Ok, now this is on the poetry bus, I just have to apologise for utterly misleading all of you, because how can it be I have 'no time at all' to sit and consider and write poetry, and then I sit on the bus, the regular bus, going from errand to errand around town, dreaming not of death and strange films but of what one can do with cheap plastic figures, and I get home and play with my toys? where are my priorities??? So forgive me. On the bus for real next week, I promise! As long as it's not Plath...
Marguerite! I'm not finding anything to eat here. Are you sure this is where the humans keep their food?
Keep looking, Harold. The humans come over here all the time when they're feeding.
Hey, over here. Now this is where they keep the good stuff.
Open it! There's chocolate pudding inside, I know it!
I'm trying, I'm trying!
Let's try it from here.
You lower me down and I'll open the door.
C'mon, a little lower!
Ack! Harold! I can't hold on!
My little arms are too short!
Just a minute more, Marguerite. I've almost got it.
I'm trying, I'm trying!
My little arms are too short!
>choke<
Maybe we should find something else to eat tonight. I'm just not a tool-using species.
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**meanwhile**
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Bon travail les matelots! Le tresor est à nous, et ces gros fainants mangeurs de foin à terre nourrient les poissons se soir.
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**meanwhile**
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Oui, Monsieur le Captaine Redde!
Mettez-la sur l'assiette, qu'on mange comme il faut.
Psst! Harold! What's that over there?
Is it a mountain of whipped cream and puff pastry?
Is it a mountain of whipped cream and puff pastry?
It is! It is!
Oh, Harold, I just love it when you roar. It's so frightening!
RRRRAAAaaaaaarrrrrrhh!!!!!
.Eh? Mais que est-ce que ç'est, ça?
.Garde à vous, matelots!