Yes, Virginia. That Is A Real Bear Chair
What? Oh, why thanks. I've been growing it for quite some time, I'm a mountain man you see.
Oh this old thing? That's just a grizzly bear that I dissected and transformed into a pleasant chair. Right. Of course it was alive when I first encountered it, but as I said earlier, now it's a chair.
Haha, its feelings? Well yes ma'am, I considered them, and thought they appeared to feel quite comfortable.
That's strong language for a lady, Ms. Peter. Pee-wha? Oh, Peta, ok. If you don't mind I have some additional lounging to do before I meet the president."
Slate's Take on the Presidential Beard
Ballerina, No!
As we again peer into the symbolism, it may initially appear disjointed. Until the reader recognizes the underlying plot arc: A cage fighting nun has nightmares of an evil ballerina who viciously shaves tank-driving centaurs. Also, they fall in love.
"I can't believe I gave that bitch the keys to my tank" thought Ribonius, the shape-shifting centaur. His tank, a 1937 Panzer IV, despite being useless to his equine form, was mint. "Gem mint ten," thought the centaur, growing increasingly angry.
Sure it seemed like a good idea at the time. She needed to get to recital on Wednesdays, and he could always just shape shift into a shirtless 30 mile-per-hour express ride to anyplace. Besides, this was love.
The first episode was a shower launched right flank. Without warning Ribonius was reduced from mythical horsey Jesus, to a very real, very greasy, very goatee-sporting everyman. The attacks became successively more brazen, moving swiftly through tow truck driver to mime, and finally to shorn chaplain.
Danielle awoke with a start. Could it be real? Could this be love? "No time to wax philosophical!" she screamed, into sister Melinda's bloodied unhearing ear canal. Habits & Hissy Fits, the semi-monthly cage match at St. David's had only just begun.
*epic only in the "dude that was an epic burrito" sort of way. As in, not really epic.
