My Hunger Strike:
I will not eat, partake of, or drink any food or liquids that are good or nutritious to my body until my stubborn friend Whitney will change her mind about little tiny things. Which is pertaining to the fact she needs to stop the following:
- Putting her finger in my ear, when it is wet.
- Calling herself fat, when in fact she is PHAT. - Pretty Hot And Tempting.
- Frowning when she has the best smile in the world.
- Crying, instead of eating a banana.
She must accept these things, or I die of starvation. It is a call to her; to please fix these problems or she will be sad. My hunger strike begins.
My Dad’s Attire:
I have decided that my great looking clothing is nothing compared to Dan Pope, my dad. He has a few hundred ties NOT EVEN KIDDING. All of which costed at least fifty dollars or more. I have ruined, broken, stripped, sliced, and lost three of those ties. All of which come to a total price of one hundred and eighty dollars. This is nothing compared to the suits, tuxes, suspenders, and tuxedo shirts that I have worn and ruined. We will not even have to combine the total money on that. He has a dry cleaners that he uses to starch and iron his shirts with. I have a very good liking to his nice clothing. But the nicest thing about this, is he understands I’m a highschool teenager, and he loves me. By the way, it is impossible to piss my dad off. But what pisses me off the most, is that word piss is not a word.
Scratch and Eat Time:
My neighbors cat, Ally, is the stupidest more idiotic moron ever to live as a cat. She has brain issues, probably because she was dropped on her head as a kitten. My dad nicknamed the time of day when we come home, walk in the garage, or catch the eye of Ally, Scratch and Eat Time. Why? Well it is simple matter. First off, whenever these three occasions are met, she comes running into the garage. Then she wants some attention, “Rub me, scratch me, and right behind the ears.” But this doesn’t satisfy her enough. She needs to eat exactly after thirty seconds of scratching. So she’ll away to go eat cat food. This is because of her brain waves telling her that whenever I feel good from a scratch, go eat. In result, she is fat. Also a moron, for that matter. Thus I have written a story, Scratch and Eat Time. P.S. This has nothing to do with Scratchy and Itchy from The Simpsons on Fox Network.