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As I got up from the table I asked my mom if I could go out to play. She said only if I apologized to my brother first. Always subservient to my mother's demands, I walked around the table to my scowling older brother. "Andrew," I said, "I didn't mean to spit food all over you. I'm sorry. Do you forgive me?" Andrew, always a sucker for false sincerity, replied, "It's okay, I always preferred pre-chewed food anyway." Giggling quietly, but maniacally, I ran outside, picked up my jump rope, and began to skip. As I skipped around the yard I pondered my maniacal scheme. Suddenly, dolls seemed much more important and I decided that I looked a lot like Barbie. If only my Ken would come along...

Poor Ben. You never felt the concussive mind blast that ripped away your psyche and gave you the mind of a six year old girl named Deborah.

THE END