He couched...right into the blowgun. Oh No!.

He couched...right into the blowgun. Oh No!. The dart came out and hit Principle Lunderson in the neck. He whipped around and saw Blake standing there. "I coughed, it was an

accident. So Blake ran into the hall and out the front door. Across the parking lot and into the Stuckey's across the street.

Might as well rest here, thought Blake, as the internal hemoraging took over and Blake passed out on the floor of the Stuckey's. That's when the 2-dimensional cat came in with a

origami frog. The cat took his pulse and the frog placed his cloaca on Blakes lips and "respirated" him. That was so disgusting that he woke up coughed out a lung. Smoking would

sticks of coagulated DEATH. Cancer posts. That's what my stepson called em. One puff and that's it. You're a goner. Buried. And second hand smoke? Why one wrong breath and

your lover can't stand to tongue-kiss you. He or she will even say your fluids taste nasty, because of all the tobacco & carcinogens. I say they relax me. What's my stepson know?

Ah, misery... I wallowed in it. I inflicted it. Perhaps my stepson knew that much at least. I picked up my cigarettes and my bottle and staggered back into my black hole, waiting

for my stepson to hit me over the head with an oversized Looney Tunes mallet. But he didn't. I drank some vino, smoked a tab. I picked up an anvil and, staggering, dropped it out

of the hole in my top breast pocket. It didn't matter as my family were able to stick together by using Acme super glue. Family is about love and I wanted to show my stepson love.