So, I wait outside whilst she is clothes-shopping. It’s a hot day. Thank gibbering-fuck for SMS! Short Messaging System. AKA text/txt messages in New Zealand. Just the thing for micro-abuses and dashing off quick ransom-notes. I threaten to throw a tantrum if I don’t get a milkshake. When she emerges, she buys me a milkshake. Beautiful.
I threaten to take my parrot to a fetish party. He’ll have a whale of a time, chewing on all the leather, and he’ll come home screeching “Polly want a spanking!”
The summer was just too freakin’ hot, so I threatened to change my religion to nudism. I can’t fathom why my friends have stopped calling.