As I'm pootling up to Parentville for Yoolfest, Leonard and I had to reschedule our Christmas celebrations to this morning. We exchanged gifts (pats from me, wafty clumps of allergenic fur from her), gorged ourselves on lashings of traditional Whiskas (don't tell the neighbours), and played Ye Olde Festive parlour game, wherein Leonard crouches stockstill in the paper bag from Readings for five minutes, and as soon as I click the button on ye olde festive photograph-machine, she starts pirouetting like a hashish-crazed dervish. Ho ho ho.
On that note, comma-rades, hertzliche Glückwunsch for your holidays. Hope they're grouse.
5 comments:
That's a great picture. And happy holidays to you, too!
Hertzlichen Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag, O Baron!
A hashish-crazed dervish would possibly not be up to such pirouetting, and would instead engage in much obsessive navel-gazing, pausing only to look for a pack of Doritos.
Rumour has it that an order of dervishes in Syria has been eating marijuana since the sixteenth century. You're right, though, Martinski, that it is hard for a person who has witnessed the truly lassitudinous splendour of the pothead to believe.
(I am typing this on my mother's 'puter, which has a built-in spellczech, even for onlinesqueries. Half my words, it appears, are misspelt, including "rumour" and "splendour". I blame Noah Webster.)
Meanwhile, Kingsley, Vague, Timoth: blessings be on your heads (and your elsewheres). Thanks for being such coruscating gems in ma vie en internette.
Sawatdee Bee Mai! Happy New Year from Thailand and all its elephants, pet rabbits perched precariously on the barbecued banana-selling cart, the cat sitting on the shelf of the iced tea-selling cart and lurid cairns of dragonfruit piled like ammo against all enemies of excitingly coloured fruit.
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