A Good Hiding

Mister Smitty likes to hide!

“Mister, where’s The Smee?”

“Mister, is he in his jungle?”

“Is he under one of his Crack House tables?” (available exclusively at--)

[quit placin’ product placements! -- the legal team]

“Mister, is he snake-in-the-grassin’ it in the tall grasses (where crop circles were wont to form themselves in the sweet old by-and-by)?”

“Mister, there he is under the guava tree. That’s a new hiding place.”

“Ssh. Don’t let him know we know or he’ll decamp himself.”

Fed Up

Mister Smitty has had it!

                 

“Quit combin’ me! That’s enough! When I say ‘Mao’ it means ‘Hol up! Cease n’desist (yo ass)!’”

                 

But This Mister just wouldn’t listen, so Mister Smitty had to get up and come a-stalkin’. This Mister had to back up like the captive hero thrown to the lions as The Smity trained his eyes on The Mister’s ever-retreating feets (all nice ‘n bare ‘n scratchable).

                

[Music up. Close up on feets backing up. Fade out. Climax postponed] 

(tantric storytelling, yo.)

Irony Free Zone

Mister Smee is irony-free.

              

(and that’s no joke, yo.)

Sadly, like so many earnest young  ________s, The Smitty has little sense of humor.

"Where’s the sun? Where’s my foods? Where’s a convenient lap?”

It’s Smitty-on-top-get-it-over-with-quick. So much for feline finesse, huh, Mr. Smee.

“Whatever. Got any food?”

Fan Male

Sirs,

                

One is concerned by the increasing number of references, allusions, etc. creeping into an otherwise unvarnished depiction of the natural talents and behaviors of your main subject, Mr. Smitty.

Why these excess encrustations, these added adornments, fatuous flounces, frivolous fripperies?

Please desist posthaste from these literary departures and return us, your dear reader(s?) to full frontal coverage of your pussy.

Sincerely,

Dis Grunt-Led Guy

Smitt & Shinola

            Mister Smitty is a good foot-polisher!

               

            (not a boot-licker, a lackey who lacks Latin, or a lame, lame-covered llama on the lam)

            No: it’s fun to run one’s bare foot over his furry flanks. It reminds a Mister of one of those shoe-polishing buffers outside train stations in Spain, Italy, or any bygone depot in the U.S.

 

At the risk of dating himself by disclosing such a memory, This Mister must append that “that was in another country; and besides, the Nietzsche’s read.”

I (no) KEA

Mister Smitty has his own line of furniture.

               

It’s all white (natch) and furry.

Let’s shop!

  

There’s the “Crack House” table, modeled after the actual table in the actual Crack House, which comes in round or square top (both completely fur) and a glass cover (so you don’t have to lick the fur clean).

Available exclusively at I[sm]EA.