Monday, October 22, 2007
Can I yos say I yam een lorb weeth Dianna Reegg?? She keecks ass, she dreenks champagne, she has cute outfeets, she ees muoi eentellegent, ...hey! She's yos lighe my Meesers ! heheheh... (OK, I HAB to say thad to ged Brownie Poinds, OK? OK...)
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Today a preedy, tiny yellow bord (yos como the sarng) flew EENTO my apardmen'. Then eed flew oud. Then eed sad arn the si'e dob the terrace. Then I wen' mad. Then the Wooman say NO ESTORBO! Eed's a sarngbord [lighe I said???] an eed ees migradeen'...
Migradeen' eento my mouth! I say
She larck me in the bedroom.
Hello, Houston? We hab a prarblem: yes, directd the flighdpath ob the sarngbords to the folloween' co-ordinades...Who am I? escuse me, you're breakeen' orp...Plan-ed Orth ees blue an' there's northeen' I can do...phshghghghghgshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
No bords hab arribed yed. To cheer me orp the Wooman tells me meelk ees cormeen'. So I do the Meelk Dance.
Deleecious, nutritious, meelk.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Can you see me now? I yam arn the airconditioneen' uneet, bod she foun' me. No forgheen' preebacy, man.
Thad meelk ees berbery far away. How weel I ged there?
Hello, Beence? How do I ged to the meelk, man? Weengs?
Moch bairder. The wooman snabs oud ob eed an poots eet arn the table.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Thees was after she pood eed arn. Then she gabe me pelleds to maghe me forghed. Bod I remembered. She feel so bad she lairds me ged arn the table arn a kikhoi to sleep.
Between the queences an' the flowers frarm the larng Frenchie...
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Whad Netfleex wrapper? Thees ees a Netfleex wrapper? Whad mos nard be reeped?? Oh! Reeally? Who reeped eed? Who was een the house?
OMG we had a borglar! Whad ees meesseen'?? Do I steell hab pelleds?
Me? No. Nard me. Doan' loogh ad me.
(...are you loogheen' ad me???)
No, I deed nard waghe nobardy ad 4am. I deed nard waghe nobardy lader when they had fallen asleep again! Eed was a cad borglar.
No, I deed nard deny thad I had been fed. Are you the Stasi?
Me? Me? Are you accuseen' me? Porque? Why? Do you hade me?
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Eben though I said nartheen', I am een receipt ob your cd. Weeth the peectures. Ob the lady cad. Weeth the keettens. The blag keeteens. Who are you, larng ago. An'...maybe, also... porhaps, me.
The Wooman showed me thees peectures when she came bag frarm South Afreeca three weeghs ago.
I coul' nard relade: thees smallsmallcads. So...small.
So I yam seein' a shreenk.
He (I cannard go to a Wooman) weel essplain to me why I cannard loogh ad the pas'. Because I cannard. The keetens are so...small.
Forgeeb my bad manners. I was born een a bodega. I deed nard know my morder.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
This is Estorbo's Missus. Estorbo is in a decontamination chamber.
Is this a clue? is this where THE Flea came from?
I had just fallen asleep last night when I heard le chat making Mioawphghphghwahnnnnng noises, indicating a mouth full of something. I got up blearily, automatically reached for Herman Gilliomee's The Afrikaners (a nice fat book and makes a change from the Oxford English Reference Dictionary) and a piece of kitchen paper - my usual cockroach-squashing equipment for the times when the cat comes in from outside with urban prey - walked over to him to divest him of his plaything, only to see...eugh. A TAIL!
Even I cannot squash an animal with a tail. Though Vince has a very funny story which I may dig up, as it's relevant.
So I pick the cat up, praying he won't drop a rat on my foot, and hurl him outside, slamming the sliding door (yes, it's possible) shut. He growlsvsnuffily from outside. I go back to bed. I can hear gravel being thrown about on the terrace and I shut my bedroom door and block my ears. Later in the night I hear him beating on the glass door to be let back in.
This morning, no trace of the animal. The rat, I mean. Not even a tell-tail. So.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Eetch eetch eetch
I hab a flea.
I nebber had flea before.
WHO gabe me the flea.
Eed ees a fas' flea.
Eed ron queeck.
Scratcha scratcha scratcha
There behine' my ears...
My Meesers say to me, Cad, WHY are you scratcheen' so moch? Por days now you hab been scratcheen'...
(Yoomans are useful por pointeen' out the bleedeen' obbious)
So thees morning ad 4.15 am, because she has northeen' bairder to do, she scratches por me my ears. Then she starps, then she looghs close lighe weeth microscope. Then she say loud. A FLEA!!!!!!!
I welcome myself to the world. I knew it was too good to last.
You should see the Wooman while I yam tybeen' thees:
Eetch eetch eetch