Friday, November 5, 2010
Thees pose' ees dedeecated to Alexa. I doan really onnerstan' hor messayge (las' carmment arn prebious pose'), bod I feel hor pain. The Wooman is neearly seex feed tall (excesseeb, yes?) an' the only time she wear high heels I theenk she ees gonna ead Manhattan.
Speakeen' ob dresseen' orp. You see my prarblem. The reason por my larng, larng silence ees....
I hab had a terreeble weegh. The stupeed yoomans say their weegh has been terreeble, too. Yeahrigh'. All because I was leeckleeckleeckeen' my bag lefd leg. My arm ees nearly bedhair, bod I wash the leg an' now is small padge whad ees red. So the Wooman FREAGH oud.
She and the Smoothman wen' to the bed. Weethoud me, Gracias a Dios por small morcies. BOD. They came bag. Weeth:
A CONE OB SHAME. Por real.
Blue. Made frarm tarpauleen' or somekine' ob sheet lighe theese. They say ees bedhair than plasteec, whad I hade. They poot eed arn my head arn tie eed with whide bow an' I walgh an' go bompa bompa bompa eento their legs, the chairs, the copboards. They laugh teell they cry. Then they cry. Teell I fine' the bow an' ontie eed an' pooll eed arff.
Then they torn eed eenside oud so I cannard reach the bow. Now I can read label: These season I yam weareen' Webstair Beterinary. You see the shame een my eyes, yes? I wan' Prada.
Then the Wooman fole' the cone bag so ees no more cone bod collar: OK, now ad leas' I can see. Bod I steel loogh lighe a forgheen' eedeot.
An' ebery time I mobe I craghle. An' when I sleep I craghle. Een the nighd I craghle so moch the Wooman dreams she ees walkeen' arn fallen leabes.
Bod I porr. I porr an' I steel play weeth the streeng an' I still bide.
Then came the Day Three: I DEFEAD THE CONE! I ween! I ween! I can reach my leg eef I maghe force and I leeckleeckleeck. Yee ha!
The Wooman see me. She nearlee cry. She taghe arff the cone. You are a clebhair cad, Don Estorbo, she say sadly: Be careful wad you weesh por.
?Que? I say. No speagh Eengleesh.
Then. The Smoothman go the carmpudehair. Oh Sheet. He maghe Google.
He corm bag. He say:
1. Poot streeps arn hees skeen whad tasde bad, lighe cayenne.
No, says theWooman.
2. Geeb heem blow-orp collar weeth air een eed, como un donut.
No, says the Wooman.
3. There ees a mozzle especial por cads...
NO! says the Wooman (I nebber thoughd she an' I woul' agree arn antheen')
Well, said the Smoothman (who I thoughd was my FRIEN'!), we can:
4. Pood short arn heem baghwar's, so the tail corms oud ob the hole por the head.
The Wooman theenks.
OK. she say.
They fine' me. They poot me een short. Then they fall down laugheen'. Lighe hyenas nebber laugh. Lighe hyenas arn cragh, man. They cry. I porr.
I wan' pelleds. NEBBER led them see you cry.
Bod there ees no way por the short to stay orp. Eed fall down. The Wooman say she weel fine' me wornsie weeth arms y legs por los babies and poot eed arn me bag to fron'.
Yay. I hade my libe.
The Wooman say she weel allow my readhairs to bode. Allow, allow? You are MY readhairs, mine, mine all mine!
1. Taghe me to the bed to ged peels/steroids/newcone (pleeaseno)?
2. Led me go naked an' see whad happens?
3. Wornsie so I yam cobered head to food weeth hole por tail.
4. Your own breelliant soyyestions.
Corrently, I yam naked.
Bode eeen the poll een sidebar an' leab soyyestions here.
I cannard forgheen' waid.
Pee Ess, sorm clues:
My food has been change', ees nard allergy por food.
Anytheen' you poot arn my skeen, I weel leeck arff.
I ged Velcote sopplement por the eetchy skin.
I play every day.
I yab been to bed three times por thees. Same ole' same ole'.
Posted by Marie at 1:02 PM