My tree

Eef you maghe attagh arn my feeg tree, I weell keell you...

Roof cad

Een the warm ebeneens when the apardamen' ees hart, I yam spendeen' more time arn the roof. I yab esspanded my rancheen' aghdeebeedies to eenclude baby cicadas. I yam groween' them frarm small to beeg. Then I weel sell them ad the farmers' marghed. Order now before the rosh ob sommhair.

Doan' mess weeth a cad

My rebenge por bein' larcked oud een the rain. I ead the Hapanese fores' grass, nomnom then I corm bag eenside, seet down, make-a hoooowl, go hoophoophoop kghaaaaaa! an' throw eed orp arn the floor. Dribes the yoomans crazy.

*&^%$!##@!

Ees thees your idea ob a yoke???

Friday the thorteenth

...ees a lorcky day por blag cads (admee' eed, you wan' to keess me, yes?).

I lorb goa' cheese.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Por fabor, Leab a messayge.

Leisure time

I yab been beeseeteen' the neighbors.

An patrolleen' my ranch.

The Wooman ees sayeen' rude theen's abou' my seelluette...

So I corm home por a leedle eenspeeration besi'e the cadneep.

How you lighe my seelhuette now?! I say...

GEDDOUDOBTHEFEEG! she cry.

Maghe me, I say.

OUD! she shoud.

Why? I as'. Eed's sarft: I lighe mars onder my tail. Ees nice an' cool. My tail ees hart.

Mayday!

I yab been arn eenboluntary leab. You notice'? I swear to you, today, Sonday, ees the fors time een three weeghs I yab been able to aghsess thees carmpudehair!

The Wooman refuse to geeb me a chance. Beetch. She an' I mos "share". Como?

Fors, hor new carmpudehair arribe, then eed was sen' bag to Dell (dude!) then she use' the ole' worn ob the man, an' she swears so moch when she does thees, an' then she ees beesy weeth peectures an' stories por order people, een order countries, an'...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Ees ber' boreen' yes? An me? Me? DON Estorbo de la Bodega Dominicana? Me! I yam tole', You mos waid, you do nard hab tarp prioreety.

?????

I yab FANS! I yab commeetments! Do you hab fans, do you hab commeetments. You doan' hab no fans, you doan' hab no commeetments! I wan' my blarg! I wan' my labtarp!

(Sorry, am channeling Neeck Cage een Moonstrorck, bakery scene...I yab been watcheen' mobies neghs door, through the weendow.)

I yab a resparnsebeeleety. People are COUNTEEN' arn me.

I cannard eben chegh my forgheen email! I yab leddhairs frarm people who theenk I am seeck, dead!

I YAM ALIBE!

To cope weeth the onbeliebable stress, I yam force' to ged high.

Arn tarp ob thees ber' defeecul' seetuation, the Wooman says the morgs are makeen' hor crazy. She say to hab more than worn morg, weeth deefferent peectures ob me,  she mos sed orp separate sharps por me arn Cafe Press,  an' declare eencome with taxes. She say, No way Jose. I say my name ees Estorbo, nard Jose, an' you promeese me I can maghe morgs. She say tough cookies.

I say, Are cookies como pelleds?

Ees har', har'. I yam embarrass. Bod thees ees my libe. Only worn theen' could maghe eed worse.

I coul' be a darg...