These little buggers are master of ambush, often crawling into back pockets and EXPLODING all over nice new pants. Even worse, waiting for a viction to put him in mouth to chew on and THEN EXPLODING. Hoping victim will die of either the Inky's deadly poison or die of absolute and total embarrasment.
I believe that I was sooooo bored with his blah-blah conversation about the "Falseness of Fact, the LIE of Truth and the Unproof of Reality Outside of a Subjective Mind" that I started to day dream about – I kid you not – what it would be like to be really small: Like LITTLES small. And then, what would it be like to live on his face. You know. Plant a small garden in his eyebrows (onions, carrots, and MORE). Make a walking path through the forest of his thick mustache so I could go for small walks with my tiny-weeny dog named Bltttttpht. Maybe turn his nose into some kind of cozy cave to raise my small family in. This is the SHIT I thought up when I was going to happy half-out-of-it-snooze-land in school.
...and then my ink pen explodes all over my hand during this trip up his nose, snapping me back to the boredom of reality (damn you Inky, damn you to hell).
