The Bunday Evening Thumps

Charlie, "Welp, sometimes you're the pellet; sometimes your the bin, hoomin."

Espresso, "Mood, hoomin; it's called 'mood'!"

Gus, "OK, so I stole another show - what's the big deal!?"

Good evening, Everybun!

My hoomin felt a little under the weather since Friday - sore arm, achy - the usual after a booster. But, the word is, it feels good to have it done. Of course, this is kind of for us. You know, so the flow of greens doesn't get interrupted.

In other news, we have to put up with just one more lesson plan that needs to be typed up. I say, "Carrotinis all around!" Now, for a nannerini, finish the rest of the job, OK?

And now for something to thump about. It's been a bizarre week reminiscent of living inside a cubist sculpture. Different planes and perspectives, from the atrocities in Izum and significant sulfuric challenges at work, to the bliss of hanging out with us, cut through and folded on each other. Of course, that wicked treadmill with a Mobius strip inside a hamster ball will wane. Just hang on and sit still - this, too, shall wane.

If you ask me, it's because our altars are always short on cookies. No, you can never have enough cookies on our altars. There's no such thing - everybun knows that.

Good night, and good luck!
- Charlie