so I feed my dog turkey. The cats certainly aren't going to think I am anything special just for feeding them. If I have to kill the cow myself, it wouldn't be anything special...I am slave and rodentia, as all humans are. I won't have to worry about how my remains are disposed of. The police won't find any.
They made my dog fat so he can't chase them. I come home from yet another Kroger run with 'Ethereal Whiskers' catfood, (a mix of catnip and ground elk) and find the last crumbs from the last can delicately balancing on the dog's whiskers. His breath gives him away like a bum drinking sterno for a buzz. I try not to smoke too close to him at those times...you never know what one stray spark would do...
I am concentrating on Ed's weight today to avoid thinking of mine own. I don't know if my psychiatrist can sue from what he reads on a blog, (I love my meds) and I am afraid to ask my lawyer. He might tell me. That would throw a spanner in my creative nuclear reactor; and I need this outlet to keep from eating the rest of the cookies I brought home from the meeting last night (see yesterday's post)
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