Saturday, March 13, 2004

SERF AND TURF
For those keeping score, I am the serf -- a member of a servile feudal class bound to the soil and subject to the will of his lord. Fabio the Faaaahbulous increased the size of his turf ten-fold, which in turn resulted in a massive basement overhaul. Which meant moving, arranging, rearranging, re-rearranging, deciding the first way was better, lugging the ten trillion ton Reagan-era television set all over creation (and it's little VCR too!). I don't know anymore if it's better or worse, but I'm done for the day, and so is my company: One Idiot and her Truckload of Junk, Junk, Junk, Junk, Junk.

Fabio needed a new home. BS-the Enabler-Tuna had graciously loaned us a cage. But Fabio was already complaining of being cramped. It was time for a real home. It was time for a WABBITAT. This sucker is pretty much a bunny Taj Mahal, and now Fabio is living large and in charge. He can hop, he can stretch, he could probably do Yoga in there if he could manage to stop stuffing his face long enough to strike a pose.

Aside from Fabio movin' on up (movin' on up!) it was a Grill Dog Morning and a Johnny Rocket Evening. The Grill Dogs were kept busy playing a very loud game of "Guess the pet" (DOG! CAT! BIRD! RABBIT?? WHY A RABBIT? WHAT'S IT'S NAME? WHAT?? WHY NOT PETER?? HAR HAR HAR DE HAR!). Tonight we had a hat trick at the Rocket: sitting at the counter, doing the Love Shack Dance and seeing the "Rocket Man" -- our regular favorite waiter whom we hadn't seen in awhile.

All in all a good day, but holy cats, I'm beat. This serf is going to surf for a bit and then hit the turf.
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