How Stella Got His Rug Back Dude

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Dressed in a bathrobe, I’m standing on the coffee table I dragged into the kitchen and furiously fingerpainting what might be The Last Supper on the top of the microwave.

“Honey,” says Terri. “Why are your pupils so dialated?”

“Fum-diggly wango wango wango,” I says matter-of-factly.

Shiftless, our teenage son, replies “He’s been like this for hours.”

"Bjork," I shrug. "Hooblie booblie."

Looking around, Terri spots a crunkled Filet-O-Fish wrapper on the counter.

“Did he eat this?” she asks. “We forgot to put them in the refrigerator last night.”

I point at the toaster oven and scream, “GODZIRRAAAAA!”