Does this shade of gnome make my garden look big?

At some point in my life, I did use the last toilet roll. I was apologetic. I was probably even sad, for a little while, at how it all ended up. Could there be something better? Something else? Could toilet rolls really advance?

"Oh don't start getting into that nonsense again!" hooted Sparigy. (She was the spoon). "I feel it would just appall me! Like Knover over there! Look at him with all his spare time and serrated edges."

Knover stopped peering at his reflection in the stainless steel sugar bowl and glanced over, wide-eyed. (He was the knife). Sparigy sort of nodded in a satisfied way. 'I've known all along', is what her nod said. 

Ferance rolled her eyes and pressed her lips together in a thin line. (She was the fork). "Toilet rolls went out in the eighties!" she told them all smartly, "When everyone had those silly perms and tight jeans."

"What tosh!" Sparigy shot back, "While it is true that they aren't exactly flourishing, the TP of today is not doing too badly, not too badly at all."

Knover lost interest and went back to scrutinizing himself. Ferance declared, "One time, I decided to stab the cook to see how it would feel."

Sparigy didn't look surprised and Ferance took this personally. "I did!" she exclaimed.

"Shh!" hissed Sparigy but Ferance was in full swing and unaware of the little coffee shop crowd coming in.

"It was too hot! Too bloody hot! It's always hot in that kitchen, and then there's the rubbing. Don't even talk to me about the effing rubbing that goes on in those silly, uncomfortable things they call cutlery trays. Pardon me, but I mean, do we look like cutlery?"

Knover cut in at this moment and said, "Absolutely! We are nothing if not cutlery!"

Sparigy said, "I fear that might be true, but I fear it might also be not."

Ferance continued in a high-pitched wail: "I now have chaff! I chaff so much that I am not only chaffing, but I am also, probably, shorter in size. I have positively shrunk, have I not?"

Sparigy ignored this blasphemy and turned to Knover. "Darling," she said in a very pleasant tone, for Knover was like a fragile, wilting flower and it broke her heart to even lay her eyes on him at times. This was not one of those times, but her voice has instinctively taken on that tone out of habit and she had long ago tired of trying to correct it. "I believe you have a date tonight?"

"A what?!" he shouted and slipped forward, clanging the tip of his oblongish head against the sugar bowl.

"I know," agreed Ferance without interest. Sparigy said, "With Tersary?" (The teaspoon).

"I never!" cried Knover, "She's much too young!"

"She's small," supplied Ferance.

Sparigy nodded, "What is she now, Ferance, about eighty?"

Ferance and Sparigy both frowned and Knover turned a marvelous shade of dull grey with embarrassment. 

"If you please!" he spoke up hastily, "I have never even looked at Tersary like that, let alone agreed to go on a date with her!"

"No..." said Sparigy in a thoughtful tone that hid her actual thoughts with rare talented deception. She was not considering the age of Knover's new girlfriend, but was really pondering how to make it over to the bowls of pumpkin soup. She had tried and tried for weeks, but Solece had only been trying for the past three days and just yesterday he'd been snapped up! Sparigy shuddered in disgust. She couldn't believe she had ever been friends with such a traitor!

"I do believe she is around twelve," Ferance put in.

"What a load of rubbish!" Knover spluttered. There was a short silence, in which they all listened to the customers chatting and laughing at various tables. Sparigy fixed her eye on the leftover prawn salad on her plate and wondered how much effort it would take to slide it off.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Knover, lovely as you are. You are quite lovely." Ferance stopped and let that sink in. Knover stared. Ferance continued, "And, being such, you can't help who you fall for. Love is like a delicate chocolate crisp! Delicate! And chocolatey! Maybe not so much in the crisp side of things, which is a shame with a name like that, but oh well. What is one such as yourself meant to do with information of such? Take it! Take it at once and take Tersary with you!"

"Take her where?" Knover blinked, annoyed and slightly sore.

"TO LOVE!" shrieked Ferance, clearly overcome and unapproachable.

Ferance stared up at the room and admired all that she could see at the top. She could see wall and ceiling, framed paintings and wooden panels, clocks and signs that she couldn't read but understood because she made up her own meaning. She could see dried paint-drips that looked like white blood spots and little cobwebs. 

There was a sudden crashing sound and a high-pitched scream that seemed to come from Knover. 

"What happened?!" she turned her gaze back to the table.

"Sparigy's fallen!" he cried in horror.

"Ah well, there you go then." Ferance and Knover moved to the edge discreetly and with much sliding along the silky tablecloth. Down on the ground lay Sparigy, grinning brightly up at them as if she'd just slipped down a water-slide while sitting in a floaty giraffe ring. "Farewell friends at table five! Pumpkin soup is coming!"

There was another silence, but it stretched out for longer this time while everyone took in the situation. 

"What utter trash talk!" Ferance muttered hotly, "they've taken pumpkin off the menu!"

(4_4)v

Are these lies all that we have?

"Oh, there are days, some days..." started Geraldine, and Sergio leaned forward on the spindly red chair in his eagerness and quite purposely forgot his urge to pee. But Geraldine drifted away. There was a piece of paper in her hands and a hole forming in the back of her cardigan.
"Hey there!" called out Sergio, so far forward now that he was having trouble keeping his eyes on her patterned shoes. "What are the some days?" he asked desperately.
Geraldine drifted away from Sergio and his obtrusive leather pants. She gazed about the room in all it's cluttered glory and scorned everything she saw. Rolled up parchment, hah! What on earth is that supposed to do? Five-foot-tall feathers? Caramel-coloured boots? Five pairs! A ski mask, well, when the hell have we ever gone skiing?
"Gerdy!" Sergio called again.
She drifted through the study and out into the living room, muttering about things under her breath and berating other things in her brain, just as harsh, and she ignored Sergio altogether. But then: Sergio, she thought suddenly, as if a strong wind had rushed up and blown everything about him into her head. Sunshine and sparkles and things that light up. 
"Oh. No..." she said quietly. She was in the hall now, at the entrance, staring at the front door. There was a panel of glass built in and it was glowing with the sun.
"No... I couldn't..."
"Come on Gerd!" shouted Sergio. "I'm almost on the floor! Come back and tell me!"
Things that light up.
She pushed her heart back down, opened the front door, and quite positively drifted away, just as Sergio fell.

~

Did you think this song was about you?

Joseph was losing.
"That doesn't count!" Tarry exclaimed with indignation.
The boy who claimed to be a zombie said, "Yes, it does."
"You haven't got two of the fingers that make up that move," Tarry held up her hand and arranged her fingers in the scissor position.
Joseph held up his stump and Tarry raised her eyes at the thumb and pinky finger. "You're doing the 'dawg'."
"Seven out of ten." Joseph said smugly, "I win."
"You're a zombie!" Tarry said in outrage as her stomach rumbled loudly. "You've got your arm!"
And he had. It was lying on the ground next to his right knee.
"We'll halve it," he compromised.
"No."
"You can't have the whole thing!"
"You have an arm!"
Tarry stood up in a huff and Joseph scrambled up after her. "Alright!" He lurched in her direction and held up his decaying, soggy, bloodied arm mere inches from her face, "We can share!"
"No! That's disgusting!"
Although- was it? She stared at the pale flesh with appraising eyes, as if she was assessing a leafy sculpted unicorn in a hedge-clipping contest.
"I'll halve it so you get the bigger end!" Joesph was saying desperately. Tarry looked up into his brown eyes. She noted that while he was temporarily sagging with the pressure of swaying her judgement, he did have the most attractive brown eyes she had ever seen.
"Do you put anything in them, to keep them so brown and shiny?" she whimsically asked, kicking herself that she hadn't used proper manners and compliments earlier on in their meeting. "They're very brown."
"Huh?" Joseph's desperation turned into bewilderment, and Tarry said quickly, "Of course you do! Sorry! Sorry, I see that you do, of course, how rude of me to think you'd be so careless just because you developed this ailment. Pardon me, please."
She almost bowed but realised the action alone would never be enough.
Joseph looked nonplussed. "Are you saying yes to half the arm and half the apple? The bigger portions?"
Poor Joseph, Tarry thought, also rather whimsically for such a situation, how hard he tries and how often he fails. She sighed and focused once again on the putrid arm shaking slightly before her as it was held up in the air. Maybe this was what her life had been preparing her for. All those lighthearted comments, all those cooking utensils and all those sharp, frosty mornings when she had sobbed into her over-sized mittens at how absurd it was that snow could be that cold. And all those bars on playground! How could one manage to swing around them all and still live to tell the tale?
So many things stretched out behind her.
"Um, girl...?"
Tarry shook out of her reverie. "Sorry? Oh, yes..."
As she considered this token of newly found acquaintanceship , she wondered how she could ever have thought otherwise. The smell of that meaty arm was suddenly so overpowering that she found herself leaning inwards. She took a long deep breath.
"I- I think..." she looked at Joesph, who was gazing at her in that glassy way people do when they've been forced to watch something for longer than they wanted to, and rasped dramatically, "I think I'd like the whole arm."
And she leaned into the stale chunk of flesh that was dripping with blood and coated in a slimy film and took a bite.
~

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

.Text Claire Back.

In the early hours of morning, Claire reached over to her night table and pulled Edgar, the stuffed rabbit she'd had since she was nine, to her chest, hugging him tight. She felt like she was maybe nine again.
I could be nine, just once more, before... I think I would like that. She stared up at the dirty white ceiling and thought back. There had been strawberry lollies and long dresses that tripped her up, laughter in the sunshine. She remembered holding hands and playing games that made you scared and excited at the same time. Running. So much running.
When she had been nine, life had been a whirlwind of colour, of silly voices and plastic toys. So many smells, too. The smell of sugar, of coloured pencils, of new shoes, clean hair and that musty, comforting smell of soft carpet.
There is always something new, every day, when you're nine.
Claire stopped thinking because she started to feel sad, so she found her phone, tucked away under her pillow, and sent a text to her friend Maribelle.
Mari!! She texted quickly, remember when we stole Mr Farland's cat and dressed her up with a tiara and necklaces and everything and you didn't want her to go back, even when she started meowing and scratching us? How funny! We were so funny weren't we? And that time we ate so much of that forbidden pudding that I threw up and you told my parents it was because i'd watched a guy eating a sandwich with a baby lizard in it? Mum was so cracked up about me reacting to the lizard that she didn't care about the missing pudding. 'I've never seen anything so funny.' she laughed and laughed.
Claire stopped texting and lowered the phone. Her eyes lazily drifted over the items in her room; the little square table that held her year ten graduation photo, the little wooden chair with a plank missing at the back so bits of you sagged out uncomfortably (no one has to worry about fixing that now, she thought vaguely), the tall narrow bookcase and the rocking horse with it's fluffy rainbow tail. She felt light all of a sudden. And she felt something else.
Something darker and stronger that made her pick up her phone again and squeeze Edgar closer.
I feel like everything is going wrong and it's not just picking subjects for next year, it's everything that was good is now bad, I can't even explain it. It's like I was coasting smoothly in a car, like going down a straight highway, and then suddenly I don't know, but the car just started going faster and bumpy and to the sides, like those dodgem cars but it's not fun, and I feel like it's gong to crash and i can't stop it and i don't know how to tell anyone or what to do, i wish i knew what to do, Mari, i don't know how to make it better. It's never going to get better. I'm not even scared, i mean i was, but now it's like the best feeling, i wish you could feel it, it's floaty and dreamy and it's just peace, i think it's peace so much peace    I just want

~

Claire,
I was going to text you back. I kept thinking about it, going over in my head, 'text Claire back, text Claire back' and I was I just forgot, I mean, people forget things, ok? For fucks sake. 

~

Claire,
I'm really sorry for not texting you back. I thought about it all weekend, but I also thought that I hadn't seen you in a while and I'd see you at school anyway, so it didn't really matter if I waited. I read the first bit and then had to get ready for tennis, and you k

~

Claire,
I am so sorry that I didn't text you back. I should have.
They held an assembly at school, not that principal Mack cared, he just felt he should do something for you, so all the parents and some of the older ex-students came and he went on and on, and it was really overdone but ok. What I don't understand is why you did it. I don't get it. Like, did you even think about me? While you were 'floating' around, because, shit, i mean, shit, i mean, what is the fucking point of being your fucking friend 

~

Claire,
I miss you. I miss you now but I missed you when you were alive, too. You just didn't know. I should have told you, but I didn't think I wouldn't be able to anymore. You didn't turn up at school, and then your mum told me, and I was walking home past that old man's house and he was out mowing his lawn, and he got grass on my skirt so I yelled at him. Then I started to cry and ran off, but he just stared at me the whole time, you know how much of a perv he is. 
The thing is, I was angry at you, I was furious that you never talked to me because I feel that way sometimes, and maybe I could have helped.
I was angry because I thought you blamed me, like I was the reason, like if I had texted you then none of this would have happened. 
Claire, you were this amazing person with the brightest eyes and biggest smile, and now you're just a pretty name, how pretty your name is. I wish I could still say it. You used to make some lame joke and then laugh the loudest at it. I know we weren't best friends or anything, but you used to light up my life, whenever I saw you, you were so peaceful and gentle and adventurous and small, Claire, you were so small, why were you that small? Claire

~

How would you define 'good?'

"Goodness, Calamine! What kind of hour do you call this?" Earnest exclaimed.
Calamine turned and glanced at Earnest in a sleepy sort of way, but boomed: "Whatever are you talking about, Earnest?! Is this not the proper hour to do all sorts of things?"
Earnest thought about this while he dunked a round crumbling biscuit into his English Breakfsat tea. The little porcelain tea cup had once belonged to his mother and it had a very pretty pattern of pink flowers around the rim and made that delicate clink when placed upon the patterned saucer.
Earnest liked this clink, so he made sure to take little sips and invent numerous excuses to pick it up and put it down.
Calamine didn't like the clinking sound.
"Oh, for tiddle's sake, can you not just gulp your tea and burn your tongue like the rest of us, Earnest!" he would say throughout the day whenever he heard the offending noise. Earnest would just smile and tap his nose.
"I believe in all things green and luscious," Earnest said smartly, setting his cup down and picking up his pipe.
Calamine shuddered. "Green!" he said somewhat viciously. He set down the pile of books he'd been holding, adjusted his monocle so it sat firmly around the eye, and then gazed around at the gigantic bookcases that lined the walls of the library.
Had Calamine taken up the violin instead of joining his junior school's Book Club, none of this would ever have happened. They would never have had to go without eggs and bread because Calamine had purchased another bookcase on a whim; his arms wouldn't wake him in the night aching with the effort of holding and carrying books to and fro for most of the day; his favourite top hat would never have been squashed flat beyond repair by a stack of his favourite novels when he bumped the ladder against their shelf. He certainly wouldn't be wearing such a gorgeous and refined monocle, to say the least!
But Calamine's heart had been captivated by his very first novel, back in his frivolous youth, and had set the path for a dusty, heavy, tiresome future.
"Would you like to hear what I found when searching for pipes the other day, Calamine?" Earnest puffed.
"Not in the sl-"
"Jolly ho! Let me tell you what!"
Calamine sighed. "Is it not time we grew tired of such phrases and silly pastimes?"
Earnest looked up at Calamine with a scandalous expression one might use upon finding out their anticipated sandwich had been eaten by an unworthy nemesis. "Certainly not in this room!"
"Well I've had it!" Calamine whirled around like a ballerina practicing a complicated twirl movement, and looked his delightful Earnest in the eye. "I've simply had it up to here, all th-"
"Up to where?" asked Earnest innocently.
"Up to HERE!" Calamine shot his hand up as far as it would go in indication of how high his tolerance had gone.
"Oh, well, yes..." Earnest shook out his pipe gruffly,  "...that is quite high. But tell me THIS, Calamine dime, CAN it go HIGHER?!"
"Oh! Surely, I don- it ca-" Calamine flustered, his face turning a rather nice shade of crimson that made Earnest wish he could paint, "it couldn't possibly go higher than my hand, Earnest!"
"What... a shame," Earnest said in a pretend but entirely plausible dismal tone. He put his pipe on the little coffee table as Calamine stood glaring through his attractive monocle. He stood up and stretched.
Calamine took a step forward, "I say it's time we moved along, quite along. As far and as wide as it will take us!"
Earnest smiled, and not in the condescending way someone might smile at an overly raging person to tip them over the edge. No. Earnest smiled in adoration at his bright and practical Calamine, his companion who made lists and rows and copies, who could put almost anything in order and sort almost anything out. He had undoubtedly catalogued this very library in under two days. Earnest was so very lucky.
"Calamine, old chap. Shall we not grab a pot of coffee together and read a fancy novel? I'd very much enjoy hearing your voice while I drink."
Calamine stared. Earnest touched his top hat and bowed his head a little in an offhand gesture.
"I- I beg your pardon?"
"Oh let's! This and that can wait, Calamine! These and things and those and theys, why, they shall wait!"
Earnest clapped Calamine gently on the shoulder, and Calamine's eyes twinkled a little.
"Oh alright. I shall chose a grand tale, shall I? One of treasure and champions?"
"Tickery salubrians," said Earnest as they made their way out of the library, "whatever you like, old man."
~

Why can't I open my Advent calendar in the correct order?

Sometimes, life is like that tin of crayons on the teachers desk. There are so many colours, so many shades, and some are sparkly or striped or two colours at once and some are everything at the same time so your brain hurts just looking at them, and they're all crammed inside a small container, rubbing against each other and losing bits and changing shape, becoming smaller and taller and faded and warped, until they disappear.
Briony thought she understood life.
"I match my socks up every night before bed," she told Cara as they sat on the comfortable wooden bench and ate their sandwiches. "And I make sure to eat five fruit and three vegetables a day-"
"It's the other way round," Cara interrupted in a nonchalant way.
"What is?" Briony asked sharply, lowering her sandwich.
Cara swallowed and took a minute studying the contents between her bread. "What you said," she replied finally, "It's five vegetables a day not fruit, and three fruit instead of vegetables."
"No it isn't. And I made mum buy me one of those electric toothbrushes, because they're better, obviously, for cleaning your teeth, and I always watch the five-thirty news. Always. Every single night."
"Sliced chicken and mustard," Cara said, gazing at her sandwich with unfocused eyes, as if she was under a spell. "Why does she think I like that?"
Cara. Briony chewed her egg, mayo and lettuce sandwich slowly, watching Cara with a slight wrinkle of her nose. What good is Cara? What does she know about food? Her mum can't even make her a good lunch!
"So, anyway, I followed that girl home the other day," she said and waited.
Cara took another bite of her sandwich absentmindedly, chewed and then turned to Briony, "Huh?"
"Yep-"
"Wait, followed her home?"
Briony grinned, almost throwing out her chest in pride, "I did."
Cara's eyes grew wide as she stared at Briony, biting into her sandwich and seeming to forget that she didn't like it.
"And she invited me inside."
"Why?"
"I told her I had to pee."
"Oh. Did you?"
"No."
Cara chewed some more. Briony felt as if she were losing her captivated audience. She said: "Her house smells like powdered soup in every room and all her carpet is that white fluffy kind that always looks clean and she had this massive- what's so funny?"
"You said 'powdered soup'," Cara said, grinning.
Briony let out air from her nose like an angry tortoise, "Soup? I meant soap. Anyway, and th-"
"Oh, soap."
"And there was a painting of a cat in a top hat, a real top hat, that was just hanging like twice the size of me in the hallway, I mean, how did they get it in?"
Cara said: "I bet they had to widen their front door," and wiped her fingers on the white and blue school skirt.
Briony snorted like a tortoise with a cold and said: "I bet they did."
Cara snorted too, but didn't sound like a sick tortoise because she had a dainty nose, and crossed her legs the other way. She only snorted when Briony did to see if she would notice and stop doing it. She never did. "What happened after the toilet?"
"Who?" Briony said loudly.
"Did you say goodbye?"
"To the girl? Of course! I used her toilet Cara!"
"What sort of toilet rolls did she have?"
"Dolphin patterned," Briony reported with an air of importance. She was sure moving her head in an arrogant manner, Cara observed.
"Well."
"I know."
"Hey, lunch muffins, what's crackin?"
Briony looked up to see Jarrad grinning down at them.
"I had a muffin once," Cara clarified, "and it was more like a deformed cupcake, really, so you can stop calling us that."
"It didn't have frosting so it's a muffin," Jarrad kicked up his skateboard with ease and grabbed the end, "Whatcha talking about?"
"Actu-" Cara started, looking a little disgruntled.
"That new girl's house," Briony cut over Clara excitedly, eager to share her daring news. "It was marvelously dangerous of me."
Jarrad raised his eyebrows, "What was dangerous?"
"She went inside."
Briony nodded enthusiastically.
"You broke in?" Jarrad asked in disbelief, "That's wac-"
"No," she rolled her eyes, "I used the toilet."
Clara said knowingly: "Dolphin toilet paper," and Jarrad's disbelief turned into admiration.
"Wack!" he said.
Briony smiled. "Blue dolphin toilet paper."
"Yeah?" said Jarrad, looking rapt.
"Wow!" breathed Cara.
"Isn't it?" said Briony, and they all lapsed into a sort of stunned silence, smiling vaguely and staring off at nothing.
"Say," Jarrad said after a while, glancing at Briony, "You wouldn't wanna come down to the servo with me," he hesitated and then added, "With me?" as if he had a memory problem.
Briony tried to look gracious and uninterested. "Oh, yeah ok, why not?" But her heart was thumping wildly. Jarrad! Asking her to the servo! She stood up carefully and waved goodbye to Clara much like the Queen waves to the public.
Cara watched them go; Jarrad tall with dark hair and Briony short with fair hair. She didn't understand life. She didn't watch the news or eat five vegetables and when she wasn't in school she wore odd socks, mainly because she couldn't be bothered doing the washing. But at that moment she thought she understood about boys and what it took to get their attention.
Patterned toilet paper.
~

How did I wind up here?

MY EYEBROWS ARE GOING ON AN ADVENTURE

Moreover, my strawberry plant is sort of dying and this saddens me because I'm only up to chapter three on Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, and I'd really like Sierra to know the ending of one of the greatest books in print. Sierra is my strawberry plant, because I have thing with alliteration. Or do I? Certainly not in my everyday speech as that would be alarming and annoying and bothersome- not to mention time-consuming and a little bit wet- but maybe in the back of my mind there's this quiet voice prodding me, whispering: 'use the words, work the magic that is poetry and spelling and aligning words into sentences with structural purpose and sounds of soothing bliss.We won't judge.'

And I must say, I really feel that they will judge. I have this feeling, deep down in the pit of all things, a feeling of mild persecution. A perpetual uncomfortable intrusion.

GET OUT OF MY HEAD

^_^v

~

THINGS I HAVE DONE:

! Learnt how to tie a tie.

! Had a car accident because I was ferrying strawberry pie around the streets.

! Read three chapters of Harry Potter to my strawberry plant.

! Coincidentally, all the strawberries in this tale are from different sources, JUST IN CASE ANYONE WAS WONDERING ABOUT THEIR WHEREABOUTS, WHICH I'M SURE EVERYONE IS.

! Bought a zombie Christmas t-shirt and an Adventure Time advent calendar.

! Considered being hardcore as fuck and opening my calendar backwards, but my OCD won't let me.

! Broke two gnomes.

! Glued two gnomes together.

(These could be related)

! Went to the circus.

! Rode on a camel and realized that I much preferred the Ferris Wheel and I HATE the Ferris Wheel.

! Burnt my tongue twice.

! Stepped on a pin.

! Accepted the fact that no matter what I do, my computer screen will always change from blue, to yellow, to red, to normal, whenever it damn well pleases.

! Spent six hours and forty-nine minutes trying to pry off a device attached to Jill's chest in Resident Evil 5.

! Ate seven hundred thousand little marshmallows covered in chocolate and was transported to heaven for that time.


Yes, it has been a blast.

Also, if I happened to be stuck in some isolated place for a long period of time with nothing but another human being and a dog, which out of the two would I eat?

Also, a train.

But earnestly, in all the earnest that I can muster up at such a late hour...


HERE ARE MY TEN REASONS FOR EATING THE DOG. Amem.

1. In my professional opinion that has nothing to do with actual experience, I reckon the dog would taste better.

2. The dog may have more meat to offer, depending on the build of the two, thus would last longer.

3. I can have conversations with the human while we eat the dog, and I cannot have conversations with the dog while we eat the human unless we both know sign language, and even then, I'm not sure if the dog's paws would be up for the challenge of making all the signs, resulting in miscommunication and possibly a fight.

4. The lovely fur of the dog will keep me and my companion warm on those long cold nights.

5. I've heard rumours that eating another human being can make you sick.

6. I can also have conversations with the human about how to get out of our current isolating situation.

7. It would feel wrong to kill another human being, unless they were someone like Hitler.

8. I'm 85.2 per cent certain that I would be unable to actually eat a human. (I left room because the zombie apocalypse is coming and you just never know).

9. I really feel like Garlic Prawns.

10. Number 9 is legit because it's a well known scientifically proven fact that prawns and garlic together with yummy fluffy rice and the creamy goodness of sauce stimulate specific cells in the body that activate brain neurons therefore enabling certain human/dog debate information to be processed at a faster rate, and this is how lists of genius are born.



For Real.