FYP Finds a Frog to be a "Smug Son of a Bitch"

In response to I'm Onto You, You Smug Son of a Bitch

Fuck you, Fuck You, Penguin! Fuck you mainly because I am confounded. I have no idea what you're babbling about. I mean, I've really got nothing to say. Seriously. Nothing.

Call me when you have a real concrete issue to take up, dipshit.

FYP Asks a Bear "Why Are You Doing This to Me?"

In response to Why Are You Doing This to Me?

Fuck you, Fuck You Penguin, if you want to know something about me, why not just go to the source? No need to call in federal agencies and whatnot. Geez. That photo was taken in the summer of '07 in the back yard of the O'Doyle family's home in Lake Hopatcong, New Jersey. That sure was a good summer. Ah, memories.

Also, you should know that I am a black bear, and though I do eat flesh, it is at a rather moderate rate. My diet is about 85% vegetarian so the idea that I have an "insatiable thirst for blood" is just, well, it is just embarrassingly off the mark. There, now you've learned something.

FYP Tells a Basset Hound to Get a Sense of Humor

In response to Get a Sense of Humor, Grandpa

Fuck You, Fuck You, Penguin! I warned you, asshole, before I even agreed to go to that party. I said to you, in no uncertain terms, that I would not tolerate being made to wear another one of your stupid fuckin' novelty hats.

How many times do I have to say it: I DON'T FIND THIS FUNNY!

I have suffered your ridicule for too long. Lose my number, dick.

FYP Thinks Proportion is a Bitch

In response to Proportion is a Bitch

Fuck You, Fuck You, Penguin, for you are correct. Proportion is a bitch.

Above you will see a baby picture of me. That's right, I was orphaned and raised by humans. HAND RAISED. My formative years were spent in arms that were wildly larger than mine. Arms that loved, hugged, and fed me. Arms of the greatest apes of them all, people.

As I got older, I wanted to just fit in, to be like those who brought me up to do good. So yeah, plastic surgery. And now my arms and hands are wildly over-sized, totally out of proportion to my body, if you will. But at least I don't look like this. And I ask you, do your normal, well-fitted appendages allow you to do shit like this and this?

Didn't think so.

So yes, proportion is a bitch, but for who?

P.S. Thanks for the back-handed compliment on my hair, it was also inspired by a human.

FYP Believes Moles Have Comically Low Expectations of Themselves

In response to FYP says that Moles Have Comically Low Expectations of Themselves

Fuck you, Fuck You Penguin! Not that I need to explain anything to you at all, sister, especially not after you sent me those horrific mole torture-porn photos (you really are sick, you know), but seeing how you just can't leave me alone, I feel I need to defend myself.

That look on my face in the photo you posted--how the fuck did you get that anyway, it was a personal item not meant for the public to see--is not excitement for sticking my head above ground, you moron. Rather, it is a little something I like to call ecstasy.

You see, Fuck You Penguin, it's what you can't see that puts my expression in context. Under the ground, in the tunnel below me, is my lover Rodrigo. He is sucking me off and grabbing my furry little ass with those claws of his. Mmmm-mmmmm good. Damn, Rodrigo is the best! You should try some homolesexual loving. It might loosen you up. Call me, I can hook you up.

Peace.

FYP Doesn't Approve of Sea Turtles

In response to FYP Doesn't Approve of You Either

Fuck you, Penguin, my dear sweet baby, I am sorry you feel that I do not approve of you. Quite the opposite is true. It breaks my heart, in fact, that you think otherwise. Let me explain.

I am 72 years old--soon to be 73 on July 15 (I'm a Cancer--the crab, funny, isn't it? At least it's a water sign. Ha!)--and my unmovable facial expression is simply a result of my age. I am old, so miserably old. I look old. I feel old. Thus, my face is not the same, flexible and lovely thing it once was. I have seen you watching me at the aquarium, Fuck You, Penguin. I know you love me. I love you, too, dear.

I would blame my hardened, expressionless face on hardship, but adult sea turtles have few natural enemies in the wild--just sharks and humans. Besides, I lived in the wild only a short time.

And humans, I have forgiven humans. Humans rescued me as an adolescent from a hard life on the "streets" as it was, and I am forever thankful for that. I lived fast. I ran with a really bad crowd. I snatched bait that was obviously attached to fishing hooks. I had run-ins with tiger sharks. I played games of chicken with the outboard motors on boats. I was angry, so angry.

Then, one day, when I was just 15 years old it all came crashing down on me. I got hurt--real bad. All I remember was waking up washed up on a sandy shore with an injured front flipper and a cracked shell. And I was rescued--by one of your kind. I've had a thing for humans ever since.

I've been living in this public aquarium for almost 60 years now. It is safe, but it is boring. So I don't look like a wild child. I don't whoop it up and smile crazily. I am old and unchallenged. I am living in front of an audience in this mega-gallon tank with gentle and beautiful angelfish and some even more curmudgeonly than I moray eels. But Fuck You, Penguin, when you came that day, and looked at me for an hour as I swam, I felt your love. And I return it. Whole-heartedly, my sweet. My face cannot show that to you. My face is old, and it is tired. Beloved, I am simply waiting to die. But before I do, I need you to know that you--you adorable thing--are the latest, greatest love of my life.

My heart is yours. Always.

FYP Wants to Know What's Going On with Silky Chickens

In response to What Is Even Going On Here?

Fuck you, Fuck You, Penguin! I would really love to go on and on about my super awesome feather-do, and why it has to be the way it is. I was even going to tear a new one in humans with similar 'dos, like Don King, Phil Spector, and Dolly Parton, but asshole, you totally hit below the belt. I'm pretty fuckin' out of sorts about your ignorant post. Why, you ask? WHY?

Well, dickweed, mentioning Colonel Sanders to a chicken is like shouting Adolf Hitler in the face of a Jew. I pray for your soul, Fuck You, Penguin. Shame on you.

FYP Says Caracals Just Have To Be Different

In Response to Caracals Just Have To Be Different

Fuck you, Fuck You, Penguin! I mean, dude! C'mon, why you hatin'? What's wrong with being different? I don't dig fascism, and your close-mindedness is suffocating my good mood.

Why will you only accept two kinds of ears for the feline kind? And why are you OK with one that is a scientific aberration? You heard me, the "folded ears" that you cite, are in fact a mutation. I quote the official breed page of the Scottish Fold cat from the Cat Fanciers' Association Web site:

"Scottish Folds come in two types: folded ear and straight (normal) ear. The folded ear is produced by an incomplete dominant gene and is the result of a spontaneous mutation."

That's right, them pussies is mutants! And you have the nerve to pick on me, Fuck You, Penguin? Well, fuck you!

Damn! I need my ears to hear shit. You try listening for small prey on a hunt in the wild with elephants trumpeting and stampeding, and hyenas cackling their asses off like fools. It is damn near impossible to hear the scurry of a rodent or rabbit with regular ol' cat ears--I know, 'cause my cousin Coco, a Manx cat who lives with the Snyders, a nice human family, in Terre Haute, came to see me last year and he couldn't hear a fuckin' thing.

Next thing you're gonna claim, you fascist, is that cats can only have two kinds of tails: regular and bobbed. And boy howdy, will you be sorry then, bub, 'cause Coco ain't got none. That's right, Manx cats ain't got no tails. And Coco is one mean mother fucker--when you ain't got no tail, you get mean.

Tread softly, Fuck You, Penguin! Tread softly.