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!!