As part of my work-release program, I've agreed to ride the highways and enforce the laws of the man that keeps me down. Though it burns my soul, the sliver of pride that I cling to is my hog Dinah and my daily pickle ration. Someday the tides will turn, and my captors will pay for these atrocities.
Grandma says she needs new pictures, so here's a quickie slide show:
Who am I to second-guess my fans? You asked for it, and here there are: More pictures of little Miss Iris!
It was supposed to be the fight of the century. A no-holds-barred match-up that had been brewing for over nine months and was finally going to come to an end tonight.
I had ringside seats -- and if you know anything about this town you know that those weren't easy to come by. My best lady was there, a little woman I know named Peggy, and we'd just settled in for the final rounds.
What we got was 12 plus hours of slow build-up that ended in a frantic 1 hour grand finale that would have kept Charlie Kaufman guessing. Here's the end result: Iris Evangeline.
An angel from heaven, if I may be so bold.
Weighing in at 8 pounds, 8 ounces and 21 inches long, this rookie has real potential. Thank goodness she's got an experienced pro like my mom to show her the way.
My preparations for the 2020 Olympics have begun. Today was my first training session with Bjorn, a Hungarian defector who specializes in weight training. We focused on building my quadruplexes and upper tibia by working the medicine ball.
My vanilla milk nightcap has never tasted so sweet.
Are they mice? Are they bunnies? Who cares when they make me laugh! May be educational, or it may just be because the narrator has a British accent.
I know not where I am being taken. All I know is that I spend hours on end tied down to a comfy chair as the world flies past me at 70 MPH.
Our only respite was stopping at a roadside hotel for food and drink. There I met a kind young woman with whom I shared company and enjoyed music.
Some days captivity is not so bad.
Never before have I come so close to escape. My plan was foolproof. I nonchalantly wandered out into a field of flowers and pretended to be entranced by their yellow hue. Then, when My Captors were distracted, I ran -- ran like I have never run before. Actually, I ran a little too hard, so I decided to scrap my plan and go take a little nap-nap in my bed. Curses! Foiled Again!
The fools! The Bearded One was standing right next to my escape map, and could not comprehend its meaning. For now, my plan is safe, but I must strike soon.
I can sink no lower. Today My Captors forced me to fight for my food in an arena filled with others of my kind. I tried to mount a rebellion, but we were completely surrounded by superior forces. I live to fight another day.
I was so certain that today was the day. My Captors were foolish enough to take me to their 'harvest festival' and place me atop a noble steed named Buttercups. Buttercups and I made a pact to escape together and walk the Earth, fighting crime wherever it dared rear its ugly head. But then Buttercups got an apple.
I write, I write, every day I write. Letters, numbers, shapes. Yet time washes them away almost before my chalk leaves the sidewalk. Nothing is forever. Except for kool-aid stains.
I have finally gained access to My Captor's primary source of communication with the outside world. I can only hope that someone receives this message. At last the world can see the inhumane conditions that I have been forced to live in, and I can only hope that these horrors will drive you to act. I plead with you... pass on news of my plight to anyone who will listen...
