ATTN HQ:

I have been probed. 

I was brought to a laboratory by my humans where I was examined, fondled, and adored by many. I was cleverly sedated, then dissected and studied to reveal all my special Clifford parts:

There was one part of me they didn't find, much to everyone's surprise. I've heard talk of a second dissection along with the use of an imaging machine to get a better picture of the mystery that is Clifford. They took something too...but I'm not sure exactly what yet.
I have been placed in an inhibiting contraption / shield. It both prevents me from licking my belly wounds, and protects me from having my head inside Gromit's mouth.

I have been given much attention for it, with increases seen both in hugs and special favours.

Yoda of the cone am I. Wise with this cone, am I.  The cone look good, I make, and proud, I feel proud.

Sure, it has it's downfalls. I am able to hear the snickers of others circling around in the acoustics of my cone, and 

finding my food is difficult.

But I've come to feel quite empowered by my cone, as it helps me absorb the written word.

This all began shortly after I was dusted by sugar in the kitchen one evening.

Which led to an invasion of cupcakes of which I was forbidden to interrogate.

I flew secretly to my secret location.

Where I reported the cupcake conspiracy while updating Facebook.

I thought no one would suspect me (I have such innocent eyes), but my cold, wet nose is often the subject of mistrust. It must have been what exposed me.

Don't think this is slowing me down. I defy anyone who thinks I should "not participate in running or jumping." I shall carry on my time in the cone, and continue to report on the ongoing invasion of cupcake troops. 

Sincerely,

Mr. Mustard

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

ATTN. HQ:

I have been busy lately, as aviation training has taken up a lot of my spare time. I am proficient in precision aerobatics and have full control of the aileron roll. I loop like I poop, and can do the 1/2 Cuban Eight any day mate. The barrel roll is in my soul; wingover like Red Rover, Split S, YES!, and the Immelmann man. I am designed to soar.

I've been practicing my yoga, the stretching, rolling,
the 'tuck'n'roll',
somersaults, bouncing,

basically being indestructible.

I'm certain there is still no question as to my true identity.
Here I am seen only as the cute wiener dog, or 'cute little dude' as the little girl kept saying at Christmas.
I am adored.
As proof, they dressed me up in this silly sweater to "keep me warm." Heh. heh heh ..heh..such fools.

Yes, I am aware I am the one who looks foolish. But, who would ever suspect the silly looking wiener dog? Nobody would. 

Except me, that time I gave it all away...

Mum just falls for my cute little trot, and little brown eyes - even when she knows I'm up to no good. I make her weak with my superpower cuteness. We never, ever go to sleep mad.

It's at night when I get my best work done.

It's a fine home with plenty of food for others, while my dish remains insufficient. I have to scavenge for most of my food (I would like to remind you, again, to have something done about the size of my dish. I am growing weak.)

I do find that lately my comings and goings are observed with some suspicion. I assure you my mission has not been compromised. It's just that it's been to cold to poop outside. 

Each day I guard the tomato plant pot (or do in my dreams when it's too cold outside for tomatoes or poop).

I interrogate the others daily.

And, of course, I do all that cute wiener dog stuff that makes those humans melt.

Sincerely,

Mr. Mustard

Attn. HDQ:

RE: bra brief

I have successfully destroyed an item of considerable importance to head female of the superstructure after it set off the metal detector I rigged up in sleep. I am certain that the wired device has great significance, as it is worn under her clothing every day.
The evening was quiet, and everyone was preoccupied by their computing devices, allowing me ample alone time in the room called "the closet."  My suspicions have been leading me toward this harness for some time, especially due to the incredible costs involved (apparently female humans spend around $16 billion a year on these contraptions). I quickly chewed it into two separate cups and removed the wired instrument. You can rest assured there will be no more transmissions from Otto Titzling from this superstructure.

Sincerely,
Mr. Mustard

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday