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“Your Honor,” Meow hissed, “she took the gravity in the divorce. I float now.”
Tabitha snickered, sipping espresso from a Fabergé egg. “You float because you lack emotional grounding, Greg.”
Gasps. The gallery, full of raccoons in business casual, fainted. Suddenly, the bailiff (a flamingo named Carl) sprouted a third leg and started beatboxing. Chairman Meow shed a single tear of quantum instability and whispered, “I just wanted the scratching post.”
And then the universe blinked out of existence from the sheer awkwardness.
🛋️⚖️💔🐾
dm me feet pics tho thnx
I get amused by the reactions from people when they see me. Lots of times they think I'm ordering for a child of mine, other times they look on with disgust. I can feel their glares from across the linoleum floors. Like I give a ♥♥♥♥.
I get enjoyment out of the toy that's included, and the nostalgic packaging. Each time I order I get a new surprise inside -- the product of child labor in a foreign country, designed by capitalist men in free countries. It's the ultimate symbol of America's power over the world.
u disgust me rezenfous buntarion