Poor Herbert may never get the rest of his story onto onemilliongiraffes.com since Ola is nearing the last ten thousand giraffes or so.
Sloan, the littlest hot-headed gnome is still stuck at home just waiting for his adventure to see the sea.
And I just can't find the ambition to type the second poem into the computer so I can get going with the translation.
And lastly, I can't seem to get the motivation to draw a picture (or search one down) to go with my latest attempt at a drabble ( which could actually use some re-working) :
Don’t mind me; I’m just hiding in your bushes, looking in your windows. I like what you’ve done with the curtains, very fluttery. Why do you insist on baking at eleven-‘o-clock, shouldn’t that be done in the morning? I don’t mind, really, your new apron hardly does its job of protecting your delicate bits.
I am so glad a nudist moved into the neighborhood, it was so boring here before; nothing to look at but wrinkly men and old women past their prime.
Oops, was that a branch I just broke?
“Who are you?!”
“Just your friendly neighborhood Peeping Tom?”