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I once met Grumpy Cat. He was pleased to

  • I once met Grumpy Cat. He was pleased to see me. So pleased that he
  • I brought him his normal packet of smokes and liqour.
  • But he just lay there on his dingy mattress in the corner of the warehouse, scruffy, wan, perhaps forlorn. Unwashed. A user? I left his smokes and pickle juice
  • . As an added bonus, I handed him a wash basin, a bar of soap, and a towel. Maybe he'd take the hint. Wouldn't do much for the pickle odor, but might mask his smokiness.
  • But he just splashed on more Eau de Cornichon Fumė in lieu of washing. He left the house accompanied by a couple of stray dogs never to return, I hoped & prayed. He was back a coup
  • d'état later. Now as the head of government and accompanied by an inquisitive entourage. I was not impressed. The only thing I could think of was the stench of
  • the head of government. It's a foul thing. The head of government is riddled with puss boils and liver spots. They keep the head in a jar full of mayo. The hair was patchy.
  • I had a wet dream about haggis once.
  • But only once, I swear. (I was lying, of course. I've been addicted to food porn for at least 10 years.) I lowered my eyes, pretending remorse, but haggis were dancing in my mind.
  • Filled with trotters & tripe & offal ever so ripe, that's what my food porn dreams were made of. Father Handsy heard my salivate and rasped "Take this wafer thin mint as pennance."

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