I have to admit that I felt a little weird or bad or sorry for the previous Mark Trail mashup, having Mark rough up Rusty so much. (You can understand my mixed emotions.)
This is to make up for it, little fella. I sleep better knowing you’re keeping the world (or at least Lost Forest) safe from the Red Menace.
Funny. You don’t think of or see a word or a phrase in forever, and then — BAM! There it is! Then you have to decide whether that’s funny, or not funny, or just plain icky.
[Also, my first (and hopefully only) Momma mash-up.]
Brad, you don’t have to please your mother to fall in love.
But at this point, several years after you started mooning after Toni, fine, go ahead, please your mother. Move back into the house (preferably the basement), wait for Dad to die and Luann to leave, so you and Mom can live your sick little lives out together. Maybe take up taxidermy.
I’ve no doubt Toni will be just fine.
Oh, Mark, you’ve done it again. I haven’t thought much about harvest mice since my college mammalogy class, and probably only then because they are the smallest types of mice (only a little bigger than shrews). But not only do I mash on you:
but I look up photos of the sweet little things (even if that’s a bunch of very large berries, that’s still one very small mouse):
and find out, with the intensive farming methods used today, the British harvest mouse lives in a very dangerous habitat, its round ball of grasses that serves as a nest no match for machinery. Fortunately, clever Brits have discovered that old tennis balls from Wimbledon make sturdy manufactured housing for the wee ones in various wildlife preserve areas:
Of course, there are always a few that are somewhat more militant in defending themselves (“That’s no moon…”):
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