Feisty

The guards are starting to complain. They've started calling me "feisty". They do not appreciate how intent I am on leaving this joint. Obviously, the first thing that has to go before I can escape are my old-man air tubes:  those cylinders will really weigh me down when I'm on the lam. I've been waiting patiently for the guards to remove them, but I'm tired of waiting.  I'm going to  remove them myself. Granted my adorable button nose isn't really shaped to accommodate them in the first place, but I've discovered that my fingers can really help remove them fast.  I've been so successful they keep adding deterrents, like sticky whiskers (which give me an excellent manly-man mustache vibe),  and side burn patches (to accentuate my excellent cheek bones). But it won't work, I'm too clever for that!  Especially now that I have mastered the use of two fingers and my opposable thumb.

I tell you, between my thumb and my fingers, this hand is really a gift that keeps on giving.

PS.  I keep gaining weight,  increasing my eating,  and losing my billirubins. So far,  so good.