Wednesday, 9 December 2009

Chops, plops and bad Christmas carols

I swear on all that is holy if I have to sit through one more rendition of the little people singing the song about Uncle Billy losing his willy on the motorway I shall turn feral and unleash furious vengeance upon the bloody pair of them! Apparently it's a song for that Chris bloke that's coming to visit. It's even more annoying than the quaint little ditty about how good beans are for ones heart.
The bed situation is going great guns. I overheard the clippy cloppy woman saying to the long man the other morning that if he doesn't stop me getting in the bed with them every night she is going to take herself off and sleep in the spare bedroom where she can have a bed all to herself. The long man was full of platitudes, all "Yes sweetheart" and "Okay baby" until she left the room, then he gave me a big toothy smile, a tickle on the head and he did that thing where he closes one eye for a second and makes a click-click noise. He's such a pushover.
My tummy was a bit jiggly and my bottom a bit squirty the other day. According to the clippy cloppy woman it's the long mans fault for feeding me lamb chops the previous night. I don't see the problem myself. My poo comes out quicker, meaning I spend less time squatting in the cold, and most of it slips between the gaps in the decking, meaning the long man has less to pick up. And lamb chops taste goooooood! It's a win win situation as far as I can see. All things considered, lamb chops are the future.

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