A day late and a dollar short, but I'm making it up on the ponies, says Danielle

On the Bearskin Rug in Front of the Fire I Construct the Following Tableau:

Trust moonflowers to stick it to you, the tiny dogs return. Their entrance, poof. They’re mouthing crowns, togas, they’re yipping Paris, you precious, Woody, you moron. Never in the splinter womb start a fire you can’t suck out. They suckle. Narrate: Colostrum from the goose, in which to cook the gander.