April 8th 2006 6:58 pm
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He really does call me a pointy headed little prick, you know. Or sometimes just, “you little prick.” I don’t think I’d take it from anybody else. But he seems to consider it almost a term of endearment, so what can I do? He seems to address me that way mostly when he’s somewhat exasperated, but not actually angry:
“I don’t suppose you’ve got another live snail hidden up under your flews, do you, you pointy headed little prick?”
“Go eat your own food and leave the cat’s alone, you little prick.”
I don’t think he realized how much he calls me that until a couple of nights ago. I was dozing in front of the TV while the bipeds watched a Giants game. The Giants were playing the Angels, I believe. Or whatever team Khalil Green is currently playing for. For reasons that are utterly mysterious to me, the biped dislikes Khalil Green. So, when young Mr. Green came to bat, the biped exhorted the Giants’ pitcher to “bean the little prick!”
Well, my head—all right, my pointy head—popped up just as if my name had been called! The bipedess thought it was hilarious. The biped found it enlightening and mildly amusing.
I believe Khalil Green got a hit, the rotten little b@st@rd!
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