“Frank is living in my foot.”
Chicken pie.
“That’s great, kid, don’t get cocky!”
“I’m nice men.”
“I AM NOT A COMMITTEE!”
“Never tell me the odds.”
“Dust.”
“Like candy?”
“Mothor…bewwied tweasuwe.”
“Oh, it’s just chalk.”
“Any merry little thought?”
“Goodbye, Nana…”
Oh, I don’t know, Sock Munkey. I get a vague feeling of anxiety or dread from the idea of a head on top of my eggs. Unless you mean a head like on a beer, but even so. I can’t image this would be the ideal egg recipe if I look down at my plate and find my breakfast looking back up at me. Especially if it has big, soft, dewy deer eyes. I think that would kill my appetite for sure.
Oh, and what if I bit into my breakfast – and it bit me back.
Thank you, I think I’m going to go have a surrealistic nightmare now.
Well, dammit. You actually expect me to know the difference between 2002 and 2003? Hell, pretty soon I’ll bet you’ll even want me to start using 2004! Feh, the nerve, the gall, the AUDACITY of some people.