Your Time is Limited Little Shish
In an attempt to up the morbidity level of this blog, I feel it is my duty to inform you that Jack Again, our latest attempt at pet ownership, has very little time left on this earth.
Magoo’s linguistical skills are growing and with them, his obsessive compulsive behaviors. He. Must. Act. Out. The. Words. As. He. Says. Them. He must. He will. He shall.
When he says:
Gick: he must kick something.
Dat: he must go to Dad or grab whatever “dat” he is pointing to.
Jeez: he must eat some cheese or say a silent prayer to the Savior, whose picture he is pointing at.
Deeks: he must get a reply of “you’re welcome.”
Engh-engh-engh-engh: he must repetitively whine this syllable until I lose my ever-living mind.
Now his latest word is “shish,” which means in any language “little fishy”. Magoo loves the shish. He adores the shish. He wants to clutch the shish from its watery enclosure, squeeze it lovingly until its eyeballs pop out, throw it on the floor and march off in search of more Jeez. He’s very hungry and also religious.
Now that he’s learned to climb up on a chair, he is frequently seen pushing one around the house, in search of prey. Nothing is really safe unless locked away. And what's the point of having a shish if it's locked away so no one can see it?
I’m afraid for you, little shish. You are still so small and have so much potential for… um… swimming and such.