SCIENTIFIC SOLD TO PET MEAT EXPERIMENTATION THE GYPSIES |-------------------------------|- - - - - - - - - - - | - - - - - - - - - - - - | MARTHA XX ABBIE XX |-------------------------------|- - - - - - - - - - - | - - - - - - - - - - - - |
Thanks for ruining what was shaping up to be a perfectly lovely dream by RUNNING THROUGH THE APARTMENT PELL-MELL, KNOCKING CRAP OFF THE DESK, KNOCKING THINGS OVER ON THE GROUND AS YOU RUN AROUND IN THE AFOREMENTIONED PELL-MELL FASHION, AND BANGING ON A GODDAMNED CARDBOARD BOX LIKE IT WAS A FREAKIN BONGO, YOU MISERABLE MEWLING, EATING AND POOPING MACHINE. I HOPE TO GOD YOU COME BACK IN YOUR NEXT LIFE AS A VERY VERY VERY LIGHT SLEEPER.
Also, on a completely unrelated tangent: Sex on a bearskin rug -- "whoa, cool" or "oh, no way"? I mean, cause if you think about it, you're having sex on the back of a big dead bear. BIG DEAD BEAR BACK SEX. Somehow this can not be right in any sense of the word.
(Actually, the tangent is actually related; I was lying in bed clutching pillows over my ears imagining an Abbie the Cat Skin Rug, and then thought about bearskin rugs, and what their appeal is -- and I remembered that supposedly folks, you know, DOOOOO IT on the rug. Which just seemed to me like a horrible thing to do that poor dead bear. Insult to injury, and all that. I mean, picture it: There you are, a happy bear, raiding pic-a-nic baskets and eating honey in that cute way folks assume bears do, then someone shoots you and skins you and leaves you on the floor, with your mouth fixed open in a very fierce RAAAAAAWR expression that you never affected while you were alive, and then two people come by and proceed to get all naked and sweaty on your back and probably not clean up the resultant mess. Sure, you probably wouldn't care much cause you were dead, but still, what if you were, like, a ghost? Wouldn't it just chafe your rugged-out hide to see that happen? And criminy, what else do you want from me, all REM-interrupted and cranky at 4 AM?)