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Use this space for notes and reminders to yourself.
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A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
Theodore sometimes found himself confusing intravertebral autonomy with the more primitive form of losing his tail, intervertebral autonomy, making him the butt of nearly every joke in the lizard tank.
That ain’t carp bait, that’s a chubby white pair of legs that are going to be nasty sunburned in a few more minutes, thought the carp.
“The humans taste like zucchini,” the tiger said to the jungle animal quorum, “and as everyone here is well-aware, one can only eat so many zucchini.”
My rules regarding giraffes in the house are simple: no running except in the hall, no kicking at the dog, no peering around doorways, and necks down in the dining room to avoid the chandelier.
I think that to be a Scriner you probably need to be an anihumorian (one who finds animals inherently funny).
Even though the equation clearly disproved his own existence, the duck remained in front of the blackboard with the chalk gripped firmly in his bill (almost defiantly, some students in the classroom thought) right up until the moment his own arrogance caught up with him, he smiled, and the chalk slipped from his bill and lodged somewhere in his windpipe.
Duck always wore dark sunglasses when he taught elementary school classes so the children couldn’t see when he was asleep.
Incandescent light bulbs must hate me in the early hours of morning.
Eavesdropping would eventually get the chicken into trouble when she showed up at the company picnic wearing her finest brooch.
Contrary to popular belief and despite their thick skin, armadillos are actually very sensitive animals who take all insults, deliberate or those made merely in jest, personally and will hold grudges until their dying day.
‘Zebras are little more than monochromatic horses with no personality and zero social skills’, muttered the surly alpaca.
Timmy had thought it would be fun if his pig knew the robot dance, but acting like a robot soon went to the pig’s head, and before Timmy knew it, his pig was acting all uppity, doing things like complicated mathematics and saying, “Does not compute,” when he was being scolded for pooping in the house.
“It’s a common mistake,” the duck assured me, “but sure as I’m standing here talking to you, all ducks are hobos by human definition, just without the bindle stick or any romantic notion that riding in cold, empty boxcars is fun.”
The urban T. Rex was at one time a friendly, easy going creature, but grew increasingly angry as humans, with their much longer arms, stole cab after cab from them.
On rainy days the English crows flew in circles, some clockwise, some counterclockwise, depending upon which wing they held their umbrella.
There would be more rock & roll crows today if Dick Clark had hosted American Bandstand from an Iowa cornfield.
A pet crow can be taught to both talk and play checkers, but studies have found that repeated use of the words “king me” has an 87% chance of leading to undesirable and frustratingly impossible ambition, both in the crow and the pet owner.
Playing checkers with your pet crow, while mostly fun, can lead to both undesirable ambition and unwanted pecking wounds.
While teaching your pet crow to play checkers is relatively easy, asking them to understand why a chess piece is named after an inferior bird will cause you nothing but grief.
It irritated the giraffe that someone in Russia thought it necessary to flood his email inbox with a steady stream of longer neck promises; “As if a bunch of Ruskies know anything about giraffes,” the giraffe muttered, searching his wallet for the 100th time for a credit card that did not exist.
“Oh look,” the giraffe said, distracted for a moment from his unwarranted short neck concerns, “gnu has tweeted that he’s at the waterhole.”
“I am not hiding anywhere near the waterhole,” lion tweeted.
“What do you mean you’re cancelling the water-damage replacement coverage on my cell phone insurance policy,” complained the penguin, “I’ve only submitted three claims.”
In their haste to blog about the carcass they’d found, the hyenas forgot to eat.
“Discrimination!” grumbled the gecko, glaring at the pile of little booties and the sign in the Apple Store which read “No Shoes, No Service - this means you, Gecko.”
As the bird slowly pecked his way through the stack of books, he pretended not to see the girl who was hiding behind a nearby tree.
The bird liked to imagine that the girl hiding behind the tree was the Johnny Appleseed of librarians, and that she’d given up the strict confines of the conventional library so that she was free to roam the land, neatly piling books wherever she went so that birds everywhere had something good to read whenever they got tired of flying.
Peeking out from behind the tree, the wandering librarian loved how thrilled the bird was to discover the neat stack of mystery novels she’d set out for him.
The bird let out a shrill chirp as he pecked his way through the pages, just to see if he could get the girl to shush him.
The wandering librarian knew that the grackles had an almost insatiable appetite for military history, but every so often she would slip a bit of poetry into their reading stack, which she’d found helped keep them focused and calm.
The cows stared at the jar, each pretending more than the next that they knew what thumbs were.
If your cow has somehow tricked you into stepping in a fresh pile of cow manure, you can get even by enrolling her in a creative writing class at your local community college, then sit back and enjoy the humiliation she suffers when everyone laughs at her short stories.
The talking ants were full of lies, going so far as to tell Judith that she could be their queen if she shared the recipe for her potato salad with the colony.
The talking ants couldn’t help but notice the startling similarity between the tasty watermelon and Judith’s pink, fleshy exoskeleton, but while they were notorious liars, they were not rude, and kept their thoughts to themselves.
During the 1970s, most flocks experienced a dramatic increase in a cappella dance parties, but this was mostly on account of the difficulty ducks had in successfully handling the 8-track equipment.
By asking an opossum if you can borrow his comb, you show him that you are willing to look past superficial flaws, such as greasy hair, and that you can be the kind of friend that can be counted on in a pinch.
“Please, everyone,” the rooster demanded, proud of his ability to take charge of a meeting, but not realizing the impact his next words would have on the course of chicken history, “I insist everyone hold their squawking until after we vote on the new “Everything Tastes Like Chicken” campaign.”
At first the new breed of talking dogs were very happy, but when they realized they had no way of paying a cell phone bill, they grew despondent and started losing their hair.
Henry told his turtle how looking at their wrinkled skin made him reflect on his lost youth; the turtle said nothing, but staring up at Henry, found himself oddly recalling the time he’d eaten some bad carp.
It was ludicrous to even think that the crows could answer telephones or file papers or put together a spreadsheet for the boss or do any of hundreds of things that were necessary to keep the office functioning and the company profitable, yet there they were again Monday morning, gathered around the water cooler, apparently talking about their weekends.
The young duck slowly opened his Christmas present from Grandma, hoping desperately isn’t wasn’t another pair of socks.
“Gus, what on earth are we going to do with these one-size-fits-all leotards?”
For the thousandth time, Letticia stared at the mirror and wished the world held colors of eyeliner and mascara other than black.
Herr Maus was in charge of da House, the bass thumping, the rodents jumping.
Valerie Vole had a hard time keeping the white carpets in the den clean.
“If you don’t stop talking about your excruciatingly slow shopping spree this very moment,” Timothy Tortoise told his wife, “you’re going to make me late for the pinochle tournament.”
“Trust me, my friends,” Jonathan Seagull told the flock, “for there will come a day when the blasphemy of the 80s will disappear and we will once again take to the sky in great numbers without the humans snickering.”
‘Fatalism be damned’, thought Carl as he fought the transformation with all his might, desperately clinging to any lasting tendril of caterpillar being.
Carlyle just wanted to have a person-friend, but every time he sidled up to someone he was met with shrieks of, “Get away from me you dirty crow,” and whacked with umbrellas and briefcases and in one case had scalding coffee thrown at him.
Keith was neither cuddly nor amused.
Some days Keith thought he’d never find a place that sold a decent eucalyptus leaf sandwich.
“If you do decide to replace me after I’m gone,” my dog told me, “what ever you do, don’t name him Pip unless you’re thinking about beating the dickens out of him, because if that’s the case, you can’t not name him Pip.”
“No, I don’t think it was a cruel joke that someone named you Zorro,” I told my dog; “Sure you can’t handle your sword very well, but you have to admit, you look great in a mask.”
“In theory,” my dog said, “I could be considered nothing more than a rebound relationship, a replacement for your last dog, but when you consider that I, myself, have lived with not one, but two different humans, then I suppose the same thing might be true of you.”
“No, this doesn’t mean I’m breaking up with you,” my dog said, “but just to be safe, you might want to break out that bag of cookies you bought last night.”
The duck looked at his watch, unconcerned.
“Sure I wish I had thumbs,” Henry’s dog told him, “because then I could work the spatula and make my own pancakes, but then again, now that I’ve said it out loud, I’m fine without them; keep flipping and remember, more butter this time.”
My cunning plan to hire my cat as a legal secretary was thwarted when she refused to answer the malpractice insurance agent’s inquiry on conflict-screening management because it interfered with her eleven-hour nap.
Every time he says, "I'm afraid our 8.57 minutes is up," I regret using my dog as my therapist.
When my dog asked me, "Do you think you might possibly be suffering from a haunting sense of underlying guilt?" I couldn't help but notice his eyes glance over to the cabinet where I lock up his treats.
"Let me stop you right there," my dog said during our last therapy session, "and remind you once again that I won't consider any of your dreams as Oedipal in nature until you convince me your mother had a minimum of eight nipples."
"I'm sure you're a great kisser, Barkley," Henry said to his dog, "but if it's all the same to you, I'll just take your word for it."
All the boy platypuses snickered into their webbed feet when Mrs. Monotreme announced to the class they would be watching a short film called Understanding Your Cloaca.
"So what if I got us banned from the pet store," Henry said to his dog; "Can't be any worse than you getting us banned from the coffee shop because you just couldn't resist pulling your stupid "two humps of sugar" joke on the barista."
After watching Pacific Rim I told my dog we could pretend I was a giant robot and he was a puny human and at my mercy, but like usual, he was having no part of it and said, "What, you say you have a giant butt?"
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