Musings of a Lemming

[worik]

6 minutes ago, Ernest Lemmingway said:

it's all just nonsense.

Wait, what? ?

This is the only branch of reality that makes any sense at all!

The whole rest of reality's branches were clearly never meant for public usage.

[Ernest Lemmingway]

25 minutes ago, worik said:

Wait, what? ?

This is the only branch of reality that makes any sense at all!

The whole rest of reality's branches were clearly never meant for public usage.

I know. Reality is a cruel, confusing mess. But as I once heard, "Don't take life too seriously. You'll never get out of it alive."

[Ernest Lemmingway]

Tax Time Troubles, Part Deux

 

Okay, I think I've pulled myself together.

 

Thankfully the next few months after April are not scheduled for any particular activity. Besides the usual hunting of poachers. I may be doing that a lot this year to supplement my grocery bill. Thankfully a lot of Millennials are switching to "all natural, all organic" diets so their flesh isn't nearly as toxic. Baby Boomers and Gen X-ers are so full of preservatives from the things they eat that they could put Ancient Egyptian embalmers to shame! It also makes disposing of the bodies harder.

 

Oh, I forgot about going back to school. The financial aid councilors won't talk to me until I get some vaccinations for human diseases, like MMR. What?! Lemmings don't get measles, mumps, and rubella! We get attacked by weasels, we get lumps after the weasel attacks, and we buy Nutella, though. Oh well, I'm just one fuzzy critter trying to make it in a human's world. I have to follow the rules the same as anyone else. So until I get five different shots I can't be sure if what I qualify for in terms of grants, scholarships, and an endowment from the Advancement of Non-Human Creatures Association will cover my costs. Don't underestimate the non-human lobbies! Just like in my former job, humans just look like they're doing something while we animals are the one doing the real work even in the White House. Unfortunately those humans in Congress meddle enough that they sometimes do get their insane ideas passed into law. Not even the dolphins who secretly control the Supreme Court can counter everything.

 

"Former job." ? The idiots in charge laid off all the older employees for younger people who know the newer systems and will work for less...but they didn't bother upgrading the old systems and software and these new kids don't know the legacy stuff. Is that utter lack of forethought and foresight a human trait? Actually I shouldn't complain. They hired the lemming back at five times my old pay as a contract employee. That's why my taxes were so high this year. ? I didn't even get any discounts now that I'm paying for my own health insurance...I'm going to have to put in overtime there to afford that! And I'm not invited to the office parties!

 

Actually, after last year's incident with the five-bean casserole and the carbon monoxide detector that melted once those beans went to work on my system, I was uninvited already.

 

At least this year we won't need to skim the scum off the pond in spring. I can sell off all those generators and sun lamps to make up for the hit to my wallet. It does raise a question of where Lipps will stay when he gets back and answers nature's mating call. When we told him about it last year he just said he'd be returning regardless.

 

 Eep! I may have just answered the question we're all asking about why those surveyors were out here a month ago. That mad mallard wouldn't...he couldn't...

[worik]

7 hours ago, Ernest Lemmingway said:

"Don't take life too seriously. You'll never get out of it alive."

Now it makes sense again

[Ernest Lemmingway]

Sleepless in the Glen

 

Damn that duck! Lipps has ordered an artificial pond to replace the one we had. Actually, it wasn't a pond at all but a hole with stagnant, befouled liquid that even the Earth wouldn't absorb. It had those unsold copies of the Diz-knee Star Wars movies dumped in it, so that should have been a clue. And if we didn't clear the scum off of it when it...what's the opposite of "congeal?" It reeked if we didn't do that. Lipps and whatever female he mated with that summer were the only ones who even used it.

 

Anyway, he's ordered an artificial pond to replace the one we evaporated with that hunter's red-hot credit card. Which worked out well enough in that there's already a hole in the ground. But to go along with that he's building a cabin! What does a duck need with a whole cabin? Actually, scratch that. He called and told us yesterday that he's marrying his blonde Brazilian girlfriend and bringing her back here when he migrates north. So I guess he'll by flying via airliner like Millie the flying squirrel. Until then he's got a construction crew building what it can in the cold. So none of us can sleep while they make an ungodly racket at all hours.

 

It wouldn't be that bad if I didn't already have insomnia. Most of the year I'm diurnal like other lemmings. But in winter something comes over me. I prefer to lurk around at night. When most creatures that lack fur or fat to insulate them from the cold are asleep in their dens. And I go off into the darkness, compelled by something even I don't understand. When I come to my senses after dawn I've stolen all the strawberry jam in a fifty mile radius, along with various luncheon meats, crackers, and cheese. Then I park my fuzzy butt in front of the TV and binge-watch shows until I'm so glutted I fall asleep covered in crumbs, meat and cheese scraps, and my paws are sticky with red goo.

 

Only this year...I can't fall asleep! I was having issues before those construction workers arrived, but now I'm up all day. My eyes are completely bloodshot, I can barely think straight, and I...I give Melissa my honest opinion instead of telling her what she wants to hear! Actually, it's probably a good thing I can't sleep because she's kicked me out of the bed for it. She has her own place, technically, but she's all but moved into the burrow. I even gave her control of the bathroom. I don't care what species you are; when you're willing to answer the Big White Phone surrounded by pink, you're committed to a woman. Plus I don't wake up to find her soaking my nuts. I actually had some pistachios that tasted like pistachios.

 

The complete lack of sleep has also left me angry! Irrationally so. What do I care that Gillette is being run by SJWs? I use a Remington electric shaver! And then usually only once a year when summer rolls around and I have to shave completely. For that matter, why do I care what Activision, Bugthesda, or EA is doing? I quit buying from those three years ago. I should be upset about things that matter! Like why my local mega-mart is charging three bucks for a bag of Smarties worth $1.80 at best! Or that those damn construction workers don't have express, written permission from the residents to build here. When that quack gets here in the spring, we're going to have a talk. I wonder if his widow will like a duck dinner?

 

I didn't just write that.

 

I'm too tired to try and explain the silliness of my reality. Those damn pink elephants won't shut up and I haven't had a drink in weeks. What my elected officials say has started making sense. And those damn singing crickets won't get out of my skull! Don't make me use the drill again!

[donttouchmethere]

Your sufferings remind me of something...

AH!

Now I remember those symptoms!

You are not the first to experiance that.

If you check the pond for glowing slimy things just be careful:

 

(painted in Diz-knee Colors ?)

[Ernest Lemmingway]

22 hours ago, donttouchmethere said:

Spoiler

 

Your sufferings remind me of something...

AH!

Now I remember those symptoms!

You are not the first to experiance that.

If you check the pond for glowing slimy things just be careful:

 

(painted in Diz-knee Colors ?)

 

 

I looked and couldn't find anything in bright light or pitch darkness.

[donttouchmethere]

1 hour ago, Ernest Lemmingway said:

I looked and couldn't find anything in bright light or pitch darkness.

give it some time to grow, unless...

...unless it's inside your neighbor ?

[Ernest Lemmingway]

Pinko!

 

Yesterday morning I woke up and found Melissa watching me as I slept. With her, that's usually a bad thing because she's going to want something I'm not up to giving her first thing in the AM. At least not before I use the Big White Phone. Instead she just remarked that I looked in good in pink and asked if I'd spilled dye on myself. Shocked, I ran into the bathroom and looked. My fur was turning pink in big splotches!

 

Now lest you all think that pink flamingos are just naturally pink, or that blue lemmings are just naturally blue, there's more to the story. Our colors come in large part from our diets. Those flamingos naturally consume food rich in natural red dyes. Blue lemmings get theirs from foods naturally rich in blue--well, purple--colors. It just comes out blue. And while there is a truly blue berry on this planet, it only grows in Hawaii and it tastes horrible. But it's edible so it's the only truly blue food. Anyway, my ancestors got their color from eating a variety of root vegetables that are naturally purple in color, like bilberries and carrots. Carrots weren't orange until the Dutch engineered them to be that color. A blue lemming who subsists on orange carrots starts turning a pastel yellow. Which is really bad news during Easter. Poor cousin Steve...

 

North American blue lemmings get their color from blueberries. And this lemming gets his blueberries in muffin form. Well, it turns out that the bakery switched to some sort of faux-berries that lack the proper pigments which are also powerful antioxidants. It's oxidation that causes us to turn pink. They did that because they couldn't get real blueberries! There was an outbreak of blueberry shock virus among the local growers and their crops were destroyed last year. I have a secret grove of blueberries, but they only grow from May to August! My stash was used up months ago!

 

So I did the only thing I could: I sped on snowy, wet roads to the warehouse store to buy some frozen, commercially-harvested blueberries. But they were out! And they don't expect another shipment for three weeks! Then I went online to find frozen blueberries, but because of the weather no one can ship them because they'd go bad before they got here. There's not even any blueberry pie, blueberry jam, or even blueberry wine around locally! Each of them will take several days to arrive. At this rate I'll be pink in two days. ?

 

And it's not just a vanity thing. Blueberries are my second-favorite berry. Wild strawberries come first, but those memberberries? I don't want to 'member the times they talk about. I have frozen wild strawberries, including some I fermented. But without blueberries I can't eat them or I'll turn even pinker. I don't mind my flesh being pink...ish. I'm more of a salmon color under all this fur. But when my fur turns pink, it turns P-I-N-K! A shade that the Pink Panther would be proud of.

 

It gets worse. Melissa likes me when I'm pink. I mean really likes. She already puts Messalina to shame and at thirty-seven-lemming-years-old, my peak was almost half my lifetime ago. I'll be taking little blue pills instead of little blue berries. And if there's even one useful fact I've learned in life, it's that a woman that's "frustrated" can make your life a living hell. No, I'd rather not go into details. I still have scars from that antiquing trip last summer, as well as the quilting bee and those mall trips. ?

 

It's also not that I don't have anything against pink per se. I'm rather fond of ladies with pink hair, actually. But on me? I look like one of those made-over men from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. I'm blue, damn it! And no, I'm not using hair dye. The last time that happened I was with Cecil and Dave and I got wasted on fine German ale. They dyed my fur as a gag and I looked like a smurf for weeks. Not even the pale patch on my fuzzy tummy was untouched. You don't touch the pale! I did get my revenge, though. I signed them up for a cruise that was hosted by a time-sharing company. I guess the company thought it was the only way to keep their victims around long enough to sell them anything. The lot of them were eventually picked up by the British Coast Guard ten days later.

 

The only foods around that have enough of the...uh, "stuff" in blueberries to stop my turning into a pinko? Red wine. And I mean an extremely bitter red wine with the skins left in. If it means avoiding a fate worse than death, I'll tie on on!  Maybe the alcohol will numb the pain of the skin inside my thighs and on my sensitive bits being worn away.

[Ernest Lemmingway]

Pink Thoughts

 

Well, the red wine didn't work. Besides having a persistent hangover I'm now a gaudy shade of rose. The last time this happened it took two months for my fur to change back. My theme song has gone from I'm Blue to pretty much anything by Pink. I did get my hands on several jars of natural blueberry jam, as well as some frozen blueberry pies, so I should be back to normal by spring. Which is a good thing because I currently look like a fuzzy Easter Egg! Well, okay. I look like one when I'm blue, but at least it's not as gaudy. And the last thing I want is the Esther Bunny to see me like this. Like Melissa, she loves pink.

 

Which brings me to another pain. I know guys who talk about wanting a true nymphomaniac girlfriend. Well, Melissa is the second such woman I've met; Esther is the first. Let me put it this way: after two hours, it's basically just push-ups. I just want to play golf by now. And I don't even like golf! Not unless it's mini-golf. Which is basically all I can play given I'm a mini-sized critter. It wasn't until I shriveled up like a strip of jerky that Melissa finally realized I really couldn't go on and let me go. I'm sore in places that I didn't even know I had. I chipped off some of the ice from the field outside to cool things down and it disappeared in a haze of steam and a loud hiss. I can't even pee straight anymore, just like Jim Carrey's character in Me, Myself, and Irene.

 

I'm afraid to leave the burrow, too. Which is a bad thing because the construction crew for that dungeon I'm having built had to lift the entire concrete block that is my current one up to get access to the ground underneath. Now instead of being surrounded by insulating earth, the place is suspended in the air, cut off from all the lines--electric, water, septic, even DSL--and so cold I had no choice but to leave and move in with Melissa for the time being. I'll admit, her own place is a bit cramped for me but it's got something my place lacks. A woman's touch? Nah! That can't be it.

 

I've lived with women before so I'm not making certain mistakes. Like touching anything I don't absolutely have to in the bathroom--not that I could identify even a tenth of it--and being sure that the bottle of shampoo really is shampoo and not Nair. I am being forced to subsist more on plain salads and things made for the low-carb cult. So far I've lost nearly ten grams and gained a lot more energy. Which is being used up every night. The only thing even remotely sugary or bread-y I get to eat are those blueberry products. At least one loyal reader sent me a couple of bags of frozen blueberries with same-day delivery UPS, packed in a cooler with dry ice. As my grandfather was a rare Mexican lemming, and thus I'm part Mexican, I can say this: "What can brown do for you?"

 

I don't think I'll be learning Spanish, though. I admire my cousins' and ancestors' culture, their history, and certainly their genuine cuisine--save the use of cilantro, which isn't even a true Mexican thing--but language is another matter. I can barely speak English and it's my native tongue!

 

There is one thing I'm having trouble with. Why does a little white mouse have fifty different pairs of black shoes? We don't even wear clothing! At least, most of the time. Certainly if there's a formal event I'll put a tie on. Or if it's really cold out I put on a hat and mittens. I'm a lemming so I don't need that much extra insulation. But if I keep losing weight like this I will. I hate wearing clothing! That's why Dog gave me fur. So I wouldn't have to wear shoes, or learn to tie a Windsor knot, or worry about wearing white after Labor Day. I certainly can't wear pants since my legs are so stubby. And shirts? Look at my arms. A short-sleeve shirt on me turns into a long-sleeve one. If I were a human, I'd likely be a T-shirt and jeans guy who doesn't care about fashion.

 

I just got a call from the crew building the dungeon. Apparently because of the cold it's going to take longer for the concrete forms to properly cure, say around three months instead of six weeks. I hope AB's Dungeon Master doesn't mind waiting a little longer to start work, and I hope I can survive that long living with Melissa. It's going to be a long, pink winter.

[Ernest Lemmingway]

Living With a Woman: Week One

 

Marriage counselors suggest engaged couples live together before getting married. To see if they can tolerate each other's little quirks and habits and to determine things that need to be worked on before making that plunge. I can say that works with mice and lemmings as much as it does humans. I know a lot of guys who think "compromise" is a four-letter word. But they usually aren't forced to live with their girlfriends. I was forced to since the company I hired to build a dungeon under my burrow dug it up and lifted it out of the ground without telling me first. No more insulating earth around all four walls, the floor, and the ceiling. Just a lemming that had turned pink and was turning blue from the cold.

 

I knew this was going to test our ability to stand each other. I haven't had roommates in over fifteen years and she'd only ever lived with other females; her mother basically turned her father into a eunuch by controlling his life, including hooking wires to his brain to control him remotely. When I first heard that story it took a week for my boys to stop hiding inside my body. No man escapes control from the women in their life and I accept that. But being turned into a remote control toy that mows the lawn, takes out the garbage, and does whatever she wants in the bedroom--usually standing in a corner quietly? I was not expecting much in the way of space for my "masculine needs." Needs like playing video games, bullshitting, and acting like a Neanderthal. Hey, there were prehistoric lemmings!

 

I wasn't disappointed in that regard. Males on Earth literally don't have the same brain topography as females. Women have emotional centers on both halves of their brain, men just on the right side while the vocal center is on the left. So it's easy for women to talk about their feelings because they can not only feel more shades of them but because there's a ready connection between their vocal and emotional centers. Ask a guy what he's feeling and he has to hitch a mule, cross the brain, and unless all Hell's breaking loose he's going to assume everything's fine. It's not that we can't talk about our feelings, or that we don't have them, it's just hard for us to bridge that gap between feeling and talking. So guess what she wants me to do?

 

And I know this is true for humans as well. When a man goes into the bathroom, it's like his Fortress of Solitude. A place he can go read, listen to the radio, and now watch TV or surf the 'Net while his bowels leisurely empty themselves. I like reading in my bathroom. Hell, I have so many books and magazines in there I may need to install shelves for them. Maybe get a librarian to help sort through everything. And if you ever look at a man's monthly spending on air fresheners for the bathroom or the power of the exhaust fans we install, you'll get an idea of just how much time we like to spend in there. Especially if we've eaten a very spicy, greasy, and/or heavy meal. Well I don't get that luxury at Melissa's place; she has two bathrooms, one of which she keeps immaculate because "it's for guests." Am I not a guest? Don't I always remember to put the seat down? And is my aim not exact?

 

Another thing that's become an issue in recent decades for couples is the computer. Some families have just the one. Or one spouse just uses their smartphone. Not me. I dislike "smart" tech and I have a job that requires security that's impossible on a phone. And I have tens of gigs of stuff I'd rather not let others see. But Melissa? She sneaked in and cracked my password; I found her caught up in a session of S.C.OUT, Pac-Man, and Frogger. My hidden shame of playing truly vintage video games exposed! I locked myself in the bathroom for two hours before I could face her. She already knows about my porn collection. Actually, hers puts mine to shame in terms of size, quality, and sheer variety. That's not counting all those "romance" novels she has in both dead-tree and electronic form. People say I have a dirty mind...

 

Finally, there's school. I went into systems engineering out of high school because at the time that was what I was interested in and there was so much demand I got a high-paying job before tech school graduation. Only now after nearly two decades do I realize how much I hate doing it. So switching over to becoming a lab tech--given my love of science but loathing of full-time school--is a pretty logical step. The problems? I have no place to study! Nor can Melissa understand why I'd leave a job that pays so much for a job that pays so little. My soul was being drained by the company; I've seen the jars where they keep them. And once an executive came for an "inspection," stepped on some holy water, and dissolved into a puddle of reeking goo right on the spot.

 

To enroll I had to get vaccines--five of them. And since a lemming's arm is a rather hard target for vets to hit, I had to get them in the rump. Even as I write this I'm too sore to sit. I also have to read Lab Work for Dummies to acquaint myself with the basics of the work. Yet it seems as soon as I pick up the book she comes in wanting to talk, has something she needs me to do, or is just in the mood. Which would fall under the aegis of "something she needs me to do." I once read that after marriage women's sex drives increase while men's decrease. Which is a scary thought for Melissa. She drains me of the very seed of life and feels energized afterward, while I look like an emaciated corpse and feel like one too. How much worse will she be after marriage? Not necessarily to me. We've known each other for less than a year and we're still in that "getting-to-know-you" phase of the relationship. Which I suspect is the real reason why she offered to let me move in with her. If this works out, she'll be on my back for a ring next.

 

Which leaves me with a serious dilemma about whether I sabotage things or just go with the flow and adapt like I've been doing? I actually learned what a lash curler is, why women have so many different types of shoes of the same color, and when to just shut up and hold her. In one week! I might not be the same lemming come spring. ?

[worik]

12 hours ago, Ernest Lemmingway said:

I might not be the same lemming come spring.

Don't worry. That's a good thing.  Its called "evolution". ?

The organism adjusts to the new environment and improves, or nature moves on without it.

 

12 hours ago, Ernest Lemmingway said:

She sneaked in and cracked my password

12 hours ago, Ernest Lemmingway said:

Actually, hers puts mine to shame in terms of size, quality, and sheer variety.

Are you trying to tell us you expected anyting less? *raises finger, slightly reprimanding*

 

12 hours ago, Ernest Lemmingway said:

Am I not a guest?

Obviously not.... anymore ?

[Ernest Lemmingway]

4 hours ago, worik said:

Are you trying to tell us you expected anyting less? *raises finger, slightly reprimanding*

Good point. I've been privy to hearing women talk about sex among themselves before.

[Ernest Lemmingway]

I had to get a TB test on Monday. The skin test where they inject some of the stuff under your skin and see if there's a reaction? Well my arms were too small for that one too. So while no one Scotch-taped a firecracker to it last New Year's Eve, my fuzzy butt has a bald strip again this year!

 

Does anyone else feel a draft? ?

[Psalam]

Spoiler

3 minutes ago, Ernest Lemmingway said:

I had to get a TB test on Monday. The skin test where they inject some of the stuff under your skin and see if there's a reaction? Well my arms were too small for that one too. So while no one Scotch-taped a firecracker to it last New Year's Eve, my fuzzy butt has a bald strip again this year!

 

Does anyone else feel a draft? ?

 

 

Wait! I thought your fur was pink!. Did they have to shave your butt to do the TB test? Otherwise how will they see your skin turn pink where they injected? ?

[Ernest Lemmingway]

10 minutes ago, Psalam said:

  Reveal hidden contents

 

 

Wait! I thought your fur was pink!. Did they have to shave your butt to do the TB test? Otherwise how will they see your skin turn pink where they injected? ?

My fur is pink but my skin is a salmon color. And I can't see the injection site myself but I'm told it's an ever so slightly reddish spot and it itches to no end. Actually by now the fur around my butt is--was more of a tie-dyed blue and pink pattern.

[Psalam]

Spoiler

11 minutes ago, Ernest Lemmingway said:

My fur is pink but my skin is a salmon color. And I can't see the injection site myself but I'm told it's an ever so slightly reddish spot and it itches to no end. Actually by now the fur around my butt is--was more of a tie-dyed blue and pink pattern.

 

 

So let me start with the statement that my medical expertise is limited to people and not lemmings. That being said, I have had patients who needed a bit of shaving for medical procedures and they didn't have "fur." I will take your word that they will be able to make it through your fur to check the site but I have to admit to a certain amount of skepticism. I suppose if it gets into a red wheal it will be obvious but many of the positives that I've seen over the years are barely raised, although admittedly red. In those cases it required feeling the site to be certain of the diagnosis. Of course, if you have a pretty nurse/tech checking your butt to see what it feels like I suppose that will give you no trouble. However, and back to my main point (sorry for so much digression) why don't they simply use the newer (blood) test on lemmings (and other furry critters) to check for tuberculosis?

[Ernest Lemmingway]

1 minute ago, Psalam said:

Spoiler

why don't they simply use the newer (blood) test on lemmings (and other furry critters) to check for tuberculosis?

 

Rather simple in my case, sadly. My insurance doesn't cover the blood test. ?

[Psalam]

Spoiler

8 minutes ago, Ernest Lemmingway said:

Rather simple in my case, sadly. My insurance doesn't cover the blood test. ?

 

 

Definitely most unfortunate given the circumstances. Let me wish you a pretty nurse/tech to check it then! ?‍?

[worik]

2 hours ago, Psalam said:

Let me wish you a pretty nurse/tech to check it then! ?‍?

+1 .. it is said to help to bravely ignore the pain (of the bill )

[Psalam]

Spoiler

12 minutes ago, worik said:

+1 .. it is said to help to bravely ignore the pain (of the bill )

 

 

Oh, so true, so true. It has made collecting cartoons on stress tests one of the favorite things in my professional life, such as:

 

[Ernest Lemmingway]

ARGH! The clinic was closed because of the weather.  Good Dog, sheeple! So you get six inches of snow and your "smart" technology can't shovel your walks for you, so you shut down schools and government buildings? I swear, this is a sad day for human pride when the "dominant species" is cowed by minor flurries and humbler critters are soldiering on to make sure the modern world continues running. I didn't see the b...b...bunnies that work as the Post Office hiding in their holes, or the hamsters that run the supermarkets staying home to run on their wheels.

 

I actually feel sorry for the current generation. They can't even handle these minor conditions. What's going to happen when they face an actual blizzard? Or have to deal with actual feet of snowfall? This is Utah we're talking about. Where the "Best Snow on Earth" is found.

[Ernest Lemmingway]

Lightweight Lemming

 

Well the damn vet's office was open today so I had my TB test checked. Good news it was negative. Bad news is my doctor saw how much weight I'd lost and put me on the scales and said I was underweight. Normal Norway and brown lemmings weigh about 23-34 grams (or 1 oz. for 'Muricans). Blue lemmings, being much denser and subsisting mainly on a diet of blueberries, chocolate spread, chicken, and the odd bit of long pig, weigh significantly more at 2.3 kilos (around five lbs.). So far I've dropped close to 400 grams after moving in with Melissa and switching to a salad and Anti-Carb Cult diet even though I'm consuming a lot more sugar thanks to all those blueberry products I've added to turn my fur back blue.

 

I should have known something was wrong when I started wearing little sweaters to deal with the cold. I'm an arctic critter! At most I should need a scarf, cap, and little mittens to deal with even the worst cold snaps. I had to tighten the harness straps on my human rig because they were too loose to hold me securely. The pale patch on the tummy? It's shrunk alongside my actual tummy. To be sure I had Melissa check my waistline and I've dropped to a size 1/40.

 

At this point I'm not at serious risk yet. But when a blue lemming loses too much weight, be it from a lean year or lean diet, we tend to suffer mightily. First our fur falls out. Unlike my uncle who lost all his fur because he used the Handyman's Secret Weapon too much. Then our eyes start going bad and we need to wear glasses fitted with lenses as thick as soda bottles are long just to see the fine print on things. Worse still, we start wearing cardigans, listening to Barry Manilow, and shopping at the GAP. As time goes on we begin watching network television and hosting parties with hours d'oeuvres as the only thing to eat before we take up white collar jobs and think leaving the light on when we leave a room is "edgy." Then there's the mayonnaise. That's the final stage, when we start smearing mayo thick on everything we eat. Eventually our fur turns a pasty white color to match.

 

We don't really die at that point, but we can't really say we "live," either.

 

Oh, sure. We can die if we lose too much weight. But all that mayo keeps many at an equilibrium. And when we hit the mayo stage it's too late to go back. We've become socially acceptable, responsible creatures who sip on lattes and eat finger sandwiches. There's no more silliness left in us. We don't just lose the spontaneity that makes us critters willing to incur the wrath of a grizzly bear who lives in a ranger's cabin during the off season. We lose the willingness to be that irresponsible, reckless, and zany. And--the horror--we begin to like American beer!

 

Ah, nuts! Which reminds me that I left a six-pack of German stout in my burrow! If you'll excuse me, I need to put on a sweater and go retrieve it. I need something to cry into anyway.

[Ernest Lemmingway]

Valentine's Lemming

 

There's something universal among the species about buying a woman a present. We don't really like doing it. Maybe because we really don't like going into the kinds of stores that sell what women really want for intimate gifts, like lingerie. But we do it. Because if we don't there's a million and one ways a woman will make our lives a living hell. And unlike humans, mice don't really like chocolate because it's poisonous to them the same way it is to dogs and cats. Which is why I never did understand why Jerry ate those chocolate bonbons when he discovered the invisible ink.

 

Because this was our first Valentine's Day together, I knew she wanted it to be special. I knew because she told me so. Yeah, she understands the male mind enough to know that subtle hints don't work. She's been whacking me over the head with it for weeks now. So I did the unthinkable and...dyed my fur! I even made sure to keep the tummy patch separated from the initial dye so it would stay paler! I was tie-dyed before today, but now I'm back to a solid pink color. My only consolation is that this dye washes out after three days. Or it claims to. I won't get a chance to find out as you'll read.

 

Why would I do that? Because I dressed up as Eros (Cupid), complete with a white sash and bow and arrow with a heart for an arrowheads, to giver her her Valentine's gift. Which she greatly loved and demonstrated by letting me rest after the first three times. I'm just glad she's in a good mood. She was not happy to hear my contract was terminated because my ex-employers went under when a shipment of holy water from the Vatican was mixed up with the cooler water; all the executives died in horrible, screaming agony when they took a sip. Until she learned I'd already found work at another company. She's actually ecstatic now that I'm not at risk of losing my soul to those fiends.

 

But I'm not all that happy. It turns out I'm allergic to the dye I used. I had to rush to the veterinarian's office when I turned into a giant ball covered in a red rash. So I've been shaved four months early this year. That means, to deal with the cold, I'll...have to wear clothes! Look at me! My legs aren't long enough to wear normal pants. Nor are my arms long enough to reach said pants. And as much pride as I take in my Scottish lemming heritage, I am not wearing a kilt. So Melissa is improvising and having her tailor make me some flannel clothes out of doll clothing. I didn't know she had a tailor!

 

I appreciate her efforts, and I enjoy flannel, but I'm not a fan of plaid. Which is why I refuse to wear a kilt. If you've ever seen cartoon chameleons who can match any color but break down and cry "I can't do it! I just can't do it!" when faced with a plaid background, you'll understand the depths of my antipathy. Yet I live out in the woods and that seems to be what people expect anyone who does that to wear. I really hate playing to stereotypes like that. Next thing you know I'll be carrying an ax cutting down trees. How long after that until I start wearing women's clothing?

 

Maybe that's why guys hate Valentine's Day. Our efforts at being romantic always seem to blow up in our faces in the end. For me my end blew up because of my romantic efforts.

[worik]

4 hours ago, Ernest Lemmingway said:

How long after that until I start wearing women's clothing?

That's usually called "a fetish". ? Have you tried if it works for you?