Was there a full moon this week-end? Did the sun shoot rays down on the earth and short-circuit human humour organs? Did aliens whisper in little ears-that-take-themselves-too-seriously all around the world, cajoling them to fling epithets at me, like so much bull manure? And did they ice the cake by giving the local raccooons super powers?
The little buggers used their sharp claws to scale my fence. Then they leapt down and bounced, bounced, bounced on the dratted chicken wire I read was sure to upset them. Quickly they tippy toed over the wire, plugging their blackguard noses against the gagging vapours of the moth balls. Hurling themselves onto safe wood, they pooped their indignation and waddled down the garden.
I think that was a fitting end to my week-end.
The little buggers used their sharp claws to scale my fence. Then they leapt down and bounced, bounced, bounced on the dratted chicken wire I read was sure to upset them. Quickly they tippy toed over the wire, plugging their blackguard noses against the gagging vapours of the moth balls. Hurling themselves onto safe wood, they pooped their indignation and waddled down the garden.
I think that was a fitting end to my week-end.
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