He wasn’t happy posing for the ‘Free Scotland’ stamp. And they lost. Waste of time.
And now he’s agitated about the midterms. Mommy is supposed to be home by three o’clock these days, midway between the noon nap and dinner time. Where the hell is she?
My terms are pretty simple. End of noon nap, Mommy’s lap. Meanwhile the old miser just plays with his keyboard. Haven’t seen a dime from the stamp fiasco. Sick of it.
You should hear the mournful groan that goes with the pic.
What he’s trying to say is that I, Instapunk, am not doing enough to support the Republicans in the midterms. Either that or he’s sulking about not getting ravioli because it’s here and Mommy, the great dispenser of queenly largesse, is not here.
One of those. You really should hear his moans. Heartbreaking. Nobody gets that upset about ravioli. Why I’m sticking with my story. Otherwise he’d be nothing more than a giant mama’s boy.
The ravioli does smell good, though.
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Raebert should run for the Senate. He’d be the most handsome and definitely the smartest.
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I look just like Raebert looks on those photos except he has better hair. Both of us have the same outlook on the midterms, I’d guess: don’t take the trouble to get your hopes up because you’re likely to spend November 5 enduring another heartbreak.
Wish I had some homemade ravioli to think about.
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