Catnip Intervention

“Mister, I never understand what to do with catnip.”

“What? You give it to the Smee, he OD’s, stays out in the rain all blissed out, and we have to do an intervention.”

“Oh, right. I remember.”

Meanwhile, the Smee is thinking:

“This is a lot of talk about catnip without that I get to see any of the goods.”

“Mister it looks like Mary Jane Juana.”

“That’s cos it’s a dime bag of catnip.”

Met ‘em Psychosis

The Smee is like a cocktail onion!

Cute, round, and white, the Smee/cocktail onion charms one due to his/its unearthly pseudo-albino-inity (to indulge in some Greek roots).

[Ed.: Reader, beware: the writer of this entry fancies himself a cunning linguist and cocktail onion enthusiast]

“What? You think I’m going to break into song, quoting Sappho and the Greek Fragments?”

(Note to self: Why not? The blogosphere’s memory is, like, 2 weeks. “And still not forgot? Why then a great man’s memory might outlive him half a year.”)

Yes, but i’ the 21st Century, who can wait that long to find out?