Thursday, September 07, 2006

Mr Ed, you are not.

Dear Cotton Pony,

You can suck it. Suck it large.

Do you really think it's appropriate to wake me up at 6am, hoofin' me in the ol' oves?
My head aches. My gut aches. My back aches.
I take no responsibility for what you make me do.
Like the time you made me push over that bin of tomatoes at the IGA. Or empty that jar of coins down the toilet. Or stick my gum on the upside of the bus seat when I left.

It's your fault, all of it.

And would you stop trying to make me eat ice cream at every meal? You're such a jerk and you know it.

I wish I could ship you off to the glue factory.

3 comments:

John Mielke Photography said...

Great... on the same day you make this post, you add me to your BLOGS AHOY list.

I don't know what it all means, but I'm nervous as hell...

M

JB said...

You know, when I was a kid, I always asked my parents for a pony at Christmastime. You make me glad I never got one.

Newsguy Bob said...

JB, Milky and any other male reading this:

Let us pause for a moment, and send strong vibes of support to our brother, Corn. He's living in a tinderbox for the next few days, and it could explode at any second, without warning.