Yes, yes, of course I know there's a bunch of rumbling around the Beltway saying that my Rovey is top tater in the hunt for Time's Man of the Year, but none of that really much matters when my sweet Plorplebumpkins has a grumbly ol' rumbling around *his* beltway after this morning's clam tartare bender. You'd *think* that getting noisily escorted out of Kinkead's after the whole Mollusk Pie Incident would have taught him once and for all that he and raw bivalves should just stick to waving across the aisle, but nooooooo - not my wiggly whelk!
Ooops - must run. The FEMA truck just pulled up, and I've gotta show the boys where to start their tox mopping...