John hasn't had a crunchwrap supreme in six months. He expressed his desire for one in a rip torn voice then called me Sarah Torn. Torn with a capital T. DUH. I'm such a tattletale. But that's what little sisters are for. I endured years of being called adopted so I'm entitled to blow up his hankering for Taco Hut on my blog. Go buy an ocelot and stop ruining my life all the time and looking over my shoulder. Boozey McBoozerton. Gin Rummy. I played clue today. I suspected Colonel Mustard in the ballroom with the lead pipe. I was wrong, I cheated, and then I lost.
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