|Gus, "Yes, that's my hoppy mouf."|
|Charlie, "Whaaa? - cookies are not food!?"|
|Charlie, "I hang out wherever I wanna hang out!"|
Seeing the V. E. T. was a good call for Spressy yesterday. He needs eye drops, twice a day, for ten days: something called Neomycin and Polymyxin 8 Sulfates and Dexamethasone Ophthalmic Suspension. Go figure.
Everybunny loves on him now, the poor guy. More like a fat, vicious, rat, if you ask me. Oh, hush up and hear me out, won't you!?
The hoomin tried to stretch and load on the rug with him and Charlie. So what does he do? He starts running around the hoomin and nipping at his riblets. Spressy thinks that if the hoomin ain't dead, it needs to get up and serve cookies. And if not, a little blood-letting should be enough for the rubber-booted sharks to come out and clean it up. What a guy!
No, of course, I'm not bitter. It's not like Charlie goes out to hang out with Spressy for hours on end. Oh, wait.
Sigh, maybe we're trying to get into the X-Mas spirit a little too hard - teeth and all.
Good night, and good luck!