It's been quite some time since we checked in on the Isle of Sodor, hasn't it? November 2007, if my archives are to be believed, which...I feel like they are lying. 2007? Really? No one is going to remember an entry from 2007 and all this time I still thought of the train table entries as a "regular feature" that I could fall back on whenever I'm feeling lazy and non-word-ish. But two entries in two years is not a regular feature. Also I was going to blame the lack of train table entries on the dog, who peed on the basement carpet so we couldn't really spend a lot of time down there until we got the carpet cleaned, which we just did this week so that can't be true. Can it? Crap, I feel like I just lost a year and a half and I don't where it went. If only I'd kept some kind of written record of my life! With photos and timestamps! DAMMIT!
Anyway. Speaking of the train trable, things had taken a turn for the full-on disasterous.
Goddamn bridge(s) to nowhere!
Ye Olde Genetics Plant continues to fuck with nature.
Many residents were in favor of abandoning the Isle altogether and starting from scratch in the nearby land of Floor.
Luckily, Mama was feeling engineer-y this morning.
MONORAIL! MONORAIL! MONORAAAAAAAIL!
There was some initial skepticism. I mean, the Floor is BIG and has massive potential for Things Getting Lost Under The Furniture and Mommy Stepping On Trains And Teaching Everybody The Good Swear Words.
But then again. Tunnels! And did I mention I built you a MONORAIL?
The problem with Ridiculously Oversized and Possibly Fiendish Dairy Products continues.
But! The Isle is once again back to just one Thomas. I can only assume that the other two or three or seven replacement Thomases that we have owned at one point or another have gone on to a better place. Under the furniture, biding their time until their day of getting stepped on in darkened hallways on the way to pee, what the fuck motherfucking fuck was that OW fuck, is here once again.
The same cannot be said about the new Evil Sir Topham Hat, who can now beat you with a lead pipe in unbelievable 3D POSING ACTION.
You can tell by his face that this one's a mean drunk.
Too bad about the nachos that fell in his lap. OF COURSE that shit always lands cheese-side down.
But behold, in the horizon, a new enemy rises.
To be continued...in other year and a half, perhaps...in the meantime, I'd stay off the monorail.