Uppity Couch!

If The Misters’ couch ever takes a notion to up’n vamoose itself out the door, down the hill, aiming to thumb itself a ride, well… it sure as shoot won’t be on Mr. Smitty’s watch!

“Whoa, couch must be settin’ to move.”

“Get the couch, Mr. Smitty! Get it!”

“Mister Smitty’s a-got his’n claws on the corner of the couch. He ain’t lettin’ go!”

“He a-gonna get that couch!”

“Mister Smitty’s got that couch by the short hairs and won’t let go.”

“Tell ‘em who’s boss, Mr. Smee.”

“That couch ain’t goin’ nowhere, yo!”

Shower Scene

Mr. Smitty likes the shower!

Lickable fresh water all over the place -- like a waterbowl that just goes on and on! Cool, lickable walls, too, that echo and reinforce smell and sound. HABAS – not into all that. “I don’t do that. I’m clean.”

“What’s that noise?”

“Sounds like the towel rack jiggling.”

“Mr. Smitty, are you done in the shower? Are you using my towel? You can.”

Plato’s (refrigerated) Cave

Mister Smitty is a philosophical smitty!
He stares at the fridge at mealtime.
Does he know that his wet food comes from the fridge?

Sitting and staring at it, he feels the door open and the cold air blast out at him, then close. He understands that radically abrupt change in temperature.

But now, staring at it, I wonder if he’s wondering about the fridge the way we wonder about God.
Mr. Smitty is a philosophisti-cat!

VaCATion

Mister Smitty took a vacation!

After much twitter-pating (but not in Twitter), The Smee vamoosed for higher ground in an attempt to vacation-ize himself.

"Mister, where that Smee at?"

"Mister, shoots."

"Did he go on a wee vacation? I see a big-'ol 18-and-a-half-minute-type gap in his blog entries."

"Perhaps he pressed <> and vacated himself that way."

Sneaky Smitty.

Enigma Variations Part III: Taking a little cat-map

Sirs,

The photos of your (putative) “cat,” too, when carefully blown up, reveal hidden maps that correspond exactly to places in Iran, Iraq, and, most curiously, Wilkes-Barre, Pa. (on this we are still pondering).

Please respond (in writing) to the issues enumerated herein in preparation for our site visit to your website.

Yours,

Department of Home-made Security

Enigma Variations Part II: What, er, supply?

Sirs,

Even un-decoded, your cat’s listed activities seem to indicate a plan for dissemination of your coded directives to a sleeper cell of intimates, code-named Mister Smitty’s “peeps.”

Postings about The Smitty’s water-drinking preferences – endless and preposterous if taken literally – can only logically be understood as code for designs on our water supply.

And what are we to make of those ever-shadowy figures, the vaguely-named “Misters” who seem to do The Smitty’s bidding as though they were interchangeable flunkies?

Enigma Variations Part I: An Enigma Wrapped Inside of a Condom

Sirs,

It has come to our attention that your website “blog” has far too many hits for one ostensibly about “a cat.”

Formal legal proceedings (in the works) notwithstanding, we must surmise that postings are not about “The Smee” and his “adventurizing” but are, in fact, coded messages.

A statistical analysis of random selections of your “texts” reveals (when numerical values are assigned to letters in a standard code formula) the following disturbing decoded messages:

“I racked up a huge debt”

“I ran to telephone.”

“Is real or not?”

Memory Laps

Mister Smitty practices a specific, strategic lap strategy!

When The Misters went for two nights to another island, the Smitty, of course, decided they were lost. He offered his backside and scent repeatedly upon their return to help them reorientate and regain their sense of place.

But those pesky Misters continued to stray, leaving the homestead for hours on end in what must have been lost confusion.

Thus the Smitty has taken to sitting on The Misters’ laps when they perch. This is clearly the Smitty’s way of squelching any wanderlust in The Misters!

Pre- Laps-arean

Mister Smitty likes to do laps!

How many laps a day does Mr. Smitty do?

Let’s count:

In the morning he likes to jump into That Mister’s lap for an early morning (or late morning, or both) session.

At the end of the day --

(and I don’t mean figuratively, in a catch-phrasey way, because, at the end of day, I am so totally over that, but literally around 10:00 PM)

-- The Smee stretches out in This Mister’s lap while he watches his forengi films.

Good Smitty!

Boddhicatva

Mister Smitty is the Buddha incarnate.

(Obviously, each cat owner feels his or her cat is the source of buddhistical revelations and life lessons – and, to some degree, this is true --)

But the Smitty is clearly The One.

And yo(u) can read about it in “My Cat is a Total Buddh(a)head” just published by Mister Smitty Press (just click on the “Good Buy$” link).

Inside, you will find such wisdoms as:

“’OM’ is the intake of energy of which the cat’s ‘Mao’ is the expressing.”

All of this illustrated in faux Ming ink drawings. So sumi!

Got Cribs?

“Yo! Pimp my crib!”

Welcome to Mister Smitty’s super-clandestine (“Secret Club”) new crib, Yo’s!

You are seeing secret select pix of the new location (super-undisclosed) of Mister Smitty’s fresh crib!

Talk about “early-adapters”? Mr. Smitty is the Raptor of Early Adapters, yo.

No’m sayin’?

Crip Cribs

Mister Smitty is an “early adapter.”

The Smee is one of the few cutting-edge types who move the culture forward.

Here’s how:

The Smee is always ahead of the curve when it comes to where to sleep. Talk about boutique hotels! The Smitty has them beat – he DISCOVERS new locations, like—

[At this point the author discusses the most recent (i.e. “current,” “trendy,” “now-ish”) location of The Smitty’s crib, which, at press time, The Smitty’s handlers were in a tizzy about disclosing.

Stay tuned. –ed.]

Skull and Tomes

Mr. Smitty’s skull is very skullacious!

Viewed from the side, The Smitty has a deep, “deep cover” smile that wraps up the side of his head in obscene proportions (excess of joy).

Such a rictus puts one in mind of the Sphinx – and, thus, of Baudelaire’s immor(t)al poem “Les Chats”

Which, judging by the lengths to which this entry has been stretched already, shall have to appear in a later installment.

Merde!

Legal Entanglements and the Computer

Jeff will poke at the keyboard in the most lackadaisical way as though he weren’t interested in representing The Smitty’s interests at all!

Often Twinkles (Jeff’s secretary) will find her distinguished lawyer boss curled up under the side table (by his food dish) – or worse: jumping at the windows trying to capture random moths. For this we pay $144 per hour?

Gross indecency!

Meanwhile, The Smitty’s future blogs, waiting to be expurgated and rendered beige for web consumption, gather cat hair under Jeff’s paws.

We hope this helps to explain why there’s such a backlog in the pipeline.

Wait till you read the one about the election (of 2000)!

Mister Smitty’s Legal Team

Mr. Smitty’s lawyers are (excuse us) a lazy bunch!

The backlog of info ready to slide out of here into the world about The Smitty (trucks are waiting, beeping softly)…

But them lawyers!

Mr. Smitty has – understandably, for a cat – engaged legal representation from members of HIS OWN KIND. Thus, the sense of what constitutes a “day’s work” is, in human terms, sorely lacking.

The Smitty’s lawyer, Jeff:

“Twinkles, dollface, send me that file on Mr. Smitty. Miaou.”

But when Twinkles checks back 6 hours later, Jeff is curled up asleep on Mr. Smitty’s file!

Missing: The Misters!

Mister Smitty was on his own recognizance for two whole nights!

(while The Misters visited Smudge’s mom on another island).
What did the Smitty do to amuse-ificate hisselfs?
Party with his peeps (stand on two legs, brandish a champagne flute, etc)?
Establish relations with the new (post-Esai) tenants “south of the border”?
If you have knowledge (or footage) of the Smitty’s whereabouts during this period, please contact this blog immediately!

You’ve Been Upgraded!

“And for those guests staying in our most luxurious accommodations, you may avail yourselves of a pet cat for the duration of your stay.
Patient, kind, friendly to all ages, Mister Smitty will jump into your lap, sleep, roll over, display his stomachs for scratchings, and purr (but never whine).
See Reception for the Mister Smitty upgrade.”

Tape Delay

It has come to the attention of this blogsite that there are stirrings of dissent (gripes) about the delay (lag time) between actual occurrences in The Smitty’s life and when they show up on this website.

Dear Reader! Rest assured that we at Mr. Smitty’s executive offices are at pains to narrow that gap (roughly 18 ½ minutes) so that you are party to the freshest developments possible, etc…[as per our lawyers instructions – ed.]

Actually, the whole “delay” problem is caused by our lawyers. The vetting of the Smee’s cavorting –and trying to get his wayward peeps to sign release forms so their images can be used in films, Christmas specials, and on coffee mugs, playing phone tag with their publicists, etc.

– is as tiresome and drawnout as reading back entries of this blog!

Chief Detective Smitty

The Smitty is a shrimp detective.

The scene: a plate of shrimp. The Smitty: nosing up the air randomly (“something up, yo!”)

Once the nose finds its groove, the Smitty follows it in cool, hunkered down pursuit – his body an elaborate delivery system designed to support the needs of his nose.

This Mister moves the plate of shrimp. The Smitty turns, heads off as though he smells other bid’ness…

--only to sneak up onto the porch railing (all roundabout and circling back like) to come at that plate of shrimp from above!

Sneaky Smitty!

Beach Blanket Bingeing

Mister Smitty likes to clean!

In preparing the seasonal shift on the lanai to the “Winter Palace” format, This Mister took the seagrass mat down to the croquet pitch (between the Crack House and the Fire Pit) and bleached it (like ol’ Odysseus hosing down his killing floor of suitor gore).

Mr. Smitty immediately plopped himself down on the mat as I slathered the bleach. Perhaps he likes the smell? Perhaps it gets him high?

When I had to flip the mat over, he clung to it and flipped right over hisself. He got right back on it again and re-blissed himself.

Es-cat-ology

Mister Smitty, if you were having a dinner party, what 7 individuals would you invite?

Let’s see: my peeps (think there’s three these days), either one of The Misters (can’t tell ‘em apart, one’s as good as the other), you – for asking this question, someone from Legal, and this dead bird (as a snack).

Mister Smitty, how many lives did you have originally, and how many are left?

“Mao.”

And how many are left?

“Mao.”

Surf Smitty, USA

In the morning, Mr. Smitty likes to surf!

-- the waves of sunlight, I mean!

The East corner of our porch (now rearranged to its “Winter Palace” format) has a stripe of sunlight into which the Smee inserts himself and rides that swell.

Dude, this break is so cherry.

Dude, Mr. Smee, that set was like so totally awesome!

Dude, those barrels you – gnarly! or what?

I say, are you planning to “Hang 10,” My good smee?

The Undiscovered Adventures of Mr. Smitty (Imagined)

Disclaimer:

Unlike other “real” adventures of the Smee, the following “adventures” are supposed, projected, potential occurrences of a parallel universe in which the Smitty may or may not dwell.

(our lawyers made us write that – ed.)

The party of the first part (The Smee) pursuant to the desires of his Misters, was left to wander and cavort for the aforementioned no. of days

(see www.mistersmitty.blogspot.com/whatever/why/areyou/stillreadingthis/faux.url?)

Duh.

Details of this “adventure” are not available to this blog at press (enter) time.

The Rules of Etti-cat

Mister Smitty has etti-cat!

As you know from numerous reiterations, The Smitty is a polite a welcoming host when others arrive (for cocktails).

He greets, prances, lap-dances and lounges in the general direction of visitors (all of which is well documented in previous entries stretching back eons).

But WHY is the Smitty full of etti-cat?

Perhaps it is because he was, for a short time, owned by a scion of one of this island’s oldest families, and was trained to be a congenial smitty.

We suspect, too, that this is where he learned to so elegantly extend his front feet (sphinx-like) when lounging or posing.

The Mao of Smee

We now offer various translations of the Smitty’s most oft-bespokified expression -- “Mao”:

1) The final moment before you put his new food down in front of him.

Translations: THANK YOU

‘BOUT TIME!
C’MON WID’IT!
JOLLY GOOD/ CHEERS!
[expletive(s) deleted]

2) When the Smitty runs up the stairs after he has been adventuring far afield:
Translations: YO!
I HAVE ARRIVED!
ALERT THE PRESS!
LE CHAT, C’EST MOI!

Fan Mail, Part III: “Tube”ular

Many of our reader(s), understandably star-struck, ask questions about the Smitty’s screen and tube appearances. A sampling:

Was that your voice-over on The Simpsons last night?

No, I only do South Park.

What happened to your cameo in Babel? I thought you were cast as Goat #3?
My cameo in Babel was cut off because no one could understand what I was saying!
Meister Smithy, (tovish and slithy) I saw your posts on YouTube.
Yo, hush up about that! That *!#! was not authorized, ya dig?

La Migra!

Mister Smitty works for La Migra!

The Smitty is often occasionally found on a fact-finding mission “South of the Border,” below the Western Wall, down at the Esai’s house.
The Smitty pays particular attention to walking on top of their various cars.
Much has been made in the Press about the high-profile doings of the Smitty when he walks all over their roof (for exploitative photos see various tabloids). Though these very public acrobatics would seem counter-productive to the search and seizure of illegal immigrants in our midst, rest assure that the Smitty “know whattup” and is very much on the case!
How the Smitty delivers his reports to Customs cannot be divulged at this time; suffice it to say that the efforts of this snooping smitty help to ensure Homemade Security for us all!

Location, Location, Location!

Mister Smitty is a scientifical smitty!

Having conducted numerous tests of where The Misters most travel in and about their house, the Smitty has concluded that:

1) Just to the right of the fridge, and

2) Two steps out the door on the porch (left of Shoeland, right of the Danish Modern coffee table)

Are the two most Mister-trafficked places in the house.

And is, therefore, where the Smitty flops hisself down to rest – and record further scientifical observations of The Misters!

Mr. Smitty and the T.V.: a Trilogy

I.
A Mister: Is Mister Smitty watching?
Mr. Smitty: ‘Watching’ what? If it don’t smell, I don’t ‘watch’ it.!

II. (Later)
The Smitty was inside with the T.V. going. The Misters were a fuori, dig?
A Mister: Mister Smitty, are you listening to the T.V.? What are they saying?
Mr. Smitty: Yo, I ain’t listening to nobody who got no smell. No smell, no dice.
A Mister: No smell?
Mr. Smitty: No dice!

III. (Later)
Mr. Smitty: What’s that smell? Smell good. Now THAT would make some fine
T.V.! No’m sayin’?

10% off the top

Mister Smitty is a good agent!

That mister had a cat-sitting job in the offing…

The client came to the house. Mr. Smitty made sure he would clinch the deal for That Mister by showing how good and well-trained a smitty he is.

He ran out to meet Ms. Fabulous, petted her (catspeak for letting humans pet you), and then guided her toward the porch.

Mister Smitty charmed the pants off the client who then sealed the deal however humans do that.

Any questions?

Happy Birthday, Mr. Smitty!

Yea! Hurray! It’s the Smee’s birthday!

Let’s all dance and sing!

(presents, tributes, land and financial instruments may be sent to our corporate headquarters.)

“Mister, how old be the Smee?”

“Mister, a gentleman doesn’t ask a smee his age.”

“Yo, dat’s why I’m axing you, yo.”

In the grand tradition of co-opting the holidays and festivals of the benighted in order to serve the conquerors’ purposes, (eg. Christmas, Easter, Saturnalia, International Workers Day), we, too, have conflated that time of year in which (1) we received the Smee from his erstwhile Mommy with (2) his putative birth date (and (3) it was the same weekend we got the truck).
So let’s celebrate this obfuscated ersatz amalgamation!

Party down, Mr. Smee!!

Not a “Peep”

Mister Smitty has no Peeps!

You never actually see Mister Smitty and his Peeps together at the same time.

Example: Yesterday the Peeps were fighting; Mr. Smitty was above the fray (literally, yo: he was up on the railing). When This Mister went out to investimigate, he saw only the randy-ass whitish-brown tail of the Faux-Princess smitty

[please refer to blog entry #___, “The Compleat Catalogue of Mr. Smitty’s Peeps, vol 1”]

sauntering off under the house (where lurked, by the way, the fiesty and furry chocolate “Jackie” brown Blaxploitation cat)

But where was the Mini-Me smee?

All three of Mr. Smitty’s peeps have never actually been seen at once: you

[Editors at this point must step in to limit the length of this entry so as to preserve readership #s from slipping below 1 gazillion. – eds]

Crop Circles II: Crop Sequels

-- A day later --

Mister Smitty got up from being belly-scratched, lounging upside down in the freshly cut grass to go on a hunting expedition in the tall mysterious grasses of the Grassy Knoll.

“Mister, Mister Smitty is a hunting smitty.”

“He’s disappeared into the tall grasses. You can’t see him at all.”

“He must like it.”

“He’s probably heading for the crop circ—“

“—de soleil.”

“Mister, maybe the Smitty MAKES the crop circles!!”

“He probably gets his peeps to do it.”

“He’s just checking on their work.”

“Quality control.”

“Yo, this circle is all hamma-jag.”

“What do you think I pay you for? Sneakin’ my food in the middle of the night… perpetratin’ inferior-quality crop circles…”

“I’m going to fire your ass back to Iowa if you don’t get them circles right.”

(Mr. Smitty is a stern task-master with his peeps, yo.)

Crop Circles

Mr. Smitty makes crop circles in our grass!

One morning, The Misters woke to find swathes of tall grass pushed down – as though a horse had wrested himself loose again from next door and rested himself in our grassy knoll!

(all of which was caught on super-8 by Mr. Lap-intruder (I mean the Smee))

“Mister, a mysterious animal has lain hisself down in our grassy knoll, no’m sayin?”

“Mister, I see.”

--a day later –

“Mister, more mysterious crop circles have appeared in yon Grassy Knoll.”

“Mister, they have.”

-- a day or two later --

“Mister –“

“Mister, I know.”

“Who is perpetrating curlie-Qs uppin’ dere?

“It’s like a horror movie.”

“Mister, it is.”

“But the Smitty will protect us.”

“Mister, he will.”

Peripatetical Perpetrations

Mister Smitty perpetrates That Mister’s chair!

The Smitty has taken recently to sleeping hisself down in That Mister’s official chair for the night (or day).

Quasi-nomadical, it is The Smitty’s wont to briefly sojourn in one spot or another (for a fortnight or so) and then to decamp for fresh snooze spots. We used to plant his bed where we saw him starting to take up residence, but that only precipitated new perpetrations.

(no’m sayin’?)

So, instead, we have learned to give up worrying and love The Smitty’s peregrinations, yo.

Lunatic Smitty

Mister Smitty’s mother is the moon!

The Full Moon!

Check it: they’re both white

-- and round, and mysterious, and cute,

-- and constantly orbiting the mother ship

-- and magical (mystical) supernatural-ated and li’dat

-- and carefully clean theyselfs daily

-- and sleep a lot

-- and light up the night.

Hail Comrade Smitski!

As in the photographs of the Central Committee of the Soviet Communist Party circa 1973 –

heavily scrutinized for clues as to who’s got the power, who’s in, who’s out (“have I caught thee?”) –

divined from the order in which they stand, one cabal, under the flag…

So, too does The Smitty stand on our balcony and survey all below with a quiet, enigmatic expression.

‘cept he be the only (and supreme) committee member of Central Smittiness!

Da, Pravda, Good Comrade Smitski!

Going Over the Smitty with a Fine Tooth Comb

Mister Smitty likes to be combed!

The Smitty, like royalty of yore, is wont to have his back scratched (and head, cheeks, chest, tail, etc.)

(I guess the tail IS the “etc.”).

The Misters cleave to the totally crunchy and organic practice of No Flea Collar – which means The Smitty is free stylin’ (yeah, yeah).

(For the abortive -- and nearly fatal -- flea collar episode, refer to Blog entry # B0Z0-QWERTY-812-DIDU?)

“…ANY-way!”

Thus, one combs The Smee every other day – and finds fleas. The finding of the aforesaid fleas confirms the effectiveness of the aforesaid combing, thus concluding the aforesaid discussion, entry, blog, website, corporate headquarters, storied headwaters, mystical hindquarters, world, universe, grain of sand, etc.

(I guess we ARE the “etc.”)

Dr. Smitty

Mister Smitty is a magical smitty!

The Smitty exercises his magical powers of healing by climbing up and sleeping on that part of a mister that needs mending.

When That Mister had his car accident, The Smitty repaired his chests; when he has restless leg, the Smitty sleeps on his leg.

That Mister told his niece about The Smitty’s magical powers. She said,

“He must have been a doctor before.”

Still is, yo!

Tricky Smitty and the Case of the Fallen Down Tree

Mister Smitty knocked down a tree!
The big wattle tree that used to shade the hammock and sitting area known as “Alice” fell down last night!
[“last night” refers to the night prior to the penning, not the publishing, of this entry, and thus must be taken metaphorically. It’s kind of like “on the ‘third day,’ God created…” – ed.]
It was a mighty big, mighty old tree!
And where was the Smitty?
Conspicuously absent! (uh-huh, uh-huh, yeah.)
Got an alibi?
“Mao!”
(Always blaming the Communists…)
“…ANY-way!”
In the morning, This Mister inspectified the site of the “timber!”-i-zation-ation. The Smitty, feigning innocence, accompanied This Mister. He clumbed up into the tree and checked out ever smaller and smaller branches.
(If he became stuck, it would not require the fire department since the tree was now sideways.)
Then he clumb down and inspectified the roots and under the trunk where the menehune live.
You know what they say about having to return to the scene of the crime!

Fan Mail, Part II

Mister Smitty gets fan mail!
The Mail room is so overstuffed with (virtual) cards and letters, that we only open it a crack and respond to the ones that fall out the door before we can slam it shut again.
Today’s harvest includes the following queries:

Mister Smitty, is Paris burning?
Like a disco inferno, yo!
Mister Smitty, Chicken or beef?
Whatevah’s in my dish – and if not, then it’s wild game time: wee birds and mice, my favorites.
Mister Smitty, what's your opinion of RED CHINA?
“Mao!” (natch)

Training, Brah

Mister Smitty has The Misters trained!

When the Smitty goes to the door…(duh!) The Misters open it for him!

“Hey, Mister: The Smitty like go outside.”

“Shoots!” (opens door)

The Smitty, dumfounded by his luck in having found such malleable, compliant humans, pauses to drink in his good fortune. In that pause, the humans start to suspect they are being played.

“Yo, we being played up in here!”

“Damn right!”

“This buh-shee is buh-shee, no’m sayin’?”

“Mister Smitty, you be perpetratin’ us!”

But Mr. Smitty pays no attention to the incessant and pathetic whining of his human master/servants.

Who has time for that?

I Feel The Earth Move

Mr. Smitty was in an earthquake!
“What’s that shaking?”
“It’s still going.”
Like an actor in a locally-made public service TV announcement, This Mister bolted out of bed and stood in a doorway, picturing the whole house collapsing into rubble, save for the archway he was standing under.
Still, that pesky shaking.
“This is a long one.”
Finally the Smee appears, eyes wide as proverbial saucers (you know, the proverb about how saucers should be 1.56 times wider than the cups placed on them, Golden Mean, Geomancy, New-Age tarot cards, etc.) in urgent need of petting.
Heavy petting.
Which ensued.

The Diaspora, Part VI: In the End, The Smitty Gets the Girl (I mean Food)

Reunited!
(like reinstated, only mo’ bettah)
The reuniting scene re-enacted:

That Mister comes home in That Mister’s sister’s car. He spies the Smee at the top of the stairs.

“Getting out of the car, I see the Smee run down the stairs to the bottom. As I walk toward the house, he runs toward me in the grass.

“Mao!”

“I pet him” [much billing and cooing, here expunged].

“Let’s see if you have any food.”

“Once I say that, he runs to the house, darts up the porch steps and sits in front of his empty dish. Facing his dish, he turns just his head to me and

“Mao!”

“Do you want some foods?”

“Mao!” (Please, Sir, can I have some “mao”?)

Olympic Beige-ing

You know The Smitty likes to do laps!

Since many Olympic athletes do laps, we thought it only fair to enter The Smitty in any and all lap contests.

The Smitty’s strategy is a little offbeat:

after running with the best of them (and faster), The Smitty jumps onto his competitors’ laps, thus driving them from their path to the gold!

Tricky Smitty!

The Beige-ing Olympics

We’re back with continuous (read: tedious) coverage of the Beige-ing Olympics.

(It is, after all, an Olympian task to “beige” the world, but the march toward the blending down of everything unique into one vast sea of beige oatmeal is just the way the phenomenal world’s cookie crumbles. Hey – you can’t unstir the cream from the coffee…)

“ANY-way!”

“Mister, since the Smitty has such a lock in The Flop (his top event), where else can we expect to see him compete?”

“Mister, The Smee is also looking strong in the Car-Smelling competition and the Gleeful 100-foot Scamper, but I’d say to watch for him in the Flowerbox Medley.”

“Mister, What’s that?”

“Carefully sleeping in flowerboxes in and amongst the herbs and flowers.”

“We know The Smitty is a real champ in the sleeping events!”

An Olympic Smitty Event #1: The Flop

Mr. Smitty is an Olympic competitor!

While the Misters carry a torch for the Smee, The Smee shall lead the Misters’ team to virtual triumph in his top event: The Flop.

The Flop occurs several seconds into “heavy petting” when, heavily petted, The Smee flops over on the ground for more serious manhandling.

In Olympic trials, the joodges have lauded “the resounding thud” of his flopping flanks and “gentle jiggling-to-rest” of the Smitty’s plenteous stomachs.

We wish him luck!

The Diaspora, Part V Or, Last Night at My Bad

Scene: Long, quiet, hugely-windowed hallway in a european villa, seen in black and white (un-natch).

Curtains blowing in slightest slo-mo, figures in evening wear posed, contemplatively gazing.

Long Silence.

Not in frame: Mister Smitty

(Why? Because the Smitty has to spend the night at home alone w/o his Misters.)

Shot of the Smee’s food outside on the empty porch.

Full moon, smee-white.

The sounds of braying Misters? None.

T.V.? None.

Stars, wind, moon, sky.

Fabulousy Blog, Age 2, Celebrates Anniversary

Put on your party hats, yo’s!

This venerable old blog is 2 years ol’

We at the executive offices (confetti floating in our cocktails) can only speak for ourselves, but we hope we speak for all of the Mister Smitty © family of companies when we say thank you for being out there, you, our gentle reader(s?) and for your support over these two long years.

What a journey it has been! What an endless stream of words and pictures have come to clutter our walls and minds and hearts, stopping up the access and passage to rewards, clogging our systems like so much mental plaque, taxing our hearts, eating up our time….even as I write these heartfelt thanks my heart feels tanked. I’m all choked up (literally). A warm and fuzzy vision fills my whole being and I feel surrounded by overwhelming warmth. I…uh…ah! …I …oh!…

[He was so choked up he was unable to continue. We wish him the best! Send cards and flowers to ICU.]

Mister Smitty’s America’s Stupidest (Whatevah-Brah) Video Entry! Or, Mister Smitty’s Bag Adventure!!

To view the awesome video of the Smee’s hijinks, click on the --

“There’s no video link, yo.”

Oh. Ok. It has come to our attention, dear readers, that many of the links mentioned by The Misters in these entries have not spontaneously sprung into existence simply by our naming them. While we aim to remedy this situation at our earliest convenience, we invite you to Imagine (old skool, yeah?) the Smitty discovering, exploring, wrassling, and getting trapped inside of a paper bag and having to back his way out of it after a pause for reflection in which he calms and collects his wits.

Click on the video link in your head, G.