Dear Neighbour
Cat food, chopped into hideous chunks like the mangled remains of a troll fed to a teething baby dragon, in cupboard under the sink, litter in scullery.
Half a tin morning and night should be enough. If not, I'm as confused about feline protein intake as a drunk guru on a pint of methylated spirits a day likely is regarding strategies for prolonging both long life and erection.
Unless you wish me to hurl you into a pit of vipers for neglecting your duties with the laissez-faire of mayo dribbling down a stick of celery, don't let her get stuck upstairs.
Back Monday, which is like Black Monday, only minus the 'l' and accompanying late-80s financial meltdown.
Will be round for key then, clad in a sombrero from my vacation in the spirit of some latter-day spaghetti western villain climbing headfirst into a pizza.
Whirl
--Whirlochre
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4 comments:
Hm. Sounds like the notes I leave for the pet sitter.
Well done!
I have a neighbor who fits Whirl's descriptions. I hope you haven't sent private investigators to find out who and why and what I have as neighbors. That would be scary.
Funny and puzzling all at once.
See, though, Whirl, with your imagination, I couldn't begin to guess where the analogies begin...
And, um, interesting choice of writing sample.
...a drunk guru on a pint of methylated spirits a day likely is regarding strategies for prolonging both long life and erection.
I can see and smell this one, and it makes me smile. A lot!
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