Monday, July 14, 2008

Once upon a time, Beardie and I went to the Great Land of Ikea. We went in to buy some cutlery, and walked out with some pillows, some glasses, various other random crap, a $2 breakfast in our bellies, and a stuffed rat and beaver.

We named the stuffed rat "Ratto" and the stuffed beaver "Beavo", because we are full of glorious imagination.

Some time passed, and it became evident that Beardie had a problem with Beavo. Their encounters would normally involve Beavo being punched in his soft plush beaver face, hurled across the room or sat/farted on.

I thought that this irrational hatred towards an inanimate object was hi-larious, and started purposely putting Beavo in Beardie's path, wherever he would go. This means that when Beardie would pull down the bed covers at night, Beavo would be there waiting. Every. Single. Night.

At first Beavo would just be thrown or punched, but sometimes I would find him under the back tyre of my car, and sometimes with his head stuck in the blender, and sometimes with his head stuck in the oven, awaiting his demise. It was all fun and games, but then last night Beardie cracked, and now Beavo is no more.

RIP Beavo. You were soft and cuddly and delightful, with truly terrible teeth.

Yes. Eventful weekend, etc.


phishez_rule said...

I'm so calling the RSPCA.

You're disturbed.

Ratto, you're next.

RAT said...

Phishez, the RSPCA will never find him, he's in the bin now with the bananas that went off. The love for Ratto is endless, I think he is safe. For now.

Mark said...

Stabbing a beaver? May I direct you to the works of Sigmund Freud?

RAT said...

Oh my, I never thought of it like that. Dirty, dirty people that we are!