Thees pose' ees dedeecated to Alexa. I doan really onnerstan' hor messayge (
las' carmment arn prebious pose'), bod I feel hor pain. The Wooman is neearly seex feed tall (excesseeb, yes?) an' the only time she wear high heels I theenk she ees gonna ead Manhattan.
Speakeen' ob dresseen' orp. You see my prarblem. The reason por my larng, larng silence ees....
...
...
shame.
I hab had a terreeble weegh. The stupeed yoomans say their weegh has been terreeble, too. Yeahrigh'. All because I was leeckleeckleeckeen' my bag lefd leg. My arm ees nearly bedhair, bod I wash the leg an' now is small padge whad ees red. So the Wooman FREAGH oud.
She and the Smoothman wen' to the bed. Weethoud me, Gracias a Dios por small morcies. BOD. They came bag. Weeth:
A CONE OB SHAME. Por real.
Blue. Made frarm tarpauleen' or somekine' ob sheet lighe theese. They say ees bedhair than plasteec, whad I
hade. They poot eed arn my head arn tie eed with whide bow an' I walgh an' go bompa bompa bompa eento their legs, the chairs, the copboards. They laugh teell they cry. Then they cry. Teell I fine' the bow an' ontie eed an' pooll eed arff.
Ha!
Then they torn eed eenside oud so I cannard reach the bow. Now I can read label: These season I yam weareen' Webstair Beterinary. You see the shame een my eyes, yes? I wan' Prada.
Then the Wooman fole' the cone bag so ees no more cone bod collar: OK, now ad leas' I can see. Bod I steel loogh lighe a forgheen' eedeot.
An' ebery time I mobe I craghle. An' when I sleep I craghle. Een the nighd I craghle so moch the Wooman dreams she ees walkeen' arn fallen leabes.
Bod I porr. I porr an' I steel play weeth the streeng an' I still bide.
Then came the Day Three: I DEFEAD THE CONE! I ween! I ween! I can reach my leg eef I maghe force and I leeckleeckleeck. Yee ha!
The Wooman see me. She nearlee cry. She taghe arff the cone. You are a clebhair cad, Don Estorbo, she say sadly: Be careful wad you weesh por.
?Que? I say. No speagh Eengleesh.
Then. The Smoothman go to the carmpudehair. Oh, Sheet. He maghe Google.
He corm bag. He say:
We can:
1. Poot streeps arn hees skeen whad tasde bad, lighe cayenne.
No, says the Wooman.
2. Geeb heem blow-orp collar weeth air een eed, como un donut.
No, says the Wooman.
3. There ees a mozzle especial por cads...
NO! says the Wooman (I nebber thoughd she an' I woul' agree arn antheen')
Well, said the Smoothman (who I thoughd was my
FRIEN'!), we can:
4. Pood short arn heem baghwar's, so the tail corms oud ob the hole por the head.
The Wooman theenks.
...
OK. she say.
I ron.
They fine' me. They poot me een short. Then they fall down laugheen'. Lighe hyenas nebber laugh. Lighe hyenas arn cragh, man. They
cry. I porr.
I wan' pelleds. NEBBER led them see you cry.
Bod there ees no way por the short to stay orp. Eed fall down. The Wooman say she weel fine' me wornsie weeth arms y legs por los babies and poot eed arn me bag to fron'.
Yay. I
hade my libe.
The Wooman say she weel allow my readhairs to bode.
Allow,
allow? You are MY readhairs, mine!
1. Taghe me to the bed to ged peels/steroids/newcone (pleeaseno)?
2. Led me go naked y see whad happens?
3. Wornsie so I yam cobered head to food weeth hole por tail.
4. Your own breelliant soyyestions.
Corrently, I yam naked.
Bode eeen the poll een sidebar an' leab soyyestions here.
I cannard forgheen' waid.
Pee Ess, sorm clues:
My food has been change', ees nard allergy por food.
Anytheen' you poot arn my skeen, I weel leeck arff.
I ged Velcote sopplement por the eetchy skin.
I play every day.
I yab been to bed three times por thees. Same ole' same ole'.