It is Friday. I seem to have been serious all week. The only humor lately has been a few puns, bad puns at that. So let’s kick up our heels and be silly.
The rat pack ate the cat. Fur ball at 11.
::deb does a tripple somersault::
Umm is there a doctor in the house?
The cat ate the hat
hat full of bacon fat
cat lies down on mat
snoozy happy fat cat!
go to fetch baseball bat
wakey, wakey, sleepy cat
Hah! Splat! flat cat!
Ok, but you did say you wanted to be silly, so I felt like joining in.
No cats were harmed in the making of this nonsense. Indeed, my cat does not lie on anything; rather, she reclines. Gracefully.
When I get silly, I do tongue twisters:
I am not the pheasant plucker,
I’m the pheasant plucker’s mate
And I’m only plucking pheasants
Cuz the pheasant plucker’s late.
And of course Dr. Suess’ Fox in Socks (I can really say this!)
When beetles fight these battles
in a bottle with their paddles
and the bottle’s on a poodle
and the poodle’s eating noodles,
They call this a
muddle puddle tweedle poodle
beetle noodle bottle paddle battle!
I am a mother pheasant plucker.
I pluck mother pheasants.
I am the most pleasant mother pheasant plucker
to ever pluck a mother pheasant.