With the happy family safely ensconced in the house with their precious tot I decided it was time to fortify the household. The bales of hay seemed a suitable bulwark against communists/babysitters.
Unfortunately, Fifa was able to escape to her nine to five job as a criminal. The protection offered by the hay piles was illusory. With mom away at work it was time to institute Case Blue. This meant the elimination of all entrances into the house and the installation of windows everywhere.
Say what you will about glass houses, but it's definitely better to live in one than to live on one's front lawn. Fifa was trapped.
Fifa forlornly watched Meatbaby through the glass. She's growing up so fast! It seems like only yesterday she was a bagworm-like screaming machine. Now look at her all sitting up and screaming about entirely different things. If only Fifa could be in there and ignoring the baby to play with the dollhouse!
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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