We are all Bobby Ginger.
So cats always land on their feet right?
Well, not Bobby Ginger.
Bobby Ginger always landed on his face. Always!
You’d see him around town, his face a testament to a hundred failed landings. “Practicing” he called it.
Throwing himself off whatever he could find with just a blind hope that this time it would be different.
And it never was.
I guess it would have been kind of sad. If it hadn’t been so fucking hilarious.