is good and bright and wholesome. Snidely (the 'head sheep') insists that Angus (the she-sheep, and assistant head roomie) needs to be chastised.
Because, he avers, she is lazy!

"She spends all day in raggedy boxer shorts and a wife beater, chewing tobacco and crushing empty cans of malt liquor, AND she doesn't even have a real job! She paints pictures on black velvet, ducks hunting humans and dogs playing poker."

I express doubt, but he continues.

"She often lies around wearing a track suit, ordering everyone else to drop donut holes into her mouth. Sometimes they miss, and she makes donut hole angels on the floor."

Really now.

"Her favourite food is tater tots with ranch dressing and hot sauce!"

You know, Snidely, I doubt that.

"But it's true! That track suit is filthy, stained with ranch dressing! It cannot be good for her, no wonder she's fat and constipated!"

It was at this point Angus lost it.
We could hear her giggling.
And see her quiver.


"And she's heavy and moves like a water bed, all slosh-slosh jiggle-jiggle, parts of her lagging behind! Peanuts, and potato chip sammiches! Malt liquor and squeeze cheese! It's horrible!"

According to Snidely, the she-sheep (Angus) is disobedient, refusing to perform her proper tasks in life: massaging his tail, getting him fizzy drinks, and serving him grass suckies and hot buttery biscuits.
And I should punish her severely for it.

Tater tots and ranch dressing.

Good grief.



"Soggy wads of spent chewing tobacco all over the place."




==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================