dear readers

December 14, 2009


       Okay, fine, I’ll admit it. When I said “my” tree house, I wasn’t exactly telling you the whole truth… It’s not really my tree house… Okay, fine, it’s NOT my tree house, at all. Okay, yeah, sure it’s my 5 year old neighbour’s tree house… and no, they don’t know that I hop the fence seperating our lawns everytime they go out and sit underneath their tree house. But, hey, who cares, ya know? I mean it’s not like I’m harming them. I don’t even go into the actual tree house. I sit in, what I like to call, the “basement of the tree house”. But for those with a significantly smaller imagination, that also means right under the tree house. This is the place I can go, my neighbour’s backyard, under their 5 year old kid’s tree house, and really, I mean REALLY ponder life’s inner questions. I go there to relax, get away from reality, think my life through and even sleep. Actually this one time, a squirrel came by, when I was sleepin’ right, and… wait. I’m getting off track. Anyways, the whole “basement of the tree house” is where I’m writing this right now! See? Not so creepy once you get used to it, am I right? But here’s the thing; since my neighbours, shall we say, would find it a little weird if they found out I use their kid’s tree house as my thinking spot, let’s just keep this our little secret, okay? And if you keep the secret, maybe I’ll invite you over sometime, for you know, like a reward, or somethin’, k? Anyway, gotta scram, I hear their car pulling into the driveway! Until next time, but in the mean time: keep that huge mouth of yours shut! Wait! Is that the five-year-old kid in their house window? Wait. He didn’t leave with his parents?! Why is he pointing at me and shouting? &!@#.

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