So I've decided that I want a man-eating crocodile on my payroll (which currently includes two vicious mercenary tabbies who collect payment in kittie chow).
This fella would be a bonus to have when walking in my local Wal-Mart parking lot after dark (about a mugging a week, average); or when I'm waiting in line at the post office and the person holding up the line wants a detailed accounting of just how much insurance he should put on a letter that weights less than an ounce.
Also, I'd post my new ally at the gateway to my house (otherwise known as the front door) to ward off all those annoying door-to-door frozen meat salesmen. Where do these guys come from anyway? And, besides, who would be stupid enough to buy meat from the back of a guy's dented, rusted up 1992 Ford F150, with a basement freezer attached to the bed with bungee cords.
But the best benefit to having a man-eater hanging out in the house - I'd be the only one on the block with one. Take that Mr. and Mrs. Establishment Jones.
1 comment:
You so rock, really. I so get ur style.
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