On a good day he felt tall. So tall that

On a good day he felt tall. So tall that he could almost just reach the top; today was not that day. He realized what was going on; cheetos weren't doing it any more.

They seemed to do more for his width than his height. He resolved to eat less junkfood starting tomorrow and grabbed another handful with one hand while he tried one last time to

begin self-guided lasik surgery. I'll be so famous, he thought triumphantly, that my parents will finally love me for my

ability to make money off of product placement scams. My parents were talent agents in Hollywood. They never loved me for my looks or intelligence. But when I wore that Van's T

-shirt they insisted I base jump off the Sears Tower. They recieved a nice check while I recovered in the hospital. My parents then sold my forehead ad space to Red Bull.

That meant having to walk around with two wings attached to the sides of my forehead and the redbull-can tattooed on my forehead. And if that wasn't enough, they decided to cash in

all of their used lottery tickets to purchase the pony that I had always wanted. The messed up part was that they slaughtered the pony right before my very eyes using only a

large pile of "Hoarders" DVD's to suffocate it. "After we let it sit under there for a few days, we can make a pot of pony bologna," my dad said. I called a Hoarders producer for

life advice. I said "When things get bad I turn to alcohol. It helps for a while but then things just get even worse. Plus my Dad wants me to eat pony bologna." The Hoarders produc

-ers continued coaxing and promising to bring in world renown therapists. Keep the cameras rolling. "Cry baby cry! You'll be a star, trust me."