The statement was printed on pretty paper with a scalloped edge. Blue paisley with burgundy swirls. Pretty it up how you want, it was still good-bye. A disconnect notice. The end.
Penelope
Soi have a statement, a statement. It states that there is a state filled with breath months. Or possibly the state of night where you Need a breath mint. Why? Because you smell like ass. That’s my statement. Yep. Fresh minty mints. Ewwwww what about a steak mint. That sounds disgusting, almost as bad as the bacon mint. I love bacon and I love mints but not together.
“Trying to make a statement?” he asked as his 15-year-old daughter entered the room clad in all black, a Misfits t-shirt, heavy makeup that paled her complexion, studded dog collar, and long mousy-brown hair hanging in such a way as to cover half her face.
“Whatever, Dad. You don’t get it,” she snarked full of contempt for the man who obviously never knew what it was like to challenge conventionality.
He did get it, though. And as he remembered 30 years ago he was having the same conversation with his father who often remarked he needed to cut that shaggy hair, he smiled to himself, taking solace in the fact that someday in the future she too will be seen as an agent of the establishment in her own child’s eyes.
It was a statement of fact, but she was the only one who knew it. The others stared at her for a moment, wondering why she would even bother to voice her opinion, then moved on with their discussion. She shouldn’t have said anything. What a waste of time that was.
The statement was printed on pretty paper with a scalloped edge. Blue paisley with burgundy swirls. Pretty it up how you want, it was still good-bye. A disconnect notice. The end.
Soi have a statement, a statement. It states that there is a state filled with breath months. Or possibly the state of night where you Need a breath mint. Why? Because you smell like ass. That’s my statement. Yep. Fresh minty mints. Ewwwww what about a steak mint. That sounds disgusting, almost as bad as the bacon mint. I love bacon and I love mints but not together.
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the only statement I know
“Trying to make a statement?” he asked as his 15-year-old daughter entered the room clad in all black, a Misfits t-shirt, heavy makeup that paled her complexion, studded dog collar, and long mousy-brown hair hanging in such a way as to cover half her face.
“Whatever, Dad. You don’t get it,” she snarked full of contempt for the man who obviously never knew what it was like to challenge conventionality.
He did get it, though. And as he remembered 30 years ago he was having the same conversation with his father who often remarked he needed to cut that shaggy hair, he smiled to himself, taking solace in the fact that someday in the future she too will be seen as an agent of the establishment in her own child’s eyes.
It was a statement of fact, but she was the only one who knew it. The others stared at her for a moment, wondering why she would even bother to voice her opinion, then moved on with their discussion. She shouldn’t have said anything. What a waste of time that was.