If bunnies eat carrots, do baby bunnies eat baby carrots?
The answer is… well… sorta.
It depends on how young the baby bunny is.
If it’s a newborn, then it needs to nurse before it can eat solid foods.
Once it can eat solid food, you can feed it any kind of carrots or healthy vegetables.
Unless it’s a vampire bunny.
Those do not eat vampire carrots. Or vampire baby carrots.
Those drink blood.
So, why are you asking me this?
Oh. That’s what’s in the cage you brought me?
This empty cage.
I’d suggest we run. Away. Really fast.
Tag: food
Save My Baby!
A woman shouts “SAVE MY BABY!” and she points to a bakery.
I run into the bakery and see a drooling and gibbering chef wrapping a baby into a pie crust.
“Stop!” I growl, grabbing the baby from the chef. “That’s just wrong. And barbaric”
I pull out my smartphone and showed the chef how you’re supposed to cook a baby.
“You can’t just stick it in the oven,” I say. “Cut it up into sections.”
He smiled, got out his butcher’s knife, and I shut the door to the bakery.
How can the man work with all that screaming?
Exit Sign
Joe was sitting in the cafeteria, eating soup, and was about to complain that it was too cold when someone shouted “FIRE!” and everybody headed for the exits.
Joe looked around for an EXIT sign, but the only one he could see was over the bowl of soup.
When he looked up from it, everybody was gone.
The smoke was getting thick in the air.
He dove into the soup.
And was never seen again.
When the fire was out, a firefighter looked at the soup.
He sipped a bit of it.
“Too hot,” he growled, and blew on it.
Peach
What did you just say?
My hearing’s not so good, and I need new batteries in my hearing aids.
“Peach on earth, and good will to all men?”
Oh, you said peace, not peach.
Although, now that I think of it, peach makes a lot more sense.
I mean, have you ever been angry when eating a peach?
I haven’t. And you haven’t either.
Nobody ever has.
So maybe if we give peaches to everybody, there will be goodwill to all men?
What? You’re allergic to peaches?
Well, I guess there goes my whole “Good will” idea.
(You oversensitive jerk!)
Clown Juice
Here. Have a drink.
What is it?
Clown juice.
Yeah, it tastes a little funny.
Freshly squeezed, too. None of that frozen concentrate junk or powdered “Clown Drink” crap.
Pure clown juice, straight from the clown.
Squeezed their squirting flowers myself this morning.
What kind of clown?
Circus clown. Only the best Barnum and Bailey label.
Rodeo clowns are just too gritty and bitter. Nobody wants to drink that rot.
And don’t get me started on mimes. Weak as water and sappy sweet.
Hospital clowns, well, they’re too salty.
From the tears they cry after visiting the kids.
Sad stuff.
When We Were Relish
WikiPedia says that relish is “a cooked, pickled, or chopped vegetable or fruit food item which is typically used as a condiment.”
So, technically, that jar of chopped pickled cucumbers you smacked Alex alongside the head with is not a relish, as it was used as a weapon, not a condiment.
However, if you decide to decapitate Alex, cook his head, and serve it with the chopped pickled cucumbers on the side, then it’s still not relish.
Chopped pickled cucumbers do not go with cooked severed heads at all. However, based on its presentation, you could call it a garnish.
Mungidon Soup
When challenged by a bowl of mungidon soup, it’s best to have your back to the wall.
Mungidon soup is a clever and social soup, and often hunts in packs.
If you think that upending or shattering the bowl is all it takes to thwart an attack, you’ve thought wrong, you sponge-headed dunderstump. Mungidon soup is even more dangerous when outside of its bowl, tureen, or thermos.
Place your spoon in front of you, dip it into the soup, and consume it completely.
Blow on it if you can. This will soothe it before ingestion.
Otherwise, your intestines might explode.
Kleenex Tacos
I’d like to make tacos for dinner tonight.
I have everything I need for them:
Beef
Lettuce
Cheese
Sour Cream
Salsa
Onions
and Seasoning
But I have no taco shells. Nor do I have tortillas.
I can go either way in the eternal soft taco hard taco debate.
I remember back to my Debate Team days in school when I magnificently debated both sides of the issue and took home the trophy.
And stopped on the way home for tacos.
Today, without either shells or tortillas, I must make a third choice:
Kleenex.
(It was either that or toilet paper.)
No Contest
I really don’t feel like eating anything.
Everyone’s telling me I’ve got to eat something.
“Here,” says a friend. “Have some pie.”
She puts a pie in front of me.
I don’t want to eat it.
So, I put my hands behind my back, imagine I’m thirteen again and I’m back at the county fair.
I’m in the pie eating contest.
My face goes down into the pie, and I slurp and chomp it up as fast as possible.
Licking the pie plate clean, I look up at my friend.
“ANOTHER!” I shout, laughing.
The funeral caterers only brought one.
Pie
Here at the Grandma Happy Pie Factory, we track our bottom line closely.
We don’t track our bottoms as closely, though, and a rash of broken chairs suggested that we were “testing” the product a little too much.
That, and the fact that the trucks left the factory a few dozen pies light every day.
Grandma called for a staff meeting.
The meeting room floor collapsed under our combined weight, and it took forklifts and cranes to pull our broken bodies out of the basement.
We take up an entire wing in the hospital… and they won’t feed us pie.