Well where were we?
Pif stayed away from me for a few days.
A week later, she asked me if I wanted to ride her pony.
Can I run the only red light in town or is it too slow to kill all involved?
I will try my best to describe the look on her face.
Her lips pursed as if she had eaten a rotten lemon.
Her eyes retreated into their orbits.
Her brow furrowed and twitched.
That was my favorite part.
Her olive branch had turned to ash in an instant and she was concerned with the future.
That evening Papa asked me why I didn't want to ride her pony.
Hmmm, Sandy, slow down and think.
I had recently learned that daughters are graded on a curve and great
physical harm may come to those who ignore reason, no matter how
unreasonable this may seem.
Well Papa, my go cart is much faster, and I don't have to shovel shit before school.
Stop Swearing.
I see a trend here.
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