Timmy Spabe
Tessie was awoken in the middle of the night by Smump crawling into bed with her. “You woke me up,” Tessie said groggily. “When are you not asleep?” Smump whispered. “Please don't fart in my bed, Smump.” “I wasn't planning on it.” “Do you have any liquid in your mouth?” “Just a soupçon of spittle.” “Why are you always so mean to people, Smump?” “Why are you so lethargic and disinterested in life, Tessie?” “I dunno,” Tessie shrugged. “I feel like I've already lead many lives. I'm just tired.” “Well I feel fresh and new and I'm ready to leave my mark on this world like a mulberry on a southern sidewalk.” “All you care about is making other people mad, Smump.” “It's their choice to be mad. I prefer being happy and having fun.” “I have fun too, Smump.” “Your idea of fun is taking a nap and then recovering with another nap.” “We are only six. We are supposed to get lots of sleep.” “Not me. When I'm old enough I'm going to stay up all night with my homo-sexual friends drinking sugary cocktails, smoking tobacco cigarettes, and using lots of cuss words when I talk.” “That sounds horrid,” Tessie gasped. “So what do you plan on doing Miss Prissy?” Tessie sighed. “I want to be a housewife and maybe do some crafts. And take lots of naps.” “That's not very ambitious, Tessie.”
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