keaton ran in a half marathon yesterday through the wind swept rains that pummeled new york city's beloved central park.
she did this with her sister and friend, who were visiting from pensacola.
it was the final chapter in a full weekend of much needed sisterly bondage.
now, the last time keaton ran 13.1 miles it took her the better part of a month.
not so yesterday.
under the pressure of subliminal sibling rivalry, she accomplished this feat in two and half hours, cutting her personal best time by about 1438 hours.
of that i was extremely proud.
beyond proud really.
i was ... prowst ... proodst ... i was of praste of her.
but praste can only last so long in the face of the evil aftermath that was soon to befall my gallant queen.
ever since i peeled her out of the car last night, she's been wandering around the house as if casting for a zombie role in night of the living dead, which among many other thoughts got me to thinking, where's george romero when you really need him.
all joking aside, i do believe if i allowed her to get within outreached, cramp-crooked arms length of me, she'd claw a big old chunk of flesh right off without thinking twice about it.
you see this is exactly the sort of thing that occurs when a recently initiated vegan becomes completely protein deprived in such demanding short order, and all the major muscle groups decide to seize up like cured cement to boot.
the troubling truth is, i saw this coming.
not because i'm kreskin or nothin'.
but because i have active brain waves.
granted man brain waves, but active just the same.
the simple fact is the body isn't built to be jolted so, and when it is jolted so, it goes into flesh-eating, zombie shock.
especially when it is ... well ... let's just say when it is past the manufacturer's warrantee.
oh listen to me ramble on so.
what's a little trial and tribulation when there so much to be celebrat—
hey goat hold it!
what is that?
someone left the backyard gate open and keaton's wandered into benny winthrop's hen house.
i think that's his prized rooster, mr. higgins, she's got in her clutches.
oh, this isn't good at all!
have to run!