Basil: The Return

To the best of my knowledge Basil is still lost. Someone pointed out yesterday that taking ads for all these people and never knowing if they found their cat/sold their car/found their discreet gentleman for casual fun would eventually drive me mad - that I'd need to know the answers to the stories. Bollocks to that! I will just make them up.

In fact, as I write, Basil is fighting valiantly to escape the claws of a gang of feral cats who found him sunning himself by his front gate and lured him away from home with promises of wild women lady cats is there even a word for this? queens and trained tuna which would leap into his mouth. Now Basil has been drawn deep into the dark underworld of Belfast! Can Basil's long-dormant survival instincts awake in time to save him and Puss, the beautiful, catnip-raddled young tabby desperate to make a new start?

Yes. Yes they can. You go, Basil! We are rooting for you! Nothing else exciting is happening at work except that today I made a really sexy-lookin' ad for a real estate agent (not the one whose ad started with "Look What I've Found!") even though real estate agents, with their bad spelling and poor grammar and inability to remember their account number or fax their ad through more than an hour before deadline, crease me.*

Anyway, have decided that I probably won't get bear tattoo on my bum because what if I farted during the procedure? I'm pretty sure that at some point I would. Imagine the needle driving into your sensitive bottom, which clenches...and then all of a sudden you're in an incredibly awkward social situation. Especially if it was a silent but immensely potent one - how would you even begin to apologise for that? "Sorry about that fart which I didn't apologise for earlier because I thought I might get away with it." It would be kind of OK if you did a really loud "FRRRT POP POP POP POOT**" because you could laugh in a startled fashion, but still, there would be the inescapable fact that you just farted right into someone's face. So the bear tattoo is probably going to be on the inside of my left wrist, and if I fart during the procedure oh well, at least the tattoo artist won't be able to feel the wind rushing across their arm.

Have just remembered that my older sister has a tattoo on her bottom - I wonder if she farted? And if she did, was it awkward? Must bring this up at a family gathering.


*'crease me' is a phrase I'm trying to revive. Imagine you are a piece of paper that is all nice and smooth, and then all of a sudden something comes along and bam! you're creased. It's used to describe something which is frustrating or annoying, as in "David Letterman really creases me," or "Man! This shitty coffee is creasing me!" or "You crease me." It sounds pretty stupid, really. But I like saying it.

**I don't get to write fart noises very often so I wrote all the ones I know