Jul 29 2005


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Brigid shuffled her way into the kitchen, her eyes looking more than a little like a pair of tiny raisins — dark and painfully scrunched. She found herself confronted by Greg, who appeared to be extemporaneously composing an obnoxiously upbeat song that contained a lot of “la-las,” “na-nas,” “doot-dos,” and the occasional “hey-hey.”

She mustered all the evil she could, and said, “You … are being cheerful at me. Deliberately. With malice aforethought.” Unfortunately, her evil didn’t have the energy to do more than bounce off of him and flop to the floor.

“Of course I’m cheerful!” Greg chirped. “Look out the window! The birds are buzzing, the bees are singing, and all is white with the ruralled!”

Brigid winced. “Ow. My brain.”

“My poor old harpy,” he said. “Just not a morning person. I sympathise, really I do. Tell you what: you go and pour yourself into the couch, and I’ll toss you together some breakfast.”

“Grr,” she said, gratefully. “I hate you.” She then shuffled off towards the couch.

Greg just chuckled to himself and pulled out two more eggs.

-The Gneech

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