This year marks the first installment of my annual Suit-the-Snoot campaign. What is that you ask?
When my portly niece Eva was born, I made her a promise: I grabbed her pumpkin cheeks and pushed my grizzly face into hers and nuzzled, "Darlin, by the power of Greyskull, I will put you in a new animal suit every year until your 18th birthday." She cried for a few minutes, both out of joy and as a response to my sandpaper facial hair. One year later, having been driven to the brink of sanity by overly-constrictive Pampers and copious amounts of Goldfish crackers, she had clearly forgotten my pledge, and so was caught completely underwears by my timely gift.