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The Twenty-Eighth Scribble

Ugh!! Turns out Uncle Gordon is arriving only on the 30th of November [who is Uncle Gordon?? To find out, read The Twenty-Fourth Fable NOW!!]. This sucks. I thought he would be here in the next couple of days, so I have already chewed up all my lovely, fluffy toys [because I thought that he would buy me a whole department store of new cuddlies and get the, all the way over here for me to play with. But how can he do that when he’s set to arrive NEXT MONTH??????]

Along with this revelation, there was a whole bunch of other stuff that happened that made this day a bummer. Mum served me my lunch half a hour late, I had to bathe [I believe that if the creator really wanted us to be clean, he would have added a built-in cleanser-izor in our never-ending list of organs] with dog shampoo, my sister’s gave me the cold shoulder all day thank’s to their new best friend [their Kindle tablet] AND I didn’t get a SINGLE chew.

I think it is my duty right now to call the Social Services. I have seen documentaries on NatGeo [dad’s an animal geek] about little cubs being devoured by vicious predators, but, if you ask me, I would prefer death over the treatment I have been getting for the past twenty-four hours any day. I bet that after reading this post, the fact that you had a bad day at the office seems not-so-bad any more, huh??

Talking about today has just got made my mood worse. And I thought that a blog would help me stay more cheerful [the [prospect of writing is mostly a welcome one]. Humph.

P.S: I don’t think I would mind bath so much if it:

a] Did not involve water and

b] Was able to be operated by animals too [trust me, you do NOT want to have the “baby-sitter” prodding your fragile tummy with [YUCKY] soap and stealing glances at your private-parts]

 

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