Here is the hussy in question: Frankie Look at her shamelessly exposing her fluffy underbelly with that "come hither" look. She sent Sammy a nearly pornographic picture of herself lounging on the couch. She's shacked up with another guy at the moment, and yet all I hear is how much he wants to go see her and frolic on the West Coast with her. Go out for puppacino and walk along the beach. Ick.
To shut him up, I tried convincing him that a nice white truck would come pick him up if he was inside a box on the curb, but I miscalculated the stupid human calendar and put him on the curb on the one day that they don't pick up the recycling stuff. He was a bit mad about laying in the sun in a box all day, and I thought for sure he'd give up his quest to make it to the West Coast (he thinks its only a mile down the road, as Sam is geographically challenged and thinks that California and Arizona are near Washington... D.C.)
So, we're going to try this now. If you only knew how much of a hassle it is to get a cannon delivered to a back yard without the Secret Service and Homeland Security snooping in your business. The lengths I go to!
By the way, if you haven't stopped by the Kapp Pack and Steve, Kat, and Wilbur's blog to pledge money for their blogathon that starts tomorrow, you best get your fluffiness over there and do it now. You may even see a special guest blog entry from yours truly, but I'm not gonna do it for free, you have to pledge some human money!
