I mean, my talent at sniffing out discarded goods is, I dare say, more valuable than that orca-scat sniffing dog that runs around the Pacific. You did see that Times piece, right? OK, he's saving the whales, I'm saving...a spot on the couch?
So it was a few days old, and lying in the woods. The burger, not the orca. No bun, but what did I care? Give me the meat, I say.
Mom said the same thing. I don't get it: she was at the party, she had a burger, with bun, right off the grill. What did she want with my find?
What kind of treats does that whale-sniffing dog earn, anyway?
|I lie, faint from hunger, pondering the state of unions and|
bemoaning the fate of the orcas.