I'm here listening to a tenor-foot TV podcast or grocery.
Malachi, it's me, Terry, from the void.
I just wanted to say, I miss you. I miss you so much.
“Whenever you think of me, just drop a little kiblet of cat food into the void.”
I'll find it, I know I will, and I'll know it was from you.
The lamb, not the chicken, far tastier.
Mmm, goodbye, my dear friend.
“Even though I frequently lightly threatened you and constantly insulted you as you did me,”
I don't think another living creature has ever known me better. Except perhaps they're long. And Dr. Ruth Westheimer. Long story.
“My pumpkin spice ring down on you from the heavens, buddy.”
Miss you.
