I questioned the giantness of the crunchy peanut butter ball, and in reply she provided scale:
I opined that were I to eat such a giant crunchy peanut butter ball, I might end up looking like this dead squirrel:
This led to a clamor for pictures. Thusly: although I haven't, in fact, partaken of any giant crunchy peanut butter balls, Megadeus nevertheless presents you with a picture:
(Note: it might be helpful to know that in some circles my alter ego is a bunny.)
12 comments:
And now for a completely random comment apropos of nothing:
I finally saw your comment at Stonekettle Station, MWT, saying that Rebelcat needed to be invited--
Rebelcat, come on down! Ye gods, of course you're invited! By all means, comment if you haven't already! Now I feel bad that you thought you needed an invitation!
And now back to your... photos of... turds. Right.
:-)
Turd-brittle. Yay!
Oh, and Rebelcat,
You don't need any invitations at my place either.
Wait, we're supposed to beg for commenters?
That explains what I've been doing wrong for so long.
And that squirrel picture makes me grin every time I see it.
I think I'd be dead too if I ate all of that ;).
And no, Michelle, you don't have to.
MWT suggested that I should comment in Eric's blog. But I didn't want to intrude. I'm not a blogger.
Neither are Wellsian or my sister, both of whom have left comments in the past. Me blog has open comments to anybody who wants to drop a line in edgewise. Ye don't need to be a blogger to say yer piece, matey.
(I'm a pirate!)
FYI, oh Giant Turd Brittle naysayers, the GTB is slightly more than an 1" in diameter.
But if you don't want any, all the more for me! ;)
Hey, I said nothing about not wanting any. I'd just have to pace myself. ;)
Rebelcat, you are also invited to my place, to comment if you wish, or not. The only requirement is that you're not a troll. Which clearly, you're not. At all.
COME ON DOWN!
Anne said GTB. I don't know the symbol for how much that made me laugh.
Rebelcat, I spent a year as a lurker. Then probably two years as a non-blogger commenter. Now a couple of months as the most popular blogger in the blogosphere. (I've got at least 12 readers.) Comments are the only way I know I'm not talking to myself. Pleeeeeeze comment. Even to tell me I'm a twit.
Having a blog has nothing to do with commenting.
Heck, you can say you comment so you don't HAVE to have a blog! You get all the fun without having to maintain your own place!
If I ever have anything clever to say (happens rarely which MWT should know by now), I might comment.
But all this talk about coming on down makes me nervous. It makes me want to scream "Don't go down to the basement!!" I hope this "down" isn't a basement with a serial axe murderer...
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