While I’m the last to approve of babies in cold places without their soft little bunny rugs, it appears that some babies thrive in such environments, even when they are wearing stolen hats that are possibly a tad too large for them. Warm, though.
It may be the case that when I was but a teeny, tiny kitten, I thought the Abominable Snowman was actually the Abdominal Snowman – a common misinterpretation, and loss of a syllable, from what I’ve heard.
But, even so, and however, and yeti I say unto you, would it not be far more enjoyable to be discussing haute cuisine and cucina culture with an expert so expert she or he was named for it? In the early days, I called it the Abdominal Identity. As time went by, it morphed into The Abdominal Supremacy, then the Abdominal Ultimatum (it was often given to hyperbolic tendencies), and finaly, naturally, the Abdominal Legacy.
I must say that’s an awful lot of abdominal tuna under the bridge, folks.
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.
Did you know that pirates love cats? Yes, they do, in fact, to the tune of 99.9999% repeating and so on, and again, to be not quite precise but most certainly annoying.
The earliest known pirates were sailing and raiding quite some time ago, in the 14th century BC (not Before Cats, for those who may be curious). They were called the Sea Peoples, and their preference was for tuna bullion, tuna boullion, and tuna barnacle wedges (with sour light cream). Hence, their affinity, over time, with felis catuseseseses.
Yes, fellow Martians, felines and others, birthdays may be pagan in origin, or something – is there anything Professor Google doesn’t know? – but there’s cake, and your peeps, and even others, tend to be kinder on your ‘special’ day. Of course, they may not be kinder to you exactly, but there’s something in the air, don’t you agree, and it isn’t all pollen-based.
In any case, here isa special hello and happy day of days to our fellow Martian, Emma. May the wishing well of excellent occasions on which to eat cake, or cheesecake if you’re very lucky, bestow its every blessing upon you.
I harboured, briefly, ambitions to be a mime, a great mime, like Marcel Marceau, the original and most silent (and possibly, the palest). Alas, I realised that the incredible advantage I possessed in the form of my most expressive, and silent, tail, would render all competition redundant.
And mimes, as you well know, dear, silent readers, are extremely combative types. Nonetheless, in my own quiet way I have continued to practice, and I now dominate the world of meowmes, so the mimes don’t have to worry or even cry out aloud about their misfortune.
Planet Earth. Poor planet Earth. She seems to be quite aflame with inflammatoriness lately. It’s not enough that the jet stream is checking itself into a permanent pattern of unlovely extremity, encouraging even more climactic climate change. No. Peeps like ignorant, silly Marmaduke have to put their egregious oars in the soup (the very hot soup) and stir vigorously.
Sigh. As my sainted mother, Mrs On Mars, was wont to say, It is what it is, my dear Last. And while this was usually about yet another plate of not my favourite tuna variety, I got the message pretty quickly. If it is what it is, then we must change its is-ness and practice loving kindness towards our lovely and beautiful Earthly realm. Otherwise, we’ll be in the other realm faster than you can explain why I had to eat all those tins of Acme Tasty (sure it was, eeuggh!) Tuna for Ticklish Tabbies. Hmmph. I’m not a Tabby, or, well, I prefer to think of myself as a universal representative of the meowing species, okay? Okay. Hmmph. Chill.