* DISCLAIMER * Some of the following images are of an adult nature and depict acts not committed by the moral among us. They are displayed here to impress upon the public the utmost importance of moral certitude, if only as a defense against certain dire consequences.

As I mentioned in my previous entry, I received a wondrous, yellow butter bell from one truly thoughtful individual, Wendy. I was thrilled that I possessed one for my very own, so when Starcat and K showed up from Cosmopolis a couple of hours later, I was still brimming with happiness and told them of my butterbellitude.

They looked happy momentarily, and then a little let down. Whyfor not the joy? I asked. The brought forth a box which was filled with another butter bell, and I knew of their sadness. They thought that they would be the bringers of the fullness of the butter bell, and K stamped her foot and expressed her ire at Starcat for not having given me word of the impending gift-giving. And lo, Starcat, gave forth many excuses.

Fear not, I said, all good things can only come to more good things. I knew not then what I know now.

Come Monday, the second butter bell arrived. I loved and carressed it, I let it know its high stature within the kitchen implement heirarchy, and then I introduced it to the Cosmopolian butter bell. I worried that they would not love each other as I would have them love, but I soon found that there was no need for concern.

They were like two souls, afire with the same light, the same desire. Their lives were twinned in design and purpose, and their smiles grew wide as they felt kinship for the first time.

Their sense of togetherness only grew when they found a shared love of television commercials, and they hummed advertisement jingles, reflecting on their fond memories of Mon Chi Chi ads over breakfast cereals when they were but wads of moist clay.

Starcat, K, the Fiery One, and I soon felt that our presence was an intrusion on the tender, green blossoming of new love, and so we retired to a local pub, leaving the two young bells to bond over "Veronica Mars".

Expecting perhaps some dim lighting and warm cuddling upon our return from the pub, we were stunned with what horror met our eyes. These two sweet butter bells, butter bells that we had mistakenly believed to be innocent and budding, were in the midst of such base debauchery!

The house lights were left full on, condom wrappers were strewn about the furniture, and there they lay, posing for the camera, waiting for the time delayed shutter. They did not even pretend to a hint of embarrassment. One of them even continued to grin lasciviously, as though it were proud of this carnal display.

We fled the room, unable to make sense of the scene we had just witnessed. Could this be? Could we have been so misled by their seeming purity? How could we correct the evil that they had allowed themselves to fall into so unreservedly?

After we calmed our racing hearts and minds, we settled on a plan to be firm without burdening them with our condemnation. We would speak to them plainly about right conduct and moral virtue. For the good of their futures as vessels for animal by-products, it was our duty to impress upon them the urgency of correcting their actions and looking to a narrower path.

We re-entered the living room, certain that they would have disentangled, if only for the sake of appearance, but no! Not only had they continued their deviant behaviour, but they were pursuing their passionate affair with gusto. Not satisfied with befouling one item of our furniture, they had chosen to annoint yet another sofa with their concupiscence (and papaya lubricant).

We knew that we were too late to save them from their own acts. The sins had already been committed. We were able to console ourselves with the knowledge that they had, at least, practiced their transgressions as safely as they knew how, judging by the number of condoms that stuck most distastefully to the hardwood and the furniture cushions.

Condoms are not the most solid of defenses against disease and procreation, as we all know. Some among us may even be the fruit of the sometime faulty latex. It was not long before we found that our butter bells' effort at "safe love" was for naught. Butter bells have remarkably short gestation periods, and before the weekend was out, our two bells were four.

Fraternal twins were born to the bells before two days had passed, and although we are always pleased with new life, it is a great burden upon our household.

Love is blessed, and new life sacred, but had these two young bells paced their passion appropriately, we would not be in a position in which our butter will have to be shared so thinly among them.

Let this be a lesson to you: less can be more, but more can also be less when it concerns the costly butter spread across too many vessels.

In Which I Talk About Horses And Become Quite Rude, No, Really Very Rude, Near The End, So Watch Out