4. Reptiles (Verne would just sit there reading Proust).
3. Ants (work, work, work)
2. Sea Monkeys (die, die, die)
1. Dodo bird (dead, dead, dead).
Hammy is one of the last true butterboys to ride the suburban range. Herding butterflies is an art. It takes skill and patience. And a trusty poodle under your saddle.
Butterboyin’ is tough work. It’s not for every Tom, Dick or Hammy.
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be butterboys.
Don’t let ‘em pick sitar or name themselves Huck.
Let ‘em be podiatrists and cartoonists and such.
Mamas don’t let your babies grow up to be butterboys.
‘Cos they’ll always moan since their phone’s stuck on roam.
Especially with AT&T.
Translation of E-E-E-E-E:
“You are a straight turtle in an obscure comic strip while I am a dolphin who lives in a an extra-dimensional puddle inside a hyper-active squirrel’s imagination. With cable. And wi-fi. And roller skating bears. So there!”
*He is not Flipper. But he once stayed at a Holiday Inn.
Verne has had a rough life. Born and raised in a K-Mart pet section. Educated at St. Albans and Harvard. Those years teaching macrame to underprivileged rodents in Newark. And now semi-retired in the suburbs living with a narcissistic raccoon and a reality challenged time-traveling squirrel.
Be nice to Verne today. Tomorrow you can tape a “Mock Me” sign to his back. Today, buy him a grande skinny latte and ask to see photos of the carefree and loving family that came with his wallet.
Verne deserves a day off from being Verne.
I love my two daughters. And I’m sure they love me. Well,… not sure. How can you be really sure. Who knows? Maybe they secretly despise me.
Maybe they’re bio-engineered robot skeleton invaders and I and millions of other parents have been unwittingly chosen to assimilate them into earth culture so that at a predetermined time they could attack us and rip out our spleens.
But probably not.