So all of these guys came up to me and said, "Hey. We're all these guys, and we're coming up to you to say things. Let it be known that invisible diagrams have proven gravel sacks to weigh five times more than straw purses." I knew at once that their words were bullshit. I neither understood nor respected them, and they immediately puked whisper emergencies into each other's ears. One of them referenced a Bieber song and let out a slow but moist rump blast.
The fat one said, "Huddle together brothers, so that we may create a vortex of calamity, and elixir if you will. A thought elixir-" He paused, obviously defecating in his own pants. A fortnight ago I would've appreciated this kind display of comfort and obvious love for Blossom (the venue, not the television series), but today I thought to myself, "This is simply disgusting. Grow the fuck up."
I climbed into my bed and swore off halogen power and noon naps for the last time. Preschool hadn't prepared me for the harsh realities of Kindergarten. My teacher was a demon, squirting out her own death yell lotions and clawing at our brains with talks of letters and numbers. Neither of those things sounded appealing or real to me. Neither one of my parents had told me about the alphabet. Things are what they are.
A toaster is a toaster, and thats all. Why spell it out when you can say it so easily?
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