Spa Luna(tic)

Mister Smitty Goes to the Spa!

                

Actually, he lives in one – unbeknownst to The Misters.

Every morning he lies on the sunniest part of our little grass mat, stretches, and waits for one of his attendants (aka The Misters) to brush or comb him. After a brief, refreshing aloe treatment to his wee sunburned, pre-cancerous ears, The Smee shakes a leg, dismisses his attendants (“ What were their names?”) and steals away to the shower for a cool drink of water.

Prize Money

Mister Smitty should win prize money!

“Mister, he could send in to ‘Funniest Home Video’ footage of his hijnks.”

“Mister – Hello! – did you just fall out of the 90’s? Uh … it’s called YouTube. Hello?”

-- Silence of Mister –

“ANY-way!”

“We’d show him typing this blog! We could win hundreds of thousands.”

“Mister, what would The Smee do with the moolah?”

“Stick it under the bed. If it were a big enough pile he’d pee on it.”

“He’d spend it on plastic surgery to repair his sunburnt ears.”

“Or get some hair dye: ‘Yo, my hair turned white before its time!’”