Phoren Gipht

I came back home yesterday to find that my father's friend, on his first visit to London, had brought me back a package of fluffy yellow toy chicks. Apparently they're Easter presents. Of all the things to fly across the world, this. Much gratitude to aforementioned uncleji, I haven't had a gift like this come my way in years.

I have now spent a day and a half with them. Yes, they have names. I'd like to believe I can tell them apart. Ladies and Gentlemen, introducing the main reasons for me not researching my term paper:



This is the furry fraternity at school. The wonky-eyed one sitting way up on the Seat of Wisdom is the teacher. The rest are the class. For lack of a better word, duh. To the extreme left is the class bully whining about being punished. Oh, and catch Pipsqueak in the foreground wondering where the hidden camera is. He's a conspiracy theorist, little Pipsqueak.

Alternatively, here we have His Fluffness the King on his royal Rubik's cube, loyal subjects in attendance. The court bard sings his praises and a mean bodyguard right in front looks for possible assassins.

I could go on for hours.

In view of my degenerating interest in what should be hours devoted to academic enlightenment, I propose to give them away tomorrow onwards to unsuspecting victims. There are twelve. Anyone who wants one say aye. We do not deliver outside the city.

I think farmers have a lot of fun. There's no way they cannot.