the chicklets

Slothy is going to the Cape of Cod to see the little nieces (a.k.a. The Chicklets) for a few days. They will be visiting from the great Midwest, and this is the highlight of the year for maximum Chicklet fun. Unfortunately, HFP can't make it. He will be stuck at the orifice-log. Blah.

One of the activities planned for the weekend is sandcastle-building. Sloth bought a book on the subject, and there are step-by-step instructions for building this nice one:



Between that, swimming, the annual toenail-polishing event, and sparkly temporary tattoos, it promises to be big fun. See you soon!

mystery

Sloth and Hyena False Penis were shopping for a new set of wheels the other day. At the used car lot, we were shown a buggy that looked good on the outside, but inside it was ripped to shreds. It was as if the interior had been given the deli-slicer treatment. Upon poking around in the car, we found a little slip of paper with "animal food" written on it. No animal was specified.


Maybe this one?


...or this one?

We wouldn't ever consider purchasing a vehicle in such terrible condition, as Wandee Love would not even set foot in it. She is very sensitive, and tends to have panic attacks when confronted with a situation that is impossible to clean.

Thank you, Louise

This is exactly, exactly the feeling. Head unhinged from body, helpless, flayed; eyes rolled inward, regarding brain and laughing at the prospect. The only thing missing is the drool, which is implied.

LB! How did you know?

SOS

Today is for the shack. There is a problem, though. Creeping tendrils have made for an atmosphere of dread and stasis. They cling tenaciously, indestructible. They are impervious to whirling steel blades and Extra Strength Round-Up. Functionality has been drained away, and paralysis is imminent. Hideousness.

Sloth worries about the sanity of Sloth. The weeds have invaded the brain, and are squeezing tighter each day. The potions that used to work don't seem as effective anymore. There is deep worry that the overgrowth will consume and digest the powerless critter. A paw is still protruding; it waves weakly and grasps the air.

meat joy

Here is something that you maybe don't know, or maybe you do: Sloth used to be an herbivore-only critter, for about 12 years. Now Sloth is an omnivore, and has something to say:

meat.

meat meat meat!

Love the meats. A new barbecue joint opened up around the corner from Log, and the ribs are soooo good. Sloth is moved to tearful ecstasy when gnawing on the little buggers, so tender and flavorish. Especially when there is a delicious beer involved.

Maybe this comes to mind right now because it is lunchtime.

Not to offend any current herbivores; it is a viable lifestyle choice, of course.

Oh, to fly away

like a great flapping bird. Not sure where to. Maybe just flap the wings until exhaustion sets in, eventually to descend and curl up in a tight ball and fall asleep.

today

This is today.

rain gear

Wandee Love is suiting up for tonight's outing. She insists on wearing her foul-weather gear, although there is shelter at the Frialator. She has donned a wig and a mask as well. She's peevish and talking about "reinventing herself," whatever that means.

Uncle Monkey

Uncle Monkey dropped by the log today. He's going through a rough patch right now. He is anxious and worried about his health, his career, what people think about him, money of course, the weather, etc. etc. When he gets this way, his face kind of droops. He gets bags -- or actually, satchels -- under the eyes. Sloth's response is to tickle the monk. It's disrespectful, of course, but that face! It's a wrongness that must be remedied.

Scary thought: maybe Uncle M's face is a genetic reflection a deep-down droop in the psyche of Sloth. Smile, monkey! Be happy!

Art show

Art show, by Sloth:





















This is the Carpaccio that Sloth wanted to include, but it was too big for this petite blog format.

Battle

Sloth had to do battle with the forces of slime yesterday. The nights before were sleepless and fraught, slipping in and out of nightmares, waking up to obsess about strategy. The dreaded morning came. Sloth strapped on the elevator shoes to gain height, and applied pomade to the fur to make it appear powerful and intimidating. There was a special satchel with the implements of battle arrayed and at the ready. Sloth was worried about the teeth and tentacles of the monster. What a surprise when the enemy was so easily cut down! The eye was a large, vulnerable target to stab, the tentacles were soft and easy to slice. The monster slipped back into the slime. There was a feeling of elation, but also unease. It was too easy. Anticlimax.

A Proposal

No, this is not asking for your hand in marriage, but something maybe a little less formal: a meeting of the critters at the Frialator. In case you have never been to this delightful establishment, it is located in the coastal fringes of Chelsea Forest, and it is particularly nice at around 8 or 8:30, when you can see the sun set over the distant region of Krixfortburg. Maybe we could all agree on a 7:30 or 8:00 time on a night that is mutually free? Sloth hopes.

checkpoint

Official regulations strictly forbid further travel without a thorough inspection! Begging only makes things worse. A well-placed bribe might make things go a little easier. You must submit to the procedure immediately and without complaint. Failure to comply will result in disciplinary action, including -- but not limited to -- a series of smart smacks.

orthogonality

Sloth's pea-brain has been pondering the squareness. A square must only be born from the bean, because Sloth can't think of any that are natural-occurring. City-blocks, beds, computer screens, paintings; so many of the made-things are square, or square-ish, anyway. It must have to do with math, because of the mystery of math.

Most of the squares in Sloth's life are "funky" squares, meaning they are pretty far from the ideal. So when the edges are pressed together, there are crazy cracks and leaks, which makes for a seepage effect.