Hissy Is In The Hizzy!

I saw the little girl I gave Hissy to Friday and you'll all be happy to know he's doing just fine. As she was leaving the restaurant I'd met her parents at for dinner, she turned to me, made little antennas on her head with her fingers and shouted "Hissy's in the hizzy!" I'm sure her Dad is to credit for that imparting. Across the street and down the road from simple 'cuteness', at any rate.

I saw them again Saturday morning, when they dropped by my apartment to give me a copy of the New York Post. As the munchkin was chasing Boss around, I noticed the front page:

"This really reinforces my theory that society is imploding," cracked Pete Donelan of Princeton, whose meal at a tony wine bar was interrupted by the sight of our live cockroach - Kafka - scurrying up its wearer's arm. Kafka is a fucking pussy, man. Hissy should have been the covergirl, and you bloody well know it. Hissy's jewels are tri-colored and this embarrassment of a Brooch has only two, for a start. Plus, Hissy owns his own home, has a human girlfriend and made out with Andy Dick at a party last weekend.

Thanks also to Allie from upstairs who sent me the photo and link. Can I please be snapped back into reality now? I've spent more time talking about friggin' roaches in the last two weeks than an entomologist. Let's wrap this saga up - because at this rate, they're going to start infesting the North End, looking for me. I am the Roach King. I can do anything.