DEAR SAMMY,
Mum brought home parsley in pots and carried them right through the house and out the BACK DOOR and placed them on something terrifying she calls: I-wish-you-would-be-brave-enough-to-join-me-on-the-patio-you-would-love-it-outside. I can smell the parsley the moment the door is open and see it sitting on the other side of I-wish-you-would-be-brave-enough-to-join-me-on-the-patio-you-would-love-it-outside but I can’t get to it. She only gives me a couple sprigs each day. How can get her to give me all of it?
—Bramble
Dear Befuddled and Bewildered Bramble,
Well isn’t she just the sadistic tease!
A regular Marquis de Femme right there.
And what is this … this … I-wish-you-would-be-brave-enough-to-join-me-on-the-patio-you-would-love-it-outside thing? It sounds like a machine of DOOM! The woman is a walking horror movie!
GUIDE FOR SURVIVING WALKING HORROR MOVIES:
- Never go out “there”. E V E R.
- Don’t be tempted to go out “there” by delicious sights, smells or tastes. IT’S A TRAP.
- End the hooman. (And make sure she’s truly ended).
- Don’t answer the phone.
Also: try peeing on her head as she sleeps. Consistently. She’ll figure it out.
• ••
DEAR SAMMY,
There I was, having fun on the hoomin bed, making a tunnel and zooming. I may need the exercise. My floof is a little extra. Anyway, the hoomins come in and act like they can join in my bunny game! Some things are sacred! How do I keep Gloom & Doom out of my zoom?
No Fun Town, USA
—Louie “The Zoomer”
Dear Definitely Not My Kind Of Town,
HOW. DARE. THEY.
They may think that bed is for their weird lengthy flops and unsettling smelly hygiene—but we both know it is YOURS and truly is a sacred space—whether used as a runway, launchpad or zip zone of velocity. It is still sacred. And this is sacrilege10.
As for keeping Gloom & Doom (such delightfully villainous monikers!) out of your zoom: Boundaries. Boundaries. Boundaries.
Mark your turf with strategic poops. Place half-chewed wires in their path for some surprise electroconvulsive therapy. If that doesn’t work, deploy the double thump and retreat under the bed. Then, as they try to sleep, sing the song of our people, loudly throughout the night. Tear apart and crawl into the undercarriage of where their very bodies lie. Find the tags they cannot remove under penalty of law—and remove them.
Let them wallow in their wrongness behind bars.
PS. Floof is beauty. Floof is power! You are majestic and you are mighty just as you are!
• ••
ASK SAMMY ANYTHING!
REMEMBER, DEAR SAMMY, IS PARODY. SAMMY IS A RABBIT, NOT A THERAPIST. NOR CAN HE ACTUALLY TYPE. REGARDING COMIC TAKES NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR ANY ACTIONS, DISAPPOINTMENTS OR ANGUISHES THAT MAY RESULT FROM READING THIS COLUMN. IF ANYONE THINKS THIS COLUMN IS ACTUALLY FUNNY, THEN REGARDING COMIC TAKES ALL THE CREDIT.
