Bone Jovi is dead.
"What did he die of?" you may ask.
The short answer is that he died because I loved him too much.
See, we had a party here a few weeks ago, and during such an event I’m always concerned that someone's going to knock his bowl over or pour booze in there or tap on the glass really really hard and make him deaf or whatever.
So, to protect him, I put him and his bowl in the bottom cupboard by the kitchen sink. It's dark, but at least no one could bother him.
No one at all.
Not even me.
Not even to feed him.
Out of sight, out of mind.
For two weeks.
Am I a bad person?
Yes. I most certainly am.
But I'm a bad person with valid excuses.
I've been so terribly distracted lately.
What with the microwave and fridge breaking down, and work, and Project Secret Radio, and those parties, and you people always clamoring for more more more.
The bottom line is he's gone and we all have to deal.
Do I miss him?
Not really. But still.
I want you all to know you played a role in his death.