Sym-Pathetic
It's hard to find a more pathetic sight than this one:
Look at that poor animal, cast outside with some sort of bizarre sign of social stigma affixed to its head! Scoche is normally not very sympathetic, so you know that if she feels bad for you, you must really be in a pretty hopeless condition.
I'm pretty sympathetic, as you probably realize if you read this blog. I'm always an advocate for the underdog, always concerned for the rights of the poor, always seeking to make the world a more equitable place. Yes, I admit, this sympathy is usually extended to myself--but if I'm the one who needs it, what can I say? I just call 'em as I see 'em.
Which is the case again this time, I must say... because the animal in that picture is me!
Here's the mug shot:
I wish I could tell you what happened to make me deserve the shame...the ridicule...the all-too-frequent "bumps in the night" as my new XL head tried to make its way through doorways. But if I deserved it, then I wouldn't be able to show myself sympathy anymore--since sympathy is reserved for the innocent among us.
Poor, innocent, and outcast.
Well, at least it's in the past.
Once the conehead came off, I was taken up to New Jersey. I assumed this would be a time of much-needed rest, recuperation, and advanced psychological treatment to help me re-enter society.
Instead, I've been undergoing an unusual battery of tests. I'm being examined by some kind of medical practicioner (I'm not sure she's even a real vet), who keeps poking and prodding my feet.
The worst part is they keep telling me to smile, as if I'm supposed to enjoy being their human guinea pig.
What are they up to? I fear that my competition is trying to find out my secrets. It kinda makes sense, because "said competition" is here too and she seems to be calling the shots... Needless to say, I sleep with both eyes open.
You notice there's a guard permanently assigned to me, too, but let's just say that when if it comes time to escape...I'm not too worried.
Lucy's up here, too, but of course she's treated like a queen...
I'm not sure what's going on. They say there's a purpose for all our trials, and this is certainly making me more sympathetic, as in "sym-pathetic." Even em-pathetic!
I trust my trials are doing the same for you.
PS: Note to my owners--if you're out there reading this, please make sure that Scoche doesn't eat my share of the evening treats! And don't wash any of the bowls after her meals, I'll be back to lick them clean soon!
Look at that poor animal, cast outside with some sort of bizarre sign of social stigma affixed to its head! Scoche is normally not very sympathetic, so you know that if she feels bad for you, you must really be in a pretty hopeless condition.
I'm pretty sympathetic, as you probably realize if you read this blog. I'm always an advocate for the underdog, always concerned for the rights of the poor, always seeking to make the world a more equitable place. Yes, I admit, this sympathy is usually extended to myself--but if I'm the one who needs it, what can I say? I just call 'em as I see 'em.
Which is the case again this time, I must say... because the animal in that picture is me!
Here's the mug shot:
I wish I could tell you what happened to make me deserve the shame...the ridicule...the all-too-frequent "bumps in the night" as my new XL head tried to make its way through doorways. But if I deserved it, then I wouldn't be able to show myself sympathy anymore--since sympathy is reserved for the innocent among us.
Poor, innocent, and outcast.
Well, at least it's in the past.
Once the conehead came off, I was taken up to New Jersey. I assumed this would be a time of much-needed rest, recuperation, and advanced psychological treatment to help me re-enter society.
Instead, I've been undergoing an unusual battery of tests. I'm being examined by some kind of medical practicioner (I'm not sure she's even a real vet), who keeps poking and prodding my feet.
The worst part is they keep telling me to smile, as if I'm supposed to enjoy being their human guinea pig.
What are they up to? I fear that my competition is trying to find out my secrets. It kinda makes sense, because "said competition" is here too and she seems to be calling the shots... Needless to say, I sleep with both eyes open.
You notice there's a guard permanently assigned to me, too, but let's just say that when if it comes time to escape...I'm not too worried.
Lucy's up here, too, but of course she's treated like a queen...
I'm not sure what's going on. They say there's a purpose for all our trials, and this is certainly making me more sympathetic, as in "sym-pathetic." Even em-pathetic!
I trust my trials are doing the same for you.
PS: Note to my owners--if you're out there reading this, please make sure that Scoche doesn't eat my share of the evening treats! And don't wash any of the bowls after her meals, I'll be back to lick them clean soon!
posted by Smarty @ 5:00 PM
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