As ALWAYS, thank YOU so much for stopping by and taking the time to share my visions! Your generous thoughts truly mean the world to me!! But, as I’m sure ya’ll know by now, if it weren't for nonsense, I'd have no sense at all. Apologies for my absence. I’m still busier than a lazy person has any right to be, even with numerous bouts of Feline Paralysis. Nuptial planning proceeds apace. Be (AKA Beowulf Rudolf Constantine von Yeti III) hasn’t seen his Bride to be in months. He longs for a deserted, decrepit, uninhabited, destroyed Temple. Silence. Solitude. Peace. Only the occasional ghostly moaning to break the silence. But no. His beloved hat has been deemed “unsuitable” by the feminine whiles in charge of …. THINGS. Mysterious things. Incomprehensible things. And now he has a robotic minder to watch his every move. Programed to set off 15 kinds of alarms if he VISITS the horse or attempts to speak to the Bride To Be. As far as misery goes, Be is pretty sure he has collected the Whole Set. The pixels are deeply concerned about Be. While they are NOT fans of Yeti fur, they are worried about his state of mind. Hanging out here, outside the Yeti Manse, is far preferable to charging into the liquor-store-free wilderness. A mere 7652 Pixels got tangled up in the afore mentioned Yeti fur and, well, strangled. At least 50 of them were transported to St Pixels, where they learned that their insurance had lapsed. St Pixel’s has undergone a complete transformation. No longer will they treat Pixels. Treating the Self-inflicted injuries, coupled with Chronic booze hound behavior is not sustainable under Ma Pixel’s parsimonious reign. St. Pixel now solely treats Fae Football injuries. Or they would if they could decide if they mean American Football, or Messi football. Creditage: Be (AKA Beowulf Rudolf Constantine von Yeti III) from elsewhere