Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.

Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.

Tuesday, December 25, 2001

"Some Assembly Required"

DG has discovered words more horrifying than "Some Assembly Required."

"Made by Mattel."

Thing 2 wants her toy. DG sets out to accomodate the Thing.

Half an hour later, he's still trying to remove ... THE PACKAGING. I've seen less restraints in S&M clubs. This might even require power tools.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Zamboni is in cardboard heaven. Boxes! Everywhere! Oh bliss! He has snurfled and flopped and writhed in them all, even the ones that are impossibly too small for him to do it.

Zamboni is a fruitcake. With nuts.

I'm getting "swish and flick"ed by Thing 1.

Thing 2 is trying to make me walk the plank. Aaargh, Matey!

Harley has gotten distracted from her mousey by DG's Eddie the Eagle. She keeps tryin to steal the puck, eh?

Felimid, having grown tired of trying to set the new land speed record, has settled into a perch of dominance over the heathens below. Of course, getting there almost shattered the patio door, since his massive bulk sent the 5' tall cat tree a'rocking.

Oh god, the Things are eating more chocolate.

Oh god. I just discovered that Thing 1 knows most of the words to "15 Men on a Deadman's Chest." I do not want to know how or where she learned this.

No, Mommy does not want to walk the plank.

No, DG cannot come search my treasure chest.

No, Mommy is not going to explain that one to you.