In my garden, little red men frolick amongst the ragweed and overgrown daisies. You'd think they'd be charming, but they're actually self righteous doomsday fanatics.
My impatience in the grocery store lead me to ponder the ramifications of beating people with a brick of cheese. Would cheese leave a mark? I have yet to find out.
From the moment I wake up my feline torturers immediately engage me in a cat/foot tango. It generally ends when I either trip on one of them or accidentally kick one in my rush to the shower. In spite of my constant warnings and swearing they refuse to give up the dance.