Seasons greetings pussy cats!
Sometimes, around the holidays, I feel like an outcast. A black Skwunk of the family. I don’t like tossing anything, especially the “pigskin” with my fugly cousin Jarod, and my grandma thinks I am a no-good floozy. I especially hate it when I have to sit and watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade with my crazy uncle Gravy, who loudly barks and growls every time the Garfield float appears on screen. To put it plainly, I had a lot of time to think during this Skwunks-giving break and decided that I could answer a few questions sent in from readers, such as yourself.
This question is from @naughtygirl55 on Instagram. “Dear Skwunk, I’ve been thinking a lot about the fragility of life lately. What do you think happens after death?”
Well, @naughtygirl55, I hope that heaven is like being tucked into bed, but the blankets are made of ferrets who tickle you with their toes. Hell is probably just like being one of the people holding onto the Garfield float in the Thanksgiving Day parade while my crazy uncle Gravy bites your ankles for all eternity. Anyways, ttyl.
Smooshies my pooshies,
Baron Von Skwunk
