Gee Mom I don't recall you ever being like this... say where's the beav?
I keep him in a cage in the cellar. We raised some money by offering him up as a guinea pig for medical experimentation, but now he's become feral as a result. He can't keep his tentacles to himself.
How could you do it Mrs. Cleaver, I was always nice around you and ward....Could you make me some brains?
Ugh. Don't expect me to feed you. You know what we did to the Beav when he started asking for supper every day.
Ye gods and little voidworms, they're invading. *whirls around in impromptu U-turn and slams on the gas in the planar causeway direction opposite from the Cleaver family reunion*
I didn't know I had a good side.
CH!!! WHERE IS THE RAID?!?!?
Oh. Well. Can't complain too much. Those were good nachos, yeeesssss.
Can we just put CF on permanent nacho duty and keep him away from the turnips?
Nachos give me gas.
Aww. You're so cute when you eat maggots.
{Reverse Santas up the chimney}
{descends, mixes another double Brown Russian, returns up the chimney}
Hey, it's nice and warm now too. And my voice is kinda echoey now... echoes! ...echoes ...echoes
It's getting a bit too warm now... too smoky too... {scurries up and pops out on roof}
IS she gone? Whenever June shows up, I suddendly feel aligned towards law and good.
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{on roof} Weeeeeeeeeee! Snow! {puts some in drink} Ah, fresh ice.
Hey, there's a pile of our missing newspapers up here. I knew that paperboy was a dick.
A voice comes from the chimney
Those are mine!
{begins pushing small mountain of newspapers off roof} Look out below!
{walking up to peep into front window} I wonder if Jack and Chrissey- AUUUUUUUUUGH! {buried under slow avalanche of newspapers}
{shivers slightly, still on roof} It's a little brisk up here this morning. {sips Irish coffee}
Good sight lines for fighting of a zombie horde.
Swampwater and ground shamrocks, oh, and whiskey.
What makes the Irish coffee Irish?
{slurring a little} I think the coffee beans are hand-picked by Edge Valdez, passed through the digestive tract of one of several free-range Bonos, and carried to market on a stubborn yet dutiful Trabant.
Or... not. That might have been the Jameson Reserves and absinthe talking.
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{throws another copy of Grit newspaper on rooftop campfire} I should make s'mores.
Hey, the neighbor's cat is freaking out in the backyard again.
Hmmm, you know, that cat did first show up after Halloween... CF was making caramel-covered turnips on sticks for the kids when he realized we were out of caramel. So we googled for a ingredient replacement, and I found the recipe from Bret Easton Ellis's cookbook for Bolivian Marching Apples, so he improvised from there.
Huh. That also explains why I couldn't sleep for 48 hours after licking out the bowl.
Agent Buzz, man, Agent Buzz.
{a gift-wrapped package gates in addressed to "Awful Lawful Fuddy-Duddies} Oooooo, Yuleturnipsday has come early!
*discretely relocates to far side of the room to watch before box is opened*
{unwraps "present"} SQUEEEEEEEEEEEE! A giant roll of bubble wrap!
{drags corner of sheet over to couch, begins attempting to pop ResilientSphere-brand bubble wrap... and completely fails} Wow, I guess I shouldn't have laid off my P9000X workout routine. {continues struggling with unpopable wrap}
Yeeessssss.
I can't wait to serve my Christmas pepper spray.
"YOU...
...SHALL...
...NOT...
...PASS!" ~Gandalf the Gray