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Oy! You lot! You leave little Bruce alone! Sure he may occasionally tear off a couple of my fingers to play poke-at-his-sister-without-getting-girl-germs, and yes, those chin-horns tend to collect little droolsicles of whatever-the-hell-it-was-and-I-don't-want-to-know he last ate, and, yes, the entire litter has been watching Hell's Kitchen and then looking out the window towards the local kindergarten while chewing on pages of Escoffier, but he's one of my boys, and I think he's beautiful. Anyone says otherwise, and I dismantle the Invisible Fence, disable the brain-stem implants, and pass over control to the PNS.
Awww, c'mere, Brucey, you cuddwy-wuddwy, widdle fang-boy. Daddy wuvs you, yes he does. Yes, he does.OW! (mumble-grumble gods-damned stinkin, dirty, mod-ape...) Hey, come back here with my toe!
Cheers,
Marc
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