Kwachie and I were laying in bed this morning after a hard day of slaving over a hot rake and setting shit on fire. I mentioned that I was sore. "Not Thor, the God of Thunder. Sore."
And that's when she said that was too bad, since she could think of a few heads that could use a whack with Thor's hammer.
A death threat! In our Sacred Bed of Unnatural Lusts! What next??
The next thing you know, she'll be terrorizing the elderly in the senior citizen high rise in town!
I, for one, want to go on record as saying her threats won't be tolerated! If I have to flame her every day for the rest of her life, I'll do it! It's time someone spoke out about the vicious threats of Hate Crimes taking place in our bed. The cats sure aren't doing anything about it. Their silence is tacit approval of her terrorist attack on me!
That's why I'm speaking out. So that others who've been harmed by her death threats in bed won't feel so frightened. I'm reclaiming my power after her vicious hate crime.
Heh.
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<< The next thing you know, she'll be terrorizing the elderly in the senior citizen high rise in town! >>
That's right. I'm headed there right now, as a matter of fact, with a plan to sneak in during afternoon nap time and exchange their BINGO markers with glue sticks. That ought to fix their little red wagons.
Ha!
Kwach
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