yike on a bike

Ok

Yes, yes, come in to my cabin, watch your step please.

You Have A Lovely Hombe

Thank you, Horace. Sit, make yourself at hombe. Or would you like to play a game of Billiards in my special room over here?

Oh I Just Love To Play Balls

We’ll get along splendidly, then.

Go on.

Well I Just Love Creams. Well They Taste Good. And. Oh The Texture An-

*All pretense and friendly affect is dropped, eyes fixing coldly on the boar*

Well I Simply Knew All A Long

AAAAAIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! DEFL…AAAA…a.aa….aaating….

Hm Hm Hm That Aought To Teach You Scoundrel

“He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded… happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief… He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the midafternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad.”