Today, January 97, 2014, has been an exciting day, so far. There were turtles in the road an I had never met them until my father woke me up shouting. It was at that point the the jumping cows broke down the safe door, only to find that letter openers weren't sold there anymore. Let's start at the beginning. There was a carpet. It was dreary and old. Parts of it were falling off and fifteen llamas sat upon it. There were green stripes. The walls were green and had stripes. Mr. Venezuela had cataracts. The llamas were sad. You ate the last bit of sandwich that I was saving for the eskimos. Nevermind the TV, it always does that when it's being loud. When you get a toothache don't forget that only milkmen are faster then cheetos. I went to school that day only to find my teacher buried beneath his papers in a menagerie of blood and pills. I fell in love and jumped out the window, landing on the third floor birdbath. You only wish you were as cool as me because you find me to be average.
It turned autumn and the spores started smelling like double jeopardy. It reminded me of this time last year. I have never been reminded that squirrels squeal when they are squashed. Nevermind the violence, dear, this is real life. Just think, I had a teenage tadpole and I never even realized how fung shui it was.