“After the fourth of July, my mom gave me a new truck to play with but it wasn’t a red one like the box showed it was a black one so she got mad and took it back to Target and told the lady there that the box said it was supposed to be a red truck but it was a black truck and that if she wanted a black truck she would have bought a box with a black truck on it and the lady said something about writing saying truck colors may vary and my mom called the lady stupid and a security guard to my mom to leave because she was becoming unrulered and I didn’t know what that meant but it was OK in the end because I liked the red truck better because blue is my favorite color and red is second.”
“Are you getting enough oxygen, kid?”
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Since it’s been over a month since the last installment of this saga was posted, readers may want to refresh themselves regarding the highlights of the story to this point.
I’m With Stupid
I’m With Stupid, pt II: The Empire is Stupid
If you want to pretend Quentin Tarantino wrote this story, read these all out of order and then praise my cleverness.
No, that wasn’t a dig at Tarantino. I think he’s praiseworthy and clever. M. Night Samalaundrymat is not clever. Well, maybe once. And by “maybe” I, of course, mean “never”. OK, enough on film makers and one trick ponies.
So there I was, hurtling down the runway, strapped into a United Airbus A320, at speeds approaching Ludicrous, and Ton’s O’Fun next to me cried “Havoc!” and let slip the poot of war.
That sentence was a very wordy and comma-abusive way of saying, “She farted”.
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