As we pulled out of our driveway today there were three deer and two chickens on our lawn. We own no animals.
Magoo: Do you know animals can talk?
Me: Oh really? Do they speak English or talk in some other way?
Magoo: No, no. They just comm-une-icake.
Me: What do you mean?
Magoo: If they bark or say meow, or moo, that’s talking.
Magoo: There’s one animal that does a CRAZY communicake. It’s a cheetah. When a cheetah wants to communicake, it does a big jump while it’s running, and then it bites you and scratches you all over.
Someday I may get to the point where in order to write a blog I have to think my own thoughts or be creative. I may have to come up with deep analysis about the State of the Union and why our country is caricatured by a group of politicians who sit in a room together once a year listening to a speech with one half looking like their cat was just murdered and the other half acting like they’re at a high school pep rally while a small group of men and women in black dresses sit front and center looking like a constitutionally-armed firing squad.
But as long as my kids are teaching me that cheetahs communicate by rabidly mauling people to death, I don’t have to get too serious with my commentary.