The Truth of My Whereabouts

Oh most crimson of all Lizards!

GLORY!  I have arrived at last. And oh what a journey it has been, a very big and very epic journey.  It was so crazy I have blacked most of it out of my memory to preserve any future happiness from being diminished by its greatness.  YOU HAVE NO IDEA!  But for the sake of enlightenment I will attempt to piece together the foggy memories of these past few months.

It all starts with a face, or skin rather.  As you well know my skin is fairly reflective, so reflective in fact that I have been used as a light card in some student films. Because of this uber-shine property I decided to grow out hair on my face to reduce my shine to a level that could be comprehended by the human eye. I found much success.

For the Beard Loves YOU!!!!!

For years all was well until the fateful day I discovered my brain was applying for a transfer to BYU, a school filled with hairless candy-coated creatures they call "cougars" (this is confusing, because based on TV culture I thought cougars were something different all together,  my desire to see Cougar Town has diminished from slightly-curious to cut-out-my-eyes). Despite the best effort of my darkness, the brain somehow won out and I set out on what was sure to be a semi-bland adventure in human experimentation. After months of mental preparation and crying, I decided it was time to destroy the mane that God had granted.  I would shortly learn that this would be a drastic mistake.



You see it had been so long since my face had been infected with the shiny (if you remember correctly, whilst I was a humble missionary I caught a rare face-light related illness that made me absorb light for about a year) that I completely forgot about the potential repercussions.  And sure enough, just as I realized the threat I had become, a giant space craft fell out of the sky, the blinded pilot screaming as he burned in the wreckage.  

I am the best at drawing space things

Things get a little bit very blurry for a few days.  I remember a black toaster, and a hand covered in strawberry jello, also I think I remember seeing a rabbit that could only walk in reverse, but could roll in what ever direction it wanted.  I named it Chadrick.  Try as I might, I can't piece together exactly what happened during that time, but my memory starts to come back together after I had become a captive of the Merztri empire in their galactic battle with the far inferior planets run by the Phfph collective. 


Oh Lizard, I am ashamed to say that I was forced to take part in many a horrible activity in this bloody war.  In the case of the poor planet 5@, a high intensity laser was amplified and reflected off my face.  The power of the laser was so great that the whole planet lasted only 16 minutes.  This seems like a short period of time in the long run, but feels like ages when it's spent with a laser on your face.  This was one event of many my friend.  I was used like a flash grenade a few times, occasionally used to help soldiers see around corners, and after the war slowed down I spent a substantial amount of time employed as a mirror in a Merztri beauty salon.



Thinks go dark again.  I think I lived in a crate for a while, then I think there was some sort of incident involving a poorly time investment takeover of the bridge that was over me to make room for apartment complexes.  Whatever the reason, I found myself placed back on earth somewhere in the Asian ish regions. There I met Bayarmaa, a Mongol witch doctor of sorts that taught me to control  my facial shine through mediation and drug abuse.  I believe the home made narcotics are mostly to blame for the continual memory lapses.  



Some what around the month of 9 I was able to sell Bayarmaa to a visiting Sheik in exchange for safe passage back to the states.  She was very upset with me, which I can understand, but at the same time... I can’t.

I should design clothing. For realz yo.

So I ended up back in Provo land, which is about as close to earth as a man in my situation could hope for.  There is still more to this story, but it will have to wait.  Fringe is calling me.  And I am a slave to its beautiful beautyness. ness.


So till next time, Remember kids

yes.

SB

In an Endless Sea of Gumdrops: The Year 2012

Bat of Gleaming Silver,

Poem time!

Yearly, little bears are born,
And in the summer, sheep are shorn,
And when the moon is full of corn,
The sheep and bears shall toot the horn.

I call that poem: Stupid.

Let me tell you about the New Year:

In 2012, there will be four babies born that are exactly identical. They will be born to an angry Haitian woman named Gabby who will shout and yowl the whole time she's giving birth. Something about...epidural?...blah blah blah.

In 2012, there will be an airplane that flies so high, it will discover a layer of clouds upon which very light people live. They will be very friendly and open to our visit and we will slaughter them MERCILESSLY to harvest their cotton candy. But...they have none. We will immediately forget that it ever happened. BECAUSE "JERSEY SHORE: SNOOKI GETS BREAST IMPLANTS AKA TRASHBAGS" WILL BE ON!!

In 2012, there will be a new president voted in. He will rule with an iron foot because we are unworthy to be touched by his marble fist. His name will be Gregory Yum-Yum, and his reign will be one of absolute fear. He will rule for a record fourteen years because he will KILL ALL RIVALS. It will be a dark day for us as the constitution goes the way of the dodo and all steak is banned...Also, he will be president of the local yacht club, not the United States. Guess I should have clarified.

In 2012, there will be a weapon built. And it will be most sweet. And sweet is used in the vernacular (Ex. Cool! Awesome! Boss! Sick! Ill! Under The Weather!) and also it is used to mean sweet as in sugarific (this word is a mixture of sugar and terrific...and fickle). Because the weapon, of course, will turn all water into gumdrops creating, as in the title--THE VERY TITLE--of this post, an Endless Sea of Gumdrops. We will all swim in it and it will be more delicious than the sweet, sweet death that overtakes us after we slip into a diabetic coma. WHICH WE WILL.

In 2012, all the world will watch as a cute lil' puppy chases its tail for a record forty-seven minutes. We will not realize that the video is on a thirty-second loop. WE HAVE ALL BEEN TRICKED!

COMMERCIAL BREAK

Wow! The year...[2012]...sure sounds wacky! You should buy a car! Because spending is the BEST. THE BEST! THE BEST! It's the best.

BACK TO THE PROGRAM

In 2012, I will own a chain of restaurants that serve one item and one item only: Napkins...made of human skin. I will call it, NAPSKINS. People will enter, expecting food. The novelty of NAPSKINS will draw them in. They'll feel weird if they don't eat them (it's a restaurant). They will eat. They will turn into slobbering cannibals. I will turn a profit in the first quarter, but after that the business will pretty much be sunk.

In 2012, you will wear a hat that you will name Reginald. This is because you have no friends. The hat will one day leave you for a larger head. But it will leave a parting gift...a band of acne circling your head. And each time you pop a zit on that band, you will cry as you remember Reginald, and you will cry because each zit is filled with LAVA.

In 2012, everyone will try walking on their hands for a day, but it won't be for them. One man, Hampton Fitzwilliam, will continue doing it because he thinks it will attract ladies. Good call, Hampton. Because your kneecaps are much more appealing than your awful face.

In 2012, the world will not end. But your's will.

A poem:

Upset tummy?
I'm so sorry.
I hope you will,
Be well tomorry!
........................
Watch your back.


THE END

Sincerely,

CL

A List of Things I Want for Christmas

Silverest Bat,

These are some dandy items I (no need to tell you who I am in parentheses, so I'll just skip that) would love to receive as gifts this super-fine Christmas:

1 head of a sheik. Minor sheik, major sheik, I don't really care (I don't actually understand sheik hierarchy).

2 phantom rug mites that are always lurking...somewhere...nearby...

3 real, REAL, jumping jacks. It would make me chuckle to watch you try.

4 unwed ferrets so that they can understand the pains of a sorrowful bachelor and also make a sweet pair of gloves when I'm tired of them.

5 rockin' laser rifles for blasting holes in stuff, up to and including the moon. But not our moon. I mean Io. So get scopes on those.

6 elephant tusks made of PURE GOLD. This will require you to find the legendary golden elephant and then clone him three times (because we can't kill the original one! Then NO ONE will get golden tusks).

7 hot peppers grown to spell my name. I know it isn't the growing season, but I figure you can get it done. I trust you.

8 pencils for gnawing. Don't get those fake wood ones because they taste awful.

9 gun-toting orphans. But make sure they don't know how to use the guns. Their frustration will only make them more adorable.

10 LIVE RATS for stomping purposes.

11 finger bones from a freaky skeleton. And I will know if one of the bones is a toe or a rib, so don't try anything stupid.

12 badly burnt pineapples so that I can bite into one and hate you for ruining twelve good pineapples.

This concludes my wish list. Get on it.

CL

Entrails

Bat most Silver, Bat most vile,

The title of this post is Entrails.

I begin with a line of laughter (which, contrary to popular belief, cannot be prescribed by any physician as an adequate pharmaceutical for any known disease): HahahahahahahahahaAAAAAAAHahahahahahahahahahahahahaheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehohohohohohohoHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhahahaha!

What's so funny? This is the question that you are asking. The answer that I am giving is as follows: So, oh so many things.

I rode my bike today for the first time in months and my heart is dangling by a sinew from the tip of my lowest rib, dangerously close to scraping the floor and picking up some dirt, because we neglect our mopping, don't we roommates?

YES! They say. YES!

A poem:

Rancid candy on my tongue.
Let this song remain unsung.

I would have written the other seventeen stanzas but this post is getting disgusting.

I am suddenly light-headed. Are you? It's hurly-chucks time, I do declare! Will continue after the hurling.

The hurling...THE HURLING! Nothing, sadly, came of it. I am as full of half-digested beef as ever and continue to feel ill. But perhaps in five minutes time I shall feel it calling me again...

There is no time, not any, to waste!

A story!

Elsie was young again, but she knew it could not last. She ran to the bathroom to wash her hands. She loved the feel of her young skin being clean. But as she scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and lathered and scrubbed and scrubbed, her youthful skin tore away to reveal rusted pipes underneath.

"How odd!" she exclaimed, "That is the exact place where my bones once were."

For you see, Elsie was a robot, programmed with the memories of human Elsie. But the man who created her to replace his dead wife (very corpsey, that one) was displeased with this replica and so he snuck up behind her as she marveled at her leaden hands and bashed her over the head with the blunt side of an axe.

THE END


 Or is it?

YES!

Must hurl. Goodbye.

CL

My Homeless Adventure: Part 1

To Silver Bat,

Finest salutations from the great white north. The happening of these past two weeks have been most eventful, what with all the...events...ahem, cough cough. So, on with the tale! I will relate to you the story of my vagrancy, my vagabondery, my destitution, and you will probably cry. Without further ado, I shall proceed to regale you with the happy and sad times that I have experienced in recent weeks. Times of sorrow, times of unsorrow. Times of having stuff, times of anti-having stuff. Times of--

THE LIFE AND TIMES AND ONE WEEK OF A HOMELESS MAN: Part 1

I wake up one morning and slumlord Wes is there with his cronies. One of them is a sniveling little rat-faced guy called Otto. His companion is a golem going by the handle of Fancy. He says it's a family name.

I...may have forgotten to draw feet. 

But that's pretty much how he looked.

 Wes is walking around like the guy who just got the last hot dog with a long line of hungry folks behind him. He's laughing to himself as he puts his greasy fingers all over my prize cookware.

"Hey, Wes," I mutter, sitting up.

"Yeah?" he replies, sniffing up the sweet scent of my cinna-yumm air freshener.

"What exactly are you doing in my apartment?"

He laughs. "Don't you know?" he says with a thick layer of sarcasm on top, "It's moving day, chump."

I rub the sleep from my eyes, the thick, viscous sleep, and stand up. Fancy pushes me back down.

"Well, do you want me to leave or stay?" I stare at Fancy.

Wes smirks. "You choose, pal."

"Then I'll stay."

"No!" He strikes the coffee table with his greasy fist. "Choose to leave!"

"You can't give two options then take one a--"

"Fancy! Take out the trash." Wes cackles.

Fancy looks confused, but he isn't going to admit it. He heads over to the trash can and starts pulling the bag out.

Wes snags a pop can from the table and hucks it at Fancy's head. "Not the trash, idiot!" He points at me with a quivering sausage finger. "The TRASH!"

Fancy pauses, rubs his head, sighs, then, "You want me to take out the other trash too?"

Wes retreats into silent fury, unable to put his hatred into words.

Otto snorts. "Yeah, Fancy, jus--just take...take it out...TAKE IT ALL OUT." (Note: It's outbursts like this that are the reason I avoid writing too much about what Otto said)

AND SO FANCY DID, AND HE WAS SUPER-ADEQUATE AT IT.

End of Part 1

Tune in next whenever for part 2!

MOVIE TIME

So this guy, he's like, "Hey." And the girl...OH, he's talking to this girl! And she's like, "What?" And he's like, "I'm totally your brother." And she's like, "No!" BECAUSE she thought he didn't exist. WHAT!? But he totally does, and he moves into her house and EATS ALL THE FOOD and kills the cat, so she murders him STRAIGHT DEAD. It's a lighthearted family comedy!

A poem:

Understand me twice, my dear,
I'M NOT THERE! FOR I AM HERE!
I've stopped my drinking, gambling ways,
Sober for at least two days.
This is not an intervention,
But a declaration of intention!
I will never drink again!
Cards and dice, that stuff's a sin!
Teetotaler, yes, that's me!
(Now, if you don't mind, I must pee)
Now, I might be a while in here...
Hey! My liquor stash did disappear!

Oh, the sad, sorry state of an alcoholic. Super sad. Super sorry. Super a state.

Here's a joke to cheer you up!

A bunch of sad and lonely people walk into a bar...every night.

THE JOKE IS THAT IT'S NO JOKE.

I shaved my head down to a short 3/4 of one single inch this last week. People been looking at me all funny-like. I don't know what the big deal is! LOOK AT MY FACE!

It is the BEST face! And anyone who calls me a skinhead is probably wrong...Though I did go to Wal-Mart with the intention of buying a turtleneck, slacks, and some sensible shoes and ended up getting a wifebeater, Camo shorts, and a not so sensible pair of combat boots...This could be trouble.

Quiz of the day!

How many years did Columbus blah blah blah?

Answer: I don't care.

Best of luck following this one up, Bat-boy!

CL

The Adventures of Crimson Lizard and Chief Somber Possum: Labyrinth of the Bear

So,

Check this out,

A couple weeks back, my old trail buddy, Chief Somber Possum, told me about a rumor that had been making its way around camp. The story was that Old Ephraim's skull had come here to Logan and was hidden somewhere within the catacombs of the library.
     "And you believe it?" I asked.
     "Of course I do," he responded, "don't you?"
     It is hard to take the old Chief seriously when he's playing hopscotch, but I decided to look past that and ponder the possibility of finally having the skull within reach. For years I've sought it (I haven't), and passing up the opportunity to find it would be foolish (it wouldn't). After the Chief had finished his last round of hopscotch, we started figuring out how we might get to the skull.

     Silly me! I've forgotten to tell you the history of Old Ephraim. Here's the abridged version:
   
     OLD EPHRAIM: A STORY OF BETRAYAL AND OTHER NASTY STUFF

     Frank Clark was four years old (and still in diapers) when he had his first encounter with Old Ephraim. The bear attacked his family in the middle of the night, ripping the front door off of its hinges with one mighty sneeze (he meant to just open the door, but his allergies got to him). He crushed Frank's father with the door as the elder Mr. Clark raised his shotgun to fire on the beast. As Mrs. Clark sobbed over the corpse of her husband, Ephraim grabbed her up in his massive, fuzzy, extremely soft paws and ate her whole. Little Frank hid in a bag of sugar (because everyone knows Old Ephraim HATED sweets), sobbing and wetting himself as he watched his family die through a hole in the bag. On that day he began plotting his sweet (pun intended) revenge on the demonic bear.
     It was lots of years later (how should I know the exact number?) that Frank, grizzled and masculinized with years of hunting, caught up with Old Ephraim, who by now had been mostly replace by robotic parts to keep him alive. But Frank was TOTALLY prepared to fight the cyborg bear. As Old E. moved towards the a deer that Frank had leashed to a tree (PETA was PISSED), Frank, from his hiding place atop the hill, caught the bear in his sights. But he didn't think that the monster would remember Frank's scent from the house, all those many, many years ago! The smell of sugar and urine gave away Frank's position and Big Bobo (I promise that's a real nickname for him, or should be) attacked, leaping fourteen feet in a single bound. He stood before Frank with death on his bionic mind and blood on his breath. But Frank, ha ha, he was no fool! He had set a trap on the hill as a precaution. As Mr. E (it's like Mr. T, not Mystery, duh) moved to strike, Frank dive out the way and activated the EMP emitter, shutting much of the bear down momentarily. Ephraim dragged himself towards Frank who pulled out his super trusty six shooter and unleashed a hail of bullets (just six actually) upon the beast!
     Blah blah blah, the bear got working again, blah blah blah, Frank shot it with a rocket launcher, blah blah blah, Grave peril, blah blah blah, Mr. Grumpy Lumps rose up to strike, blah blah blah...
     Frank knew this was it! He braced for death. But there, beside him, was an old prospector's pickaxe (probably belonged to an old prospector, don't question me). With the last of his strength, he raised the axe and SLAMMED it through Ephraim's left eye. Which of course was one of the few real things left on the bear. The axe went through the eye to the brain, causing IMMEDIATE DEATH.
     And then a bunch of boring crap happened.

     Poem!
A little bird, so tiny small,
will never come when I do call,
So I will shoot him with my gun,
And then from this zoo I shall run.

   The old Chief and I decided that step one was to go on a vision quest (duh). Neither of us was really sure on how that might be done, so we just sat out in the sun and refused to drink water and only ate Redvines and salt. After several days of this we...who am I kidding? After several minutes of this we began seeing things, like giant butterflies with men's faces being ridden by dinosaurs. And they were fighting gypsy communists who launched toast out of giant toasters into the sky, knocking the dinosaurs off of their mounts. Then George Washington was all like, "Hey, stop that." And they did.
     Then George (we're on a first name basis) Washington (but I'll use his whole name in case you're unsure of who I was talking about) looked me in the eyes. Right in the eyes.
     And he said, "Hey, man, don't sweat the small stuff."
     Then Somber Possum says, "And it's ALL small stuff!"
     And I was like, "I haven't read that book, but I've heard good things."
     And the vision was over! The Chief and I looked at each other knowingly. For both of us realized that our vision quest had been, for lack of a more ethereal term, super useless.

     Movie idea!
So this guy and his best buddy join the local knitting crew. And everyone's like, "You're just doing it to meet ladies!" And they're like, "You are incorrect, sirs." Well, the best buddy is like a knitting prodigy and the other guy is really excited for him at first, but then the head of the local crocheting gang starts planting seeds of doubt in his mind and he's like, "did I ever even have friends?" Well, he joins up with the crochetists and the two crews start a battle all over town. It starts simple: crocheted toilet paper strewn over trees and doilies put over cars. But then came the knitting needles stuck in teddy bears and then a massive cross stitch with a smiling family, all happy to be together, and underneath it says, "We all die, some quicker than others." And everyone's like, "Who did the cross stitch? It's really good." But they never find out and soon the town is covered with yarn, just coating everything. And then there's a resolution...yeah.

     Back to work!
Chief Somber Possum and I were inside the library (I skipped all the boring crap about his dying father giving him final words of wisdom, and he was like, "blah blah blah, I love you." And old CSP was like, "Wah, wah, you never told me that before." And then his dad died). I had the excavating gear and the Chief had a whole satchel full of pickles (because digging makes you hungry, don't question it). We descended the staircase all the way to the bottom floor and chose the first room we found. Inside we found labyrinthine rows of file cabinets, filled with maps and documents. We were lost for hours until, like a beacon of hope, we spotted a statue of Abraham Lincoln.
     Chief Somber Possum looked the old Presidente in the wooden eyes (or plaster, not really sure) and said, "My people thank you for all your hard work, freeing the slaves and all that. I guess I can sleep well, knowing you're around. Yeah, I'll sleep real well, ON MY SMALL POX BLANKET!"
     We tried to steal the statue, but it was way too friggin' heavy, so we were like, "Screw it." Anywho, we continued on through the maze of government documents (we know who killed JFK! It was hubris) until we made our way into an even deeper chamber, the fabled fifth circle. Within the next door would surely be the inner sanctum where the skull would be kept.
     "I can feel the evil presence nearby, we are very close, Crimson Lizard," Somber Possum said.
     But he spoke too loudly! From behind a nearby bookshelf sprang the Librarian! We had heard tales, but only now could we see how this creature could stun men into silence and strike fear into their hearts so much so that they never spoke again. She had two arms. TWO! And two legs.WITH FEET! And she had her long hair pulled back in a bun, very flattering actually. She was wearing a floral print skirt and a sensible top. But, like, REALLY sensible!
     She opened her mouth, her horrible, perfectly normal mouth, and said, "Please keep your voices down."
     Chief Somber Possum stood in front of me and thus received the full force of her assault. He struggled to stand for a moment, then fell to his knees.
     "No!" I whispered, but it was a pretty urgent sounding whisper. I caught him as he fell.
     "Go on without me," He said, "I go the way of my ancestors."
     "Okay," I said, dropping him. I continued on.

     A haiku:
Happiness is great,
If you want to be happy,
Otherwise, it sucks.

     And I stood before the doors that led to the inner sanctum. Reverently, I pulled on the handle. Inside, the two guards were standing on opposite sides of the room.
     "Excuse me, O, mighty ones," I said, "I have heard tell that somewhere within these hallowed halls is a skull, that of--"
     "Yeah, it's over there." The smaller sentinel pointed to the corner where a glass case stood.
     I thanked them and walked slowly to the case. As I got closer, I could feel the spirit of Old Ephraim himself.
     Then I was before it, the skull.
     "It's a whole lot smaller than I thought," said a voice.
     I turned to find Chief Somber Possum, alive and well!
     "Yeah, it's like, friggin' small." I grabbed a paper that had the whole story and looked it over. But it was super boring, so I just stuffed it in my pocket.
     The Chief grunted and said, "Let's go, this sucks."
     So we did, but as we were leaving, one of those oh so impressive guards was all like, "Frank Clark."
     Somber Possum was like, "What?"
     And the mighty one is like, "That's his name."
     And I was like, "Oh, gee, thanks for the guided tour. There's no way we ALREADY KNEW THAT!"
     Yeah, so we went back to "camp" and ate some cheesecake.

     THE END

     I leave you with a poem.
Underdug and overthrown,
I'ma throw that dog a bone,
And let him in out of the rain,
and pray that he won't make a stain.
HE DID, HE DID!
He pissed, just like a little kid!

     That's why you shouldn't have kids, but dogs are okay sometimes.

     So, moral of the story is, bear skulls are a MEGA letdown. And that excavating gear was completely unnecessary and some stores are super stingy on their return policy.

LOVES!

CL

The Origin of Discontent

  Friendlies

HOW ARE YOU!!!!  That sux.  

The hardest thing about trying to co-write a blog is all the pressure to produce material.  Since that very first day not an hour has past that the Lizard hasn't pounded my head against the wall of facebook while demanding me to write quickly.  It was horrible.

In response to this I tried to fill my life with extreme experiences, but you would be surprised how difficult it is to arrange these type of things with as little effort as I am willing to put forward.   The only thing I really managed to do was go night hiking up into wilderness on a new moon.  

It was terrifying.

I spent the entire hike being completely unaware of even the most immediate surroundings.  Ended up for a rather dull story, as I was incapable of experiencing of anything but basic disorientation.  But I do imagine that lurking right behind the darkness was this....

I am afraid of the not-dark

Given the circumstances, I feel better that it was black as an inappropriate cultural reference, because if you think about it there are two options.  Either this thing exists and your totally effed, or it doesn’t and your fine.  Either way in darkness you can be comfortable! With light you only have a 50% chance. 

REGARDLESS, today I was sitting at home having a jolly good time when the sister threw some kind of manipulative fit about me coming with her to buy new shoes so she wouldn't have to "be alone."  Suddenly I knew exactly what I would write about.  My little sister Kristen the evil and horrible. 

The semi-illustrated story of the begining of all that matters

It begins thusly:

Once upon a long ago, there was in fact born a very tiny human baby.  Oh such a tiny baby he was.  So tiny that people, who generally love tiny things, gave him all the love.

To top all of this off, even after immediate infant stages, the boy stayed quite tiny.  And with the tiny, stayed the cute, and attention.                                    
Then after only two years, the worst thing ever happened.  Momsy announced that she was to have another child.  ANOTHER TINY TINY CHILD. And so the no longer tiny, but simply small boy went from happy to sad.

And then from sad to evil.

Sad accomplishes nothing.  Evil is Action!

Soon the new child was born, and just when the boy thought nothing could get worse, the most shocking discover of all was unveiled.  SHE WAS EXCEPTIONALLY TINY!!!!! Never before had an infant of such minuscule proportions been birthed.  

It was at this point that what ever bubbly sun filled feelings he had left the boy, and all was anger and malice forever.  Being only 2 he was quite incapable of any extreme forms of terror, but he would often day dream of oppressing groups of destitute peasants dressed in dirty robes held together by rope belts.  He would see the wasted coal mining potential of children underage who sat lazily at home.  He had such dreams of grandeur, but for the time he could only pace and let the evil seep out of his aura. 

This still occasionally happens to me

Finally after a few short months he decided it was time for action.  He began stalking the little girl, and memorized her extremely dull daily routing.  It consisted mostly of sleeping and other types of useless things.  To top it all off, it seemed she was always with the mother, with whom he had little grudge.  But sacrifices had to be made.  So he carefully waited for his opening and sprung into action.

IT WAS MASTERFULL!  Yet somehow both mother and child made it through in tact! The boy realized it was because the plan was made in too much haste, and decided that he would carefully bide his time until suspicion was averted and strike with twice the preparation.   

Fast forward 3 years.  The parents had been slightly fooled into thinking the small boy had forgotten his grudge against the tiny girl, and had been successfully tricked into thinking the two had become... friends.  
It was during a game of 'hide-and-seek'.  The tiny girl was curled up in some concealed position while believing the small boy to be looking for her.  But rather then wasting his precious time seeking that which he wished to never be found, he was busy making a large red streak on the carpet using the most massive red crayon man had ever seen.  And much to his elation, it only took a few short minutes for mother to notice and shout for her two youngest children.   Of course the immediate question posed was "WHO!!!!!!?" to which the small boy quickly responded

OOOOH he had her now.  She would be forced into misery against her will!  Yet something ridiculous happened!

all young girls have running mascara

RUINED!!!!! RUINED AGAIN!!!!! Yes, she was punished, but only have as much as if she was to get angry and fussy.  She got like a whole freaking 2 minutes time out.  No getting sold into slavery, no getting left in the slums to fight for herself!!!!!!  FOILED AGAIN!!!!!!!!

So all was aweful, and remained so for all the rest of his years.

True story.  I really tried tried for years to get rid of her.  I once convinced her that she was adopted and should leave to find her real parents who missed her.  About a year later I got her to believe she would be better off living on her own at 7 years old.  I haven't given up on my parents will yet either,  santa always gets a side note of something like "A new Sister" or "For Kristen to be given to the gypsies".  But here I am 21 years after her birth still dealing with all the crap.  

I have found ways of dealing with the stress thought.  For a while I tried to make fake friends so she would be jelous of me, but they all eventually left me for real friends (others may call them spouses).  But recently I have kept my self busy by trying my best to upstage the lead in a production of Joseph and the Technicolor Dream Coat.

don't question the extra joints.  It just makes me better than you

Regardless, this is a persisting problem.  And I am open to suggestions.  

Ok so I've been writing for an eternity so I'm gonna say good night.  Look forward to another post by Mr. Lizard just around the corner.  It may even be accompanied by more pretty illustrations.  

Well until next time

Go to hell.

SB