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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