Squee lovers, I got it wrong. The chinchilla featured in "Chinchillin' Like a Villian, Mk. I" was clearly not chinchillin' hard enough. Because his chinchillness clearly pales in comparison to this chinchilla's chinchillness.
The sign's a bit misleading though, because I'm absolutely not sorry about the fact that we're not open. And yes, I know it's 10 a.m., but you're just going to have to deal with that, because I was up all night (since I'm nocturnal and whatever), so opening the shop to work the register for eight grueling hours just absolutely does not sound appealing to me right now in any way.
So you're telling me that in order to be a sailor I'd have to spend weeks at a time on the open water on a boat? I thought being a sailor just meant wearing one of these really awesome paper hats! I didn't know there was any danger or water or work involved! Thanks for the offer, and the hat, but frankly I'm just not interested anymore.
Pssk, hovercats? Don't compare me to those faux-flying felines! Their maximum elevation is a paltry 100 meters! I can fly MILES HIGH without even winding myself! I think it's time that all the would-be aeronautical cats of the world just face the facts and admit that they don't even have a hope of being as aerodynamic and flyable as we bunnies are!
I mean, it's just miles of crib notes and cross-references and you only ever get paid pennies per line! If my love for Bohumil Hrabal didn't burn brighter than the sun, I wouldn't waste my time translating "Too Loud a Solitude" into Lolspeak. It's yeoman's work, truly, but I suppose someone has to do it.