It was in my childhood home and I had a room

It was in my childhood home and I had a room to myself. Now for a week, apparently, I would wake up in the middle of the night screaming and crying.

I recall what I said to my cheating ex: "I'll be Applejack with you. I need a Fluttershy, not a Pinkie Pie. You expect a Rainbow Dash, but I'm all Rarity'd out." He just toked a

corncob pipe and watched the grunion run. Rubbing his sore bunion, he wondered if the grease from a Funyun would help ease the throbbing. Suddenly a grunion grabbed an onion funyon

"Whoa, hold up, hold up! What the hell kind of story is this? Onions? Bunions? Funyuns? I told the class to use rhymes, but this is just silly!" Mr. Hasadiga rolled his eyes.

"I want a sensible rhyme!" he said to his class. "In the country I was raised in, we had a type of poem we call 'haiku'. You could even try that." They giggled and said "Funyuns!

Dunkaroos!/ A panoply of fondues!/ I'm diabetic." Haikus were easy, but were they sensible enough to meet his sensibility standards? The teacher analyzed my work. "Why do the fond

ue pots not have white chocolate?" You know white chocolate is my favorite! & who put carrots in with the pretzel sticks?! This fondue party was definitely turning into a Fondont!

The relational undercurrents were there, alright...simmering like the little pots of cheese at the fondue party. I wanted to stab my fork in her butt. I hated her because she

kept holding these fondue parties and there's only so much cheese I can take. AND it's chocolate fondue for pudding - the digestive equivalent of the First Battle of the Somme

mostly due to the overall bloodiness of the situation. I rushed to the toilet and was able to complete all the levels in Angry Birds before the food made it out of my system.