Baboon Eyes..

This little greedy sonuvvabitch is the newest addition to the shag palace. 

His favorite thing to do is plunder all of Earl Long-Tail's food. He eats like a hog from a trough; and with his eating comes the sloppiest wet, curdled, dumb, terra-cotta viscous mess than any other feline ever ate, his little yellow-belly with its vicissitude markings of onyx hue writhing as he eats.. EATS.. his buttery eyes soothe any other... 

"Hey, I just got done lickin my crotch.. what stair should I scratch with my grimy claws today? where's the nearest food dish?" 

This guy, in human years, is the approximate age of 10, a prepubescent furry little circus clown whose pelt is massaged every chance; living with the man of the hour, the gentleman JJET, who, in human years, is 105, a cranky old man who.. needs.. to.. be.. fed.. NOW!! Both share similar traits as their eating habits fluctuate yet still appear to intertwine... they hibernate most of the day, waking up at absurd hours which no human seems to perceive as well for the insomniac mammal mind, and while they both wake up with a long yawn, Gar Gar above seems to yawn faster. The corners of his miniscule, sepia piehole, table-scrap gob seem to contract at a quicker, more concise ratio, almost like a disease spreading and suffocating the cheeks, such as miosis but existing on the adorable dimples of the eukaryote.. his mucilaginous teeth chomping on the blind Trismegistus tailbone, a disgusting scrap occurs.. 

Here lies a blockhead, case in point, ole' blockhead. a survivor, a pugile acrobat who twists through the gossamery, nebulous dimensional textile of time; at least, lurking omnipresent amongst the frills of what us homo sapiens have named "time"... 

He looks out the window, longing to frolick in the blades of gentle grass, and thinks to himself.. who knows honestly? His brain is very small. 

Edgar told me the other day, "people think I have a small brain cuz I look out the window all day, but I see vistas of the unreal, I see things puny humans could never see, I can pick out lightning bugs pissing on retirees, a dog's butthole squeezing out a turd with just a tinge of orange/scarlet turmeric poison, skidmarking the sidewalk. The bipedal watersack of his endomorph owner does not pick it up. Moseying along to and fro whilst gazing into the digital strata of reality which is its phone is the only important thing to it, I have guessed. "

He ventured off to attack Jesus Earl again. I did not stop him or bother him anymore, just pondered (as he undoubtedly perambulated around the condo looking for the other skinny inhabitant  of the palace, as I had mentioned before he would  regularly ambush) about something he had said earlier. He said, "Nothing's impossible. If everything was impossible, how could I be talking to you today?" He did not have time to expostulate, just left me to think about all of it.. and by all of it I mean I will include his omnipresence, the E.A.S.T.E.R. deity to which he is also referred..  

Alas, more to come later. This was just an introduction..