Back from Parole

Well, the internet police finally caught up with us, and we were deemed "too awesome" to exist online in a continuous state. They pulled up in front of the Birdonnell family homestead and, after a short slapping fight, confiscated our mouses. Mice. I know what you're thinking, "Why didn't you just use the touchpads on your laptops?" The answer is, we don't like touchpads. Never have, never will. To Lori, Andrew, and Landy, and the touchpad is an instrument of confusion and torture, and those who rely on them will find themselves in deep, stinking gravy someday. Trust us.

Many people are concerned about how our move went, and all in all, things went smoothly. Lori and Andrew got the old Saipan apartment packed up, and when we were done, we couldn't find Landy. (I know I'm switching from third to first person with reckless abandon, just so you know. They're not stupid.) So we looked everywhere, the apartment, the porch, in the stove and the fridge, and the lad was not to be found. I mean, at that point, what can you do? So we took off for the airport, assuming that he had decided to finally, "return to the jungle," a development we had been expecting for weeks. He/It had begun to twitch more nervously than usual, and his midnight hooting was developing a genuinely primeval tinge that we were unaccustomed to. So we said farewell in our hearts and drove to the airport, went through a half-hearted customs check, etc, and took our seats in the first class cabin. Flight went well, champagne toast, personal video consoles, thirty feet of legroom, private gentlemen shows in the rear of the first class cabin; it was everything you expect. Off the plane in Detroit, everyone was rude, ha ha ha ha ha, customs flicks a rubber band at us as we roll through with suitcases packed full of gold bullion, "Welcome back, crackers," ha ha ha ha, and bam. We're in America.
That's when Lori's suitcase begins to rip open and we recognize the source of the slow, steady tear in its "Lifetime Guaranteed" Samsonite Vinylpropaline exterior. That particular eggtooth can only belong to Landy.
"It's Landy!"Lori exclaimed.
"We thought you were in the jungle" Andrew sing-song-ed. "Where's all the gold bullion we had excavated from the rear of the Japaneses commandant's headquarters, Landy?"
Landy tried to bite Andrew, and then made him hold his hand as the family made its way out of the Detroit airport to begin its journey anew.
In America.

Back from Parole

Well, the internet police finally caught up with us, and we were deemed "too awesome" to exist online in a continuous state. They pulled up in front of the Birdonnell family homestead and, after a short slapping fight, confiscated our mouses. Mice. I know what you're thinking, "Why didn't you just use the touchpads on your laptops?" The answer is, we don't like touchpads. Never have, never will. To Lori, Andrew, and Landy, and the touchpad is an instrument of confusion and torture, and those who rely on them will find themselves in deep, stinking gravy someday. Trust us.

Many people are concerned about how our move went, and all in all, things went smoothly. Lori and Andrew got the old Saipan apartment packed up, and when we were done, we couldn't find Landy. (I know I'm switching from third to first person with reckless abandon, just so you know. They're not stupid.) So we looked everywhere, the apartment, the porch, in the stove and the fridge, and the lad was not to be found. I mean, at that point, what can you do? So we took off for the airport, assuming that he had decided to finally, "return to the jungle," a development we had been expecting for weeks. He/It had begun to twitch more nervously than usual, and his midnight hooting was developing a genuinely primeval tinge that we were unaccustomed to. So we said farewell in our hearts and drove to the airport, went through a half-hearted customs check, etc, and took our seats in the first class cabin. Flight went well, champagne toast, personal video consoles, thirty feet of legroom, private gentlemen shows in the rear of the first class cabin; it was everything you expect. Off the plane in Detroit, everyone was rude, ha ha ha ha ha, customs flicks a rubber band at us as we roll through with suitcases packed full of gold bullion, "Welcome back, crackers," ha ha ha ha, and bam. We're in America.
That's when Lori's suitcase begins to rip open and we recognize the source of the slow, steady tear in its "Lifetime Guaranteed" Samsonite Vinylpropaline exterior. That particular eggtooth can only belong to Landy.
"It's Landy!"Lori exclaimed.
"We thought you were in the jungle" Andrew sing-song-ed. "Where's all the gold bullion we had excavated from the rear of the Japaneses commandant's headquarters, Landy?"
Landy tried to bite Andrew, and then made him hold his hand as the family made its way out of the Detroit airport to begin its journey anew.
In America.