If I hear one more word about the wonderful marvelosity of coal-fired power stations, I’m firing the utterererer. “You’re fired,” I shall say, and I shall say it to him, no matter how lovely his head of melting orange tuna bake may be.
On such a momentous day (the 2016 US Pestilential, sorry, Presidential election), perhaps we could all benefit from cooling off down south with our Antarctic friends (and a polar bear visiting from the Arctic), however misguided they may be in the matter of parental origins. Enjoy it now, friends, because the times are truly changing.
You may have heard rumours that the aquatic life on Mars is less than satisfactory. However, I’m here to tell you that, but for a little dust storm every so often, the fishing is extratunaordinary with bells and whistles, and an occasional crabby crustacean. Soon enough, Hale crater will be invaded by reckless teenagers from other, less salubrious (read extinct) water flows and I’ll be forced to seek out new life and boldly go, or go boldly, down the avenue.
Meanwhile, well, meanwhile, stay a while, and doze in a daze. When the time comes, you may hitch a lift with me in the PeskyCATarian-mobile.