dances with hamsters
Evening at the Chateau.
Fur Ham and Ireland's greatest living poet are watching the sexevision.
"Why did God give hamsters little stumps for tails?" I ask during intermission.
"They're very comfortable," answers Furram Smythe.
"Comfortable?" quoth me interrogatively.
"Yes," says Fur. "Comfortable. They're really comfortable. So much so that I predict everyone will be wearing them eventually. People especially."
"But what are they for?" persisteth me.
"Fashion," proclaims the golden mouse.
"But you can't even wag them," I charge.
Fur Ham twitches a single dignified whisker.
"Maybe we can and we choose not to."
"Really? Why would you do that?"
"We don't want people thinking we're dogs," pronounced Fur Ham with an air of finality.
Fur Ham and Ireland's greatest living poet are watching the sexevision.
"Why did God give hamsters little stumps for tails?" I ask during intermission.
"They're very comfortable," answers Furram Smythe.
"Comfortable?" quoth me interrogatively.
"Yes," says Fur. "Comfortable. They're really comfortable. So much so that I predict everyone will be wearing them eventually. People especially."
"But what are they for?" persisteth me.
"Fashion," proclaims the golden mouse.
"But you can't even wag them," I charge.
Fur Ham twitches a single dignified whisker.
"Maybe we can and we choose not to."
"Really? Why would you do that?"
"We don't want people thinking we're dogs," pronounced Fur Ham with an air of finality.
2 Comments:
Fur sounds exceedingly smart...
Ade.
He's a pooh-a-lectual.
James
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