Mister Smitty likes the BBQ!
All (the live-long) day the Smee lounged under the table upon which perches the small BBQ grill.
This being summer, the afforded shade there keeps his delicate pink ears of the Smee from developing the sores that lead to You-Know-What-ectomies.
Even when we rolled out the shank of the evening, did the Smee remain ‘neath the warming coals (though the flying sparks concerned the Misters mightily).
Mr. Smee!
Friday, February 25, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Sneezy Smitty
Mister Smitty sneezed on my foot!
The Misters were returning a bit late (6 PM) for the Smitty’s main feeding time (3:30).
“I’m shutting off the motor so we can hear the Smitty’s plaintive cooing.”
(which decodes as: “I’m hella hungry, yo. Where you been?”)
“Hi Mister Smee!” (wicked retarded waving of hands by the Misters).
“Mao!”
“Mr. Smee!”
“Mao. Mao”
“Mr. Smee”
[repeat chorus endlessly – ed.] [less sarcasm in the sweet moments, eh? – other ed.]
And then the Smitty sneezed on me.
It was a lusty, full-nosed sneeze that landed on my mostly bare Teva©-covered feet.
“Mister, now that the Smee has sneezed on me, I‘ll never wash my foot.”
The Misters were returning a bit late (6 PM) for the Smitty’s main feeding time (3:30).
“I’m shutting off the motor so we can hear the Smitty’s plaintive cooing.”
(which decodes as: “I’m hella hungry, yo. Where you been?”)
“Hi Mister Smee!” (wicked retarded waving of hands by the Misters).
“Mao!”
“Mr. Smee!”
“Mao. Mao”
“Mr. Smee”
[repeat chorus endlessly – ed.] [less sarcasm in the sweet moments, eh? – other ed.]
And then the Smitty sneezed on me.
It was a lusty, full-nosed sneeze that landed on my mostly bare Teva©-covered feet.
“Mister, now that the Smee has sneezed on me, I‘ll never wash my foot.”
Friday, February 04, 2011
Explorers Day
Mister Smitty is an explorer!
He’s even now as we speak in the (great) Northern Woods!
Just past the “clubhouse” -- t’other side of the single floating string of barbed wire -- lie the great Northern Woods (where horses have been wont to roam and from whence, in a storied yesteryear, a cat (we) named “Mini Me” (see The Compleat History of Mister Smitty’s Peeps, Volume 1) used to issue hisself.
This foray into the Northern Woods marks a deeper level of cavort-ation on the part of the Smee, who has not been seen to have penetrated said woods to such an extent heretofore.
Will he keep going until he reaches the tennis court, or more: till he circumnavigate the globe?
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