In the Driver’s Seat

As the Misters ramp up to their grand de-campment from nether land --

-- they movin’ on up to the (north) east side (of Kula) to a
dee-lux arrangement in the clouds --

“ANY-way!”

The Smee has clumb into the driver’s side of the truck and Smee-mendeered the wheel!

“Mister, should we let him drive?”

“I doubt he’d be a defensive driver.”

“I’m concerned he might lose interest, curl up, and fall asleep at the wheel.”

“He might be difficult to reason with about taking left or right turns.”

“To say nothing of the anatomical challenges he should face vis-a-vis the pedals.”

“Indeed.”

Quantum Dis-entanglement

Mister Smitty is a smell detective!

“Smells is moving up in the hood, yo.”

The Misters were de-camping, boxing-up, totin’ and bailin’
out of their not-so-palatial digs.

(For an exhaustive (and exhausting) description of their erstwhile digs,
see blogposts “Bleach Bardo Babblin’” and its ilk, q.v., viz., passim.)

“Mister, The Smee is noticing that his usual smells are disappearing.”

“Mister, The Smee knows when he being perpetrated olfactorally.”

“Mister, a query: When he senses smells gone missing,
is that like a vacuum in nature for The Smee?”

“Black hole, Yo. It’s what cats call Count-em Ass-tro physics.”