Sweaters

I used to always look forward to winter so I could start wearing my sweaters. I used to love sweaters. I would always ask for some for Christmas. Now that I've matured a little, I realize that winter's whole plan is to eat me alive, and sweaters a key element in the overall scheme.

The thing with my sweaters is that they literally want to eat me alive. Most of them--thankfully not all of them--have grown fearsome jaws in the belly area. I like to rub my belly a lot, and I almost got my hand ripped off the other day. Now I have to lift up my sweater to rub my belly, and that, my friends, is a very awkward thing to do.

One of them even started to talk, and I don't think I can begin to describe how disturbing that was. I was trying to get to sleep when I heard a deep voice say, "Hey, do you have any gerbils?" We talked a little bit, and apparently his favorite food is gerbil. So I decided to burn him in my bathtub.

The point of all this is just to tell you that I'm going to wear more hoodies from now on, so you can start putting all your trash in my hoods again.