:crackup:What Your Pets Write in Their Diaries
Excerpts from a Dog’s Diary:
8:00 am – Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am – A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am – A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am – Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm – Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm – Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm – Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm – Milk Bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm – Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm – Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm – Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
Excerpts from a Cat’s Daily Diary:
Day 983 of my captivity…
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.
The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a ‘good little hunter’ I am. Bastards.
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of ‘allergies.’ I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow — but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released – and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.
The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe.
:laugh:One sunny day in March 1797 an ole man approached the bleedin' President’s 'ouse from across Market Street, right, where 'e'd been sittin' on a park bench. He spoke ter the constable standin' guard and said, "I would like ter go in and meet wiv President Warshington." The constable 'ave a looked at the man and said, "Sir, Washington is no longer president and no longer resides 'ere." The bleedin' old man said, "Okay", right, and walked oray.
The bleedin' followin' day, the same man approached the House and said ter the bloody same constable, "I would like ter go in and meet wiv President Warshington." The constable again told the chuffin' man, "Sir, right, as I said yesterday, Washington is no longer president and no longer resides 'ere." The man thanked 'im and, again, just walked oray.
The bleedin' ffird day, the bleedin' same man approached the chuffin' President’s 'ouse and spoke ter the right same constable, sayin' "I would like ter go in and meet wiv President Warshington." The bleedin' constable, right peeved at this point, 'ave a looked at the bloomin' man and said, "Sir, right, this is the ffird day in a row yer 'ave been 'ere askin' ter speak ter President Washington. I've told yer already that Washington is no longer the president and no longer resides 'ere. Don't yer understand?"
The bloomin' old man 'ave a looked at the constable and said, "Oh, I understand. I just luv 'earin' it."
The constable looked at the old git, waved, and said, "Spot yer tomorrow, Sir."