E: Lashes expressed a desire for a Komodo dragon this weekend.
M: Well that would sort out the existential angst problem.
E: What, you mean with the eating alive thing? I suppose. Kill or cure.
M: Kill THEN cure.
E: It would look great on a lead though.
M: There was a man in Edinburgh who took a baby hippo for walks on a lead.
E: Well, there, now, you have spoilt my evening ENTIRELY. Why does he get a baby hippo? Not fair.
M: I imagine them to be very symmetrical and smooth.
E: You think? Have you ever seen Monifa? Look her up on you tube. Monifa, baby pymy hippo
M: Leathery. And she looks like she would definitely chew up your shoes.
E: You think? I might be cured. BMF thought she would probably smell very bad too. I am reminded, I was going to offer you the weepette to eat.
M: Why? Bad things?
E: Constant acts of low level stupidity and destruction. It is a very annoying creature.
M: The silkiness must be frustrating.
E: Oh, exactly. So hard to get angry with something that curls itself into a small, submissive, silky ball and stares at you so reproachfully.
M: Those eyes. So cowardly! So loving.
E: Less loving, more craven.
M: When my sister sees a pink millepede on a screen, she can't move at all. She is totally immobilised.
E: That could be SO useful if you were having a ninja combat with her. Just, flash her the millipede and take advantage of her frozen state to deal a deathly blow. I watch too much Pokémon, don't I?
M: Waving arms. Funny.
E: What is your sister like?
E: The eyes! I am fearful. Mine more like this:
Small, lots of hair. Sleeps a lot.
M: But eyes are open! Surely wrong. Or at least, very rare.
E: That is quite true. Perhaps contemplating a cabbage. Will search for something more accurate. This?
I am sorry. I was just starting to write something else entirely when life caught up with me in various turgid ways and now it is midnight and the OCD says I must post, but the brain says 'nooooo, not with the thinking and the words and the typing and the giant cake shaped like a tiger pen to be made tomorrow'. I will do better tomorrow, I promise. Sorry! Sorry! Going to self-flagellate with extension cords and twigs and Portugese ribbons. The latter should be quite pleasant.