So I has been suffrin from writer block lately. Every tim I sit on the keyboard to writ, Mom has insisted on goin on Facebbok to chek out her frendz and their writer block, or sometimes to watch videos of Colin Britt or Lucy Lawless, or dancing goatz an playin tigrz. All of this is sposed to inspriate me, but so far it hasn’t akshully worked.
Parently, mai grandmom says, “It all grist fer the mill,” but I say sometimes it don’t matter how much grist yu got, cuz the mill is on vacayshun.
Finally, Mom sugjested that she give me a quote an I kin just “improvise,” which is fansee theater talk fer “mayk stuff up.”
The firstest quote she gived me was “One, two, buckle yer shoe. Three, four, shut the door.” This strike me as a sillee quote to give me, a kittee. Fer one thing, I not wear shoes, although I has often thoughted that I might like some of them bright pink shower clogs fer when mai roommates leave puddles in the baftroom. Mai mom has some boots wift buckles on them but parently yu needs opposable thumbs to operate them buckles. And as fer closing doors, as a rule I doesn’t. I just opens them and charges through, or saunter through, or sometimes I slink through.
Mebbe tomorrer she will give me something more exciting, lik from that Shakespeare fella, or possible Napoleon.