The other trite little premise I have to write about really deserves a picture. File this under, living with …men, kids, roommates, squirrels, furries, geriatrics…is so damned wacky.

I came home to the bottom of some delicious Costco purchased snacks called something like “Aussie bites.” They’re like cute little cakey, granola bars in the shape of mini-muffins. Kind of a two bite item, unless you enjoy the chipmunk swell of a full face.

Anyway, in the clear plastic container is a crescent shaped mini-muffin wth a CSI-worthy topography. Evidence of bite marks. Only there’re two such crescent-shaped mini-muffins.

Of course, I am wholy and completely incapable of not commenting on noticing such a thing. Each, I was told, was bitten and put back to save for later. The explanation for how that could happen twice (instead of making the time for biting the second one actually be the “later” of mythology), “You wouldn’t have this to talk about, if I did that.”

I love when a relationship provides you with schtick.

Other than that, I have a confession to get off my chest. I brought a resume home to read before an interview I am to participate in first thing in the morning. I have not read such resume.

Why?

Because I was reading a bit of fiction written not just by a “Furry,” but by a macrophiliac. The sheer, unbounded imagination of the freakishness of the human race never ceases to impress me.

It was an episode of CSIon SpikeTV what put in the mood to be studying up on furries. They were toss around lingo like yiff, and I had to know if it were true. It is.

I was going to mockingly link to the furry fanfic-dom I was perusing. But, who the fuck am I to mock, each their own and all that. Though, I just can’t fucking wrap my head around the furry, frottage fantasy, let alone one that adds the giant twist.