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Hi there! I've been thinking about something. Most of us are way too grumpy and serious and all that. Some of us are really angry or sad. But don't you think we all just need a little cheering up? I mean, I brought my new Moose-Puppet. His name is Moosy. Maybe he can cheer you all up? Come on! Buy a ticket (or rather, click the link . . .) to my wonderful, short, 4 - 10 minute show . . . yeah. Pitiful, right? Well it's better than nothing. It may just make your day.
Mylo: So, Moosy, do you have anything to say?
Moosy: I want my eggs.
Mylo: Er . . . well, I don't have any eggs.
Moosy: No jokes until I get my eggs!
Mylo: Okay, okay. Fine. Here are your eggs.
Moosy: *gulps up eggs, raw*. I don't like these eggs. I want scrambled eggs.
Mylo: Too bad! You already ate every egg. That's your fault - you should have told me back home! Now, go on. JOKE.
Moosy: -.- Of course, queen. Jokes. AHEM. What jokes should I tell?
Mylo: Hmm . . . anything that's not common or corny.
Moosy: OKAY, then. I will *smirks*. Why did the cat cross the road?
Mylo: o_o. I said no common or corny.
Moosy: Why - did - the - cat - cross - the - road?
Mylo: He was tied to the chicken. Real joke or riddle or whatever?
Moosy: Eggs.
Mylo: o_o. Come on, Moosy. You have magnificent jokes! Why can't you tell them now? For me . . . please?
Moosy: If you want jokes, tell them yourself.
Mylo: FINE. *ahem*. So . . . tell me. What did Dela wear to the party? (Oh man. This is harder than I thought!)
Moosy: That's a real terrible classic, lassy. She wore a new jersy. Just look at your laffy taffy wrapper you got there!
Mylo: *eye twitches* It's not a classic . . .
Moosy: Anything that's a classic is terrible. Thus, a terrible joke is called a 'classic'. Gee, you should know that by now!
Mylo: I've had to for two weeks . . .
Moosy: Ah, poo. Whatever.
Mylo: Okay. BY THE WAY. I love classics.
Moosy: I don't.
Mylo: I think you've made that clear enough . . .
And so, I do not believe that you would like to listen to Moosy's endless bickering, so . . . HEY! YOU'RE THE ONE BICKERING -- hey, no, don't touch that microph-- TOO LATE! MWAAHAHAHAHAAAA! Eggs. *drops microphone* . . . Okay, folks. Goodbye, I suppose . . .
*carelessly slips on a banana* O_O SORRY, MONET. I BROKE MY PROMISE TO BE CAREFUL. I shall await a beating by your wooden stick . . . no wait. Your flaming shovel. Oh well.
-Mylo9810
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