James Von Douche, 2004-2004
Well, just when i thought the gift-getting part of X-mas was over Mother stumbles into my room at four in the morning and gives me with ANOTHER GIFT!
She got me a CANARY! Yep, a real live canary!
Boy, was Michel surprised! I decided to name him James Von Douche, after my favorite imaginary friend from when I was 10. James lived in the cookie jar. He was the friend who was good with the ladies, even though he wore dresses and carried a shoulder bag. James also liked to carry around a bloody pick-axe too, which seemed to balance out his wardrobe problems.
James (the canary) and I were having such a fine tyme today! I fed him, we had tea, and hugged all afternoon until i squeezed too hard, and he flew up to heaven. Mother says that he is in a better place. "A place where he won't be hugged so hard."
Mother also said, "You owe me five bucks."
9 comments:
I LOVE HIM!!! Awww he's precious!
oops...he was precious. poor little guy!
James has left a deep void in my heart. but yes, he WAS precious. But now, Mother says I need to do something with his body. His smell isn't precious.
thank you nique for your concern in my time of greifing!
I had a bird just like this when I was younger! His name was Peter McPeters! Peter loved everything except me.
I know what it is like to lose a bird, it is painful. unless you are Tim and the bird didn't like you to begin with. ; )
aaawwwee...hey its not the length of the friendship, its the depth right? many ppl wish they could have a friend like james, consider yourself special...and remember, dont fret conswelo- you still have your ovaries!
awwwwww now you have your own little James angel watching over you. Just be careful walking along that your angel doesn't poop on your head.
that is just so wrong in so many ways. god I love it.
Followed your link from Alekx's blog. Hope you don't mind.
I'll be back (you should be shuddering at the thought) heheheheheheee
damn michel...you haven't posted since last year...dont you think its about time to update bud? hehe...
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