I call in sick on my first day of work.

I need a vacation, I decide.

Boy, this is fun. I should get away more.

And meet interesting people in beautiful parking lots.

I cannot even guess what these goofballs are doing in my bathroom. My dog, at least, is making himself at home.

By the time I get there, the Shark is gone and the Clown is throwing up on the floor. I must be in Daytona.

This is better than a weekend in Paris. What's walking along the Sienne compared to hurling chickens into buckets?

I cash in my tickets for a chicken cookie jar. I was tempted to get the orange plastic fingernails, but I thought this would look nicer in my apartment.

At least depression lets you catch up on your sleep.
There, I've got a replacement for Honey's honeymoon chest that she took with her. Not that I even noticed it was gone.

 

Will Moo ever get over Honey?


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