LOL! What a fantastic idea!
This is Agent Jazzcat reporting from an undisclosed location in the Southeastern quadrant of the United States of America.
The weather is hot and humid, and some inhabitants here have placed the topic of gills under discussion. We have an occasional thunderstorm crop up in the afternoons that sometimes are responsible for the spawning of dangerous atmospheric phenomena, such as lightning strikes and tornadoes. Every hurricane that has hit Florida has come deep inland and inflicted some torrential downpours on this sector of the world, sometimes dumping more water here than there. In some parts south of the Masie-Dixie line, the Civil War is still being fought in vain hopes for some kind of different outcome, or so I suppose. It's kinda hard to win a war when the enemy is also actually on your side, just dressed up like Yankees. Mosquitoes are out in full force, and I tell you they're out to get us. The second crop of lightning bugs, otherwise known as fireflies, are about to emerge and create a lovely twinkling yellow star-imitation display in my backyard. My cat reduced the winged animal population by one the day before yesterday, leaving the feathers all over the deck, and mice colonies in the nearby vacinity are suffering dreadfully under the rule of his terrible claws. Their numbers dwindle along with my cat food bill.
One other interesting tidbit: Last night I went outside to throw a half-carton of dead mushrooms into the compost heap, when I glanced up at the sky and noticed an orange streak breaking up in the atmosphere toward the planet surface. A meteorite burned up and came down in little pieces - none of which I was able to see with my own eyes, but it was incredible to watch. The other night, my parents were taking a walk and spotted a fireball.
Other than that, it's an ordinary life. Cars rush by on the highway without purpose - headlights and tailights streaming past 24/7 in endless monotony. The sun rises and sets faithfully each day without interruption, ranging in color from red to orange to yellow and sometimes even magenta-pink. Seasons come and seasons fade, and the waning of summer brings with it the cries of, "Football! Football!" And out come the chips and salsa and giant foam rubber hands, and Sunday afternoons spent screaming and waving arms like a maniac at a small black cube propped up in a place of prominence in the living room.
One friendly word of advice: If you spill your chips in your exuberance, try not to step on them.
This is Agent Jazzcat reporting, and I'm out.
Blessings,
Jazzcat
