Here we go. The silky fucking hen. What is this thing thinking when it goes outside every day? It's like David Bowie meets Tim Burton meets Colonel Sanders. Did you just step out into the light after a night of clubbing? CHICKENS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO COCAINE, SILKY HEN.
I'm just going to be honest: I'm terrified of you. I don't know if it's the pom-pom specifically or just that I didn't know it was possible to get whites that white, but something about your look says "I'm coming to steal your dreams." So stay away from me, you dream-stealing poultry devil.
(Mollys anm: Å herregud jag dör. Kolla på silkeshönan. "I'm coming to steal your dreams." HAHA.)
Monday, April 27, 2009
I know you think you are going to get me to come over there and give you a big hug, Stingray. And, yeah, I am pretty impressed with your winning smile, I'm not going to lie. But you have "sting" right there in your name. I mean, Manta Ray, no problem, let's hug like crazy. Devil Ray, okay, not really kosher, but I can handle that, bring it in. But Stingray? I'm gonna need something a lot more convincing than those soft eyes and flappy wings, buddy. Maybe, like, a signed agreement that you won't sting me.
Beyond that, Stingray, there isn't much I can do for you. So please, stop smiling like that, or at least only get photographed from the top so no one can see it. It makes you look desperate.
