Tuesday, April 13, 2010

My Homer is not a communist. He may be a liar, a pig, an idiot, a communist, but he is not a porn star.

The sun always shines on TV Bellerive. April, 2010.

Word was passed on to me the other day concerning a disturbing event that confronted crafty knitter, sometime blogger and erstwhile commenter Blackie in the middle of the night. Awoken by a rustling sound, Ms Blackie assumed that the culprit must surely be a roaming dirt magnet. However, a brief spot of reconnoitring revealed the true malefactor was not of the toddle genus, it was in fact a plain old Mus musculus exploring some half finished knitting.

Now, it is not my business to get into the rights or wrongs of musophobia, nor have I any knowledge of whether or not a Gertrude of Nivelles appeared in the guise of a strapping young man. What I can say, however, is that in the middle of the night I'd rather find a mouse explore my half-completed shrug still on the round (in a Continental fashion) than a tattoo-d escaped convict doing a poo in my handbag!


Magpie said...

Given those two choices, I would have to agree with your choice.

me said...

As great a story as it would make (if it happened to someone else), I'd have to agree the mouse is infinitely more appealing.

Kris said...

Magpie, a mouse is a man's best friend, isn't it?

Me, hold on to your hat, as I know of someone who suffered the indignity of having a fellow on the lam defecate in their bag.

me said...

Was it you? The "defecatee", that is.

Kris said...

No, it was not me, Me.

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