As our gentle reader(s?) may recall from previous (tedious) blog entries, The Misters had to shuttle between their house and the Ponderosa to dog-s(h?)it.
The entirety of the experience is herein catalogued and indexed in the kind of excruciating detail one has come to expect in the (Too Much?) Information Age:
(WARNING: the following contains material suitable only for persons suffering from (The?) O.C.D., Catophilia, or any like obsession.)
Abandon all taste, ye who enter here!
DAY # 6:
Alone for many hours sans <>, the Smee could be fancy-free:
Standing up on two legs and dancing (as we know he is wont to do when no one is looking
--much in the way popes want to s(h?)it in the woods, but since no one is there it doesn’t make a sound).
But mostly, the Smitty fills his long hours away waiting for the return of any (or all) Misters by hanging with his peeps, who comfort him by imitating velvet-paintings of dogs smoking cigars and playing poker.
Mr. Smitty always wins, of course
-- and smokes the Cohiba, of course!
The entirety of the experience is herein catalogued and indexed in the kind of excruciating detail one has come to expect in the (Too Much?) Information Age:
(WARNING: the following contains material suitable only for persons suffering from (The?) O.C.D., Catophilia, or any like obsession.)
Abandon all taste, ye who enter here!
DAY # 6:
Alone for many hours sans <
Standing up on two legs and dancing (as we know he is wont to do when no one is looking
--much in the way popes want to s(h?)it in the woods, but since no one is there it doesn’t make a sound).
But mostly, the Smitty fills his long hours away waiting for the return of any (or all) Misters by hanging with his peeps, who comfort him by imitating velvet-paintings of dogs smoking cigars and playing poker.
Mr. Smitty always wins, of course
-- and smokes the Cohiba, of course!
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