You can’t believe how happy I am to see you! How long has it been? Forever? Something like 3 or 4 days? Oh, it’s only been 15 minutes. Whenever I don’t see you time just stops. I mean, Veda and I romp around the house with reckless abandon for the first 5 minutes, but it’s pure drudgery after that. I sniff the rug and then lick the pillow and then stare out the window and then stare at Veda and then bark at a noise and then you come home. Why can’t you at least leave me with a parting gift of a round object? It doesn’t even have to be particularly bouncy or spherical or even a special color. I’ll be happy as long as it fits in my mouth and I can throw it in the air like a tipsy father throwing his child. You have so many options from which to choose. There’s that fuzzy ball that smells like delicious mildew, that heavy one that you say is red, the one Veda ate a hole in so I can stick my face into it, or even that little piece that used to be a ball would work. Balloons!? What!? Who said balloons? I love birthdays because people bring balloons, food, hands with which to pet me, and beers to spill. I guess most men would agree those are all reasons they love parties too, but we’re getting away from my point. Balloons are magical little things that float gracefully through the air like a blimp until they explode in the air like the Hindenburg. All good things must come to an e…eh…what’s the word?…explosion! Yes. All good things must come to an explosion. Thusly, this post must come to an explosion as well. Boom.
-The Hambone
My Life as a Ham 