Yeah, I know what you're probably thinking. Something about weiners. But it's not.
That was my favorite book when I was younger.
"You must let this beautiful young creature go on living," the bone yelled. "Have you no shame, sir!" The fox laughed. "Why should I be ashamed? I can't help being the way I am. I didn't make the world." The bone commenced to revile the fox. "You coward!" it sneered. "You worm, you odoriferous wretch!" These expletives were annoying. "Shut up, or I'll eat you," the fox snarled. "It would be amusing to gnaw on a bone that talks... and screams with pain." The bone kept quite the rest of the way, and so did Pearl.
When I was younger, I was firmly convinced that as soon as I fell asleep, all the dolls, stuffed animals, and my brother's transformers and G.I. Joes had wild and crazy parties.
I figured out that they waited until I fell asleep, then they had one hell of a crazy shindig. Snake eyes and Strawberry Shortcake had a thing. So did Jem and Optimus Prime. Some of the cabbage patches liked to color. On my bedroom walls.
I knew all this went on, but, you see, I had no proof.
So, naturally, I decided to sham sleep, so I could catch them.
I remember laying in my bed, my eyes open just a slit, and then I faked snoring.
I ended up faking sleep for so long, it turned into real sleep.
I never got to actually see one of their parties, but I knew they went on. Oh yes, I knew...
When I was in second grade and my brother was in kindergarten, I remember the last day of school.
Being the last day and all, we got to take our school supplies home. There was glue, and those little safety scissors, crayons, and such. I remember never using my 'school' crayons at home. I didn't want to mix them with my 'real' crayons.
Anyway, one day I'm digging through my little desk for something, and I hear a bump in my closet.
I go over to the closet, open the door, and there's my brother. He had the guiltiest look on his face that I'd ever seen.
When he saw it was me, he put his righteous angry face on. "Don't you knock!" he fumed at me, while trying to slide the door, MY CLOSET DOOR, shut.
I started to apologize, but then I saw what he was up to.
For whatever reason, my brother had a problem. An addiction.
He was addicted to paste, and his little habit nearly bankrupted our parents (okay, that's exaggeration on my part).
Since it was the summertime, he was staring two long, pasteless months in the face.
My brother was a genius, and had decided to water down the paste, thus making it last longer.
I think he ended up finding my paste later that summer and having himself one hell of a party.
Glue did not turn into a gateway drug, and he never became this guy: