Oh! BTW, a nice little furrie girl that I work with told me that if I was a fur, I would/should be an ermine. Her reasons were, "Think about it, they're cute, svelt, and cuddly but bity and potentially rabid." O_o
Sorry about that. Some jerk monitoring the Commodore 64, that operates my brain, spilled Mr. Pib all over the controls, which caused me to think of impala, stags, and deer when in reality it was more like ferrets I shoulda been thinking about. ^.^ Don't worry, he's been downsized. Oh crap! I needed that braincell. Now I don't know math!
Ack! I'm having another off-day! ^.^ See, this is what happens when I play Kirby's Airride for too long, unlocking secret stuff at a speed addict's pace. It's melting my brain.
*LMAO* I'll help you with the genocide of your people only if I can call you Lord Chumley, wear a safari outfit, and speak in a very bad faux Alfred Pennyworth accent.
Oh hell yes! You must! And every now and again we can trick them by switching the lotion with barbecue sauce and grilling them on a spit! We can take turns spraying them with the hose! It'll be sociopathic fun for all! I'll bring Twister and brownies!
And remember: Genocide is just a fancy word for population control.
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Weasels are cool.
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And remember: Genocide is just a fancy word for population control.
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