Joke Of The Day...
An oldie-but-goodie...
If Pets Kept Diaries...
Excerpts from a Dog's Diary
* 8:00 am - Dog food! My favourite thing!
* 9:30 am - A car ride! My favourite thing!
* 9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favourite thing!
* 10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favourite thing!
* 12:00 pm - Lunch! My favourite thing!
* 1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favourite thing!
* 3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favourite thing!
* 5:00 pm - Milk bones! My favourite thing!
* 7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favourite thing!
* 8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favouritething!
* 11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favourite thing!
Excerpts from a Cat's Diary
Day 983 of my captivity.
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am.
Bastards!
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow --but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now . . .
If Pets Kept Diaries...
Excerpts from a Dog's Diary
* 8:00 am - Dog food! My favourite thing!
* 9:30 am - A car ride! My favourite thing!
* 9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favourite thing!
* 10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favourite thing!
* 12:00 pm - Lunch! My favourite thing!
* 1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favourite thing!
* 3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favourite thing!
* 5:00 pm - Milk bones! My favourite thing!
* 7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favourite thing!
* 8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favouritething!
* 11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favourite thing!
Excerpts from a Cat's Diary
Day 983 of my captivity.
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am.
Bastards!
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow --but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now . . .
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