Wesley Woods

To my remaining cold symptoms [chills, little fever, sleepiness]:

In the next 24 hours, I will beat you to a bloody pulp. You've hung around for a week and now I'm kicking you to the curb. You heard me. The CURB. The curb where my industrial-size garbage cans shall overflow with shiny paper, paper that once concealed dozens of miniature bottles of hand-sanitizer. The heavy-duty 99.9% take-no-prisoners anti-bacterial kind. The kind kindergarten teachers occasionally bathe in. And I'm getting a dunk tank full of it, fools.

Merry Christmas, you rotten, filthy germs. I hope you...rot...in your own...filth. On the...curb. Yeah. Huh! Take that! Throwin' you a curb-ball. No gutter. No sidewalk. Psh. Ha.

Although we have nice neighbors. No! I take it back. Mean, nasty neighbors. Or... nice neighbors with WAY more anti-bacterial products than me. Yeah. Killers. Menaces, really. Run, germies, or we'll murder you and your whole kingdom-phylum-class-order-family-genus-species!

Side note: Dear 8th Grade Biology Teacher: Niiiice, right? From: Not Emily

But enough threats.

Kids, wishing you all a truly peaceful weekend, and the brightest of Christmases. The moon is quite pretty. Prettier than strands of blinking lights, even. Go outside and take a breath. May joy be present in your heart.

love and more love,
emma