Saturday, April 10, 2010

More Fun with Cigars

I'm raising a fluffy Tony Soprano. Possumus Passamaquoddy likes a regular post-breakfast cigar these days.


I assumed my Professor Minerva McGonagall aspect yesterday, delivering a lecture on the evils of cigars, catnip, biting one's sisters, stealing food, laziness, sloth, gluttony, and a few related issues. He listened attentively at first (I do a fine Maggie Smith imitation):


But he dislikes being referred to as "Maquoddy." He turned a deaf ear (actually, it was his half-ear) to my entreaties for reform.


As is typical with this incorrigible rapscallion, things quickly got out of hand:


I wish he'd at least attack the correct end of the cigar. They will take him for a bumpkin in the casino.


He is really too young to handle cigars. This one was too much for him:


He retired to his armchair to recover.


He spent the rest of the day doing nothing remotely improving. I despair of his future. I suppose we should start accumulating a trust fund for this n'ere-do-well.

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