God knows how, but the goats are everywhere. Thousands of them in every pool. They're eating things nobody thought could be eaten like tires, walls, and dirt clods. They're living in a colony in the pool. They're building something in there.
Most parrots have forgotten how to speak or imitate the start-up sound of an Xbox 360. The few speaking parrots surviving in the wild from the time of humans can be heard begging, "Kill me!" Feral treecows are only too happy to oblige them.
Dogs are driving, wearing clothes, and skateboarding again. They've learned how to make pizza and are doing some stunting. They have their own ice cream and are starting to talk to each other in a language that consists of subtle tonal variations of the English phrase, "I love you." There is no dog government, yet...
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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