A dinner table with real grass and dirt in it. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Of course, at the time you were riding a unicycle made out of dragon bones and drinking a virgin-blood martini.
That’s when Freckles II showed up to ruin everything. You’d be surprised how squeamish Satanists can get about a little cat feces.
Oh, I’ve been WAITING for the perfect landing-strip table to come to market! Happy day!
I wonder if the wood gets knots when the hair starts to grow back in?
going to do that my fucking self *takes saw to table*