Once upon a time, I was seven years old. I wanted a fish. The thing is, I don't like fish, they are gross. My mama told me I wouldn't like a fish, and that I would kill it. But then when I won one at the fair, I was so ecstatic that she just had to let me keep it. And keep it I did. For twelve minutes. When I got home I put the fish in a plastic cup and filled it with water. But the water was cold, and fish can't wear sweaters- so I decided to warm him up in the microwave. Poor fish didn't last ten seconds in there. So he died, and the smell of fish sticks filled the house. I hate fish sticks.
*I found this on a sheet of lime green paper stuffed in between two folders in the back of my closet. I think I wrote it sometime in middle school. I mean, I think I'm pretty freakin' hilarious. And no it's not a true story. But yes, I do hate fish sticks.
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