CHAPTER TWO: Dude, Where Did That Glass Go?
Ten years later, you wouldn't recognize the Duerrsley's house. Not because of the "bumbling dork" that had been dumped on their stylish doorstep ten years earlier, but because, hey, the fads just change, man. The sophisticated Monet in the family room had been replaced by one of Mrs. Duerrsley's attempts at "abstract art", and Mrs. Duerrsley's stupid hand- shaped chair had been replaced by a very stylish, yet uncomfortable steel chair. Only the pics on Mr. Duerrsley's hip laptop had stayed the same; pictures of Pudgely Duerrsley still clogged up the computers hard drive, only he had grown ....um...a lot, especially around the middle. The same blonde- streaked hair played on the screen saver; the same dark sunglasses that he can't see through, which make him stumble into rooms (and make him hurt his "widdle face"), and the same absence of a certain un-cool ten -going-on- eleven-year -old that also lived in the stylish modern house...thing. But Harold Klopper did live in the house...thing, but in an un-stylish basement, in a last season bunk bed. But not for lo-o-o-ng!
"Get up and unwrap the Pop-Tarts, you little dork!" Harold woke with a start, as his Aunt Prune tapped on his door with her painstakingly -manicured fingernails. "Dork," she muttered, as she moon-``walked away. Harold squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to visualize the dream he had been...well...dreaming of. It had been a cool one, funky, but cool. There had been a flying ice cream truck in it. He hadn't had ice cream in so long, because it just wasn't in, ya know? He tried to imagine all of the flavors. Sherbet. Cookies and Cream, Tootie-Fruite...back to the story. He felt like somehow he had seen the same dream before. Those things happen when you're deprived of ice cream for too long.
Now Mr. Duerrsley's was at his door.
"We're waiting for you to unwrap the Pop Tarts! We don't want Pudgely to waste any of his precious energy on his birthday."
"When does he EVER do that?" Harold groaned.
"What did you say?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" growled Uncle Burden, his face contorting and looking very un-groovy.
"I SAID...." started Harold, but Uncle Burden stomped off to polish his surfboard before Harold could repeat his already corny sentence. Pudgely's birthday. How could he have forgotten? It happened once a year. Every year. Ever since Pudgely had been born. Birthdays tend to do that.
Of course he didn't even need Uncle Burden's reminder to know it was Pudgely's birthday. Presents were stacked up in artistic piles all around the house thanks to Aunt Prune.
Harold looked around his room for some socks, and found two pairs, which he mismatched. Just to peeve the Duerrsley's, of course. When he was fully dressed and mis-matched, Harold made his way to the Duerrsley's modern kitchen. Both his aunt and uncle were already there, reading Entertainment Weekly magazines. Harold noticed that a few of the presents had been un- wrapped, including a video called "Verbally Abusing Your Stupid Dorky Cousin: Volume III" That was one of Pudgely's favorite activities, along with telling everyone how cool he is.
Unlike Pudgley, Harold was very skinny and small for his age, due to the fact that all the Duerrsleys had for their meals was a pop tart for breakfast, slim fast for lunch, and whatever restaurant is "in" for dinner. Somehow, Pudgley had always been able to sneak a one or two slim fasts. Like one or two hundred.
Since it was Pudgley's birthday, Aunt Prune and Uncle Duerrsley decided to take Pudgely and one of his friends to the Brooklyn Zoo. Obviously, he was going to take Pierre "king of" Polka. He was in Pudgley's "clan" and was one of the people who enjoyed annoying Harold the most. He had good reason to. You see, they didn't punch, tease, or taunt Harold, because a smart enemy- not that I'm calling Pudgely smart or anything- but a smart enemy attacks not the body, but the mind.
Because of this terror, Pudgely's clan was the fear of the neighborhood. Even more than Pshycho or Sixth Sense. Dude. The source of their wrath was annoyance. And thats where Pierre "king of" Polka comes in. He's the hit man.Pudgely usually holds Harold in place, and then the "Polka King" strikes. He polkas. It's pathetic. He's so bad, that even Harold cannot stand the pain, which leads to Harold, all alone, twitching on the floor.
Luckily, Harold wouldn't be going to the Zoo. Nope, the Duerrsleys wouldn't stand for that.He would be staying with the neighbors, dubbed "Family 007". These peopls were spies, and had a strange obsession with James Bond. Every year, Harold went over to their house on Pudgely's birthday, only to watch the 007 movies over and over and over, while all the members of the family takes notes and observations for a "science expirement". Yes, this experiment had been going on for some time now, and Harold was starting to suspect something. He heard Aunt Prune scream to Uncle Burden through the kitchen.
"Hey, dude, the 007's called. They can't take him."
"Him who?" asked Uncle Burden.
"You know, him."
"No, who?"
" HIM!!!"
"Who?"
Aunt Prune gave in and whispered, "Harold, or whatever his name is. It seems that they have watched those movies way too many times, and their brains are fried."
"Dude," Uncle Burden replied in awe, "what are we going to do? I mean, Aunt Tiffany can't take him, because, well, she's my only sister, and I couldn't do that to her. Besides, she lives in Barbedos."
" I guess we'll have to take him then." said Aunt Prune, with no enthusiasm, and with no expression on her face, to which Pudgely dropped his morning pop tart, eyes wide open.
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!"
Harold wasn't too happy about this either, but it might be fun. He could go to all the different exhibits, and maybe even go to the rodent house. While he was thinking all of this, Pudgely was screaming, and it sounded very fake.Luckily, the doorbell rang and Pudgely stifled his cry for the fear of embarrasment. It was Pierre, with his mother.Harold couldn't hear what was going on, but Aunt Prune and Mrs.Polka were carrying on about a very solemn conversation, which Harold thought might be about him.Or kneehigh socks.One of the two.
About 30 minutes later, Harold found himself being shoved out of the door and near the car. Just as he was about to open the door to the sleek red convertable, Uncle Burden pulled him aside.
"Hey, man, don't do anything, ya know, funny while we're at the zoo, ya know?"
Frankly, Harold had no earthly idea, but he went along with Uncle Burden and said,
"Okay,"
and went into the car.
During the car ride, Harold was very happy. He was going to Brooklyn Zoo- he'd never been before- and he was going to get some food with more than 5 calories and 6 grams of fat. Cool, man.
Harold arived at the zoo, taking a deep breath of air.This was a mistake. Harold gagged as an unearthly smell reached his nostrils.
"Maybe we shouldn't go by the skunk cages" gasped Harold. Pudgely and Peirre sniggered but quickly stopped and their faces turned pale.
"Good idea," gagged Pudgely.
First stop at the zoo was, of course, the snack shack. Pudgely ordered a triple cheeseburger and Pierre ordered a chili dog. Harold's mouth watered as he saw the menu, but Aunt Prune quickly produced a Slim Fast from her handbag. Harold groaned, getting the attention of the surley faced teenager that was serving them.
"Whaddaya want?" she mumbled, ending it with the special flair most teenagers have, a spitwad right on Uncle Burden's shoe. His face turned beet red, but Aunt Prune quickly ordered Harold a greasy slice of pizza before Uncle Burden started a scene. It wasn't bad, either, after Harold had mopped up most of the grease off with his napkin.
The trip to the zoo had been bearable so far, but now was the part Harold had been waiting for. The rodent house. Harold's party stopped in front of a glass cage that contained a single weasle. Pudgley mosied over. "Move! I told you to move! I said move you little.....weasle!!!!"
"Don't mess with the weasle, man," said Harold. Pudgley decided that a weasle wasn't and exciting enough rodent for him, so he and the Duerrsleys went over to see a wombat.
"Sorry about him. I know what it's like. To be locked up, feel like you've got nothing. Dude, thins stinks, now I'm really depressed."
"Yeah yeah yeah. Blah blah blah. Can you get to the point?"
Harold looked in astonishment at the glass, and saw the weasle he had been looking at was looking at him. It looked plainly irritated.
"Can you hear me?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Do you talk to people often?"
"Yeah, people just wask in here off the streets and we sit down over a nice cup of tea and have a little chat. Of course not. Wha'd you expect, kid?" sais Mr. Weasle Dude in a high-pitched New York accent.
"I see you're from Death Valley. Was the weather nice there? Do you miss you're family? Did they have cable?" The weasle, standing there with his arms folded, jerked his head toward a sign that read 'Bred in Captivity.'
"You're like me. I never knew my parents either." Suddenly, Harold heard a primative noise. Hmm. It wasn't every day that they had a caveman diorama at the Brooklyn Zoo. Oh wait. That was Pudgley. That was the only sound he could make. He wanted to save up his energy until lunch. Why you ask? Well, for eating.
Harold turned around and saw his cousin, open mouthed, pointing at the glass door and just staring. "Looooook," Pudgley managed to get a sound out. Aunt Prune and Uncle Duerrsley ran over, and stared too. Harold realized that they had seen him having his little chat with Mr. Weasle Dude. Pudgley inched forward, all the while his legs stiff, until his face was touching the glass. After that, he kept backing up and running into the glass again, as if he couldn't get it into his head that glass is inpenatrable. Poor child. Harold thought of a funny phrase ("dude, don't go to the light") and muttered t to himself so that the Duerrsley's couldn't hear. Pudgley fell down, and found himself at the bottom of the weasle cage. The glass had magically disappeared. All of these things happened at once: Aunt Prune started screaming. "My poor baby, ", Harold started laughing, Uncle Burden turned purple, Harold continued laughing, the weasle boke loose, Harold is still laughing, and everyone in the Rodent House started running from the dreaded eight-inch tall weasle.
Uncle Burden gave Harold a menacing look. Harold stopped laughing. He did manage to catch what the weasle was saying while it was making it's was through the screaming crowd: "Thanks , kid. Death Valley here I come! Hmm, maybe I should stop at the Starbucks before I leave?"
Aunt Prune was shocked. Uncle Burden was speachless. Pudgely was hungry.
As soon as they got home, Uncle Burden grabbed Harold by the ear and pulled him out of the car.
"Den-Go-You-NOW" he stammered.
Harold obeyed quickly. Everyone was so riled up, they forgot that they had left Pierre at the zoo.
Harold lay down on his hard bunkbed with the cowboy print. His stomach felt alittle sick after that pizza, but he couldn't go to the restroom until all of the Duerrsley's were fast asleep. Harold could hear the muffled sounds of Saturday Night Live coming from the living room above. This might take awhile.
Harold turned around on his side, thinking about how he could be watching TV now, if only his parents were alive. As long as he could remember, Harold had lived at the Duerrsley's, and as long as he had the ability to talk, he had been asking questions about his parents.
"But what happened to my parents??Why can't I live with them??" he asked persisitantly. "Be quiet and eat your Slimfast." But Harold finally heard the story, short and rushed. "Your parents- they died in a freak trolley accident.Yeah, while touring in San Franisisco!" "While traveling in a circus!" "Uhm...that's enough, i think, Burden" Somehow, it seemed like they were making it up as they went. Harold certanly couldn't remember a trolley, or a circus. All he could remember was a bright flash of purple, and a bad headache.Much as he doubted the Duerrsley's story, what else could of happened?
The Duerrsley's hardly seemed sad about the "freak trolley accident", but the story did seem to vary each time that it was told.
It was odd- though he had no friends at school (Pudgely and the handy dandy "Popularity Chart" took care of that) people on the streets (well, technically, the sidewalk) seemed to know him. Once a tall lady in a zebra print bathrobe had come up to give him a huge hug, and quickly walked into the crowds before Harold could react. An old man in a silver bathrobe had come up to him and promtly shaken his hand, then also dissapeared into the crowd. A mob of teenagers in fuzzy golpher slippers had once spotted him near his house and shouted, "There he his girls!". Harold only just got away.
Then again, Harold wasn't quite sure these were not set on him by Pudgely. But there were those slippers...
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I do hope that you've fallen absolutely madly and deeply in love with this story, you silly chickens, because I have a bruise on my fingers from typing so much. You never write, you never call, you never REVIEW.. I am working my fingers to the BONE for you people. Is it too much to ask that you leave a comment telling me {in detail} how wonderfully charming I am? Is it too much to ask that you set up a Pigzits shrine in the back of your closet and begin worshipping me immediately? I ASK YOU, IS IT TOO MUCH TOO ASK THAT YOU GIVE ME A LITTLE RESPECT? OR A SMALL THIRD WORLD COUNTRY? Honestly, readers, I am more than alittle disappointed with you. I'm also more than alittle late to my anger management class. I bid you good day.
Ten years later, you wouldn't recognize the Duerrsley's house. Not because of the "bumbling dork" that had been dumped on their stylish doorstep ten years earlier, but because, hey, the fads just change, man. The sophisticated Monet in the family room had been replaced by one of Mrs. Duerrsley's attempts at "abstract art", and Mrs. Duerrsley's stupid hand- shaped chair had been replaced by a very stylish, yet uncomfortable steel chair. Only the pics on Mr. Duerrsley's hip laptop had stayed the same; pictures of Pudgely Duerrsley still clogged up the computers hard drive, only he had grown ....um...a lot, especially around the middle. The same blonde- streaked hair played on the screen saver; the same dark sunglasses that he can't see through, which make him stumble into rooms (and make him hurt his "widdle face"), and the same absence of a certain un-cool ten -going-on- eleven-year -old that also lived in the stylish modern house...thing. But Harold Klopper did live in the house...thing, but in an un-stylish basement, in a last season bunk bed. But not for lo-o-o-ng!
"Get up and unwrap the Pop-Tarts, you little dork!" Harold woke with a start, as his Aunt Prune tapped on his door with her painstakingly -manicured fingernails. "Dork," she muttered, as she moon-``walked away. Harold squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to visualize the dream he had been...well...dreaming of. It had been a cool one, funky, but cool. There had been a flying ice cream truck in it. He hadn't had ice cream in so long, because it just wasn't in, ya know? He tried to imagine all of the flavors. Sherbet. Cookies and Cream, Tootie-Fruite...back to the story. He felt like somehow he had seen the same dream before. Those things happen when you're deprived of ice cream for too long.
Now Mr. Duerrsley's was at his door.
"We're waiting for you to unwrap the Pop Tarts! We don't want Pudgely to waste any of his precious energy on his birthday."
"When does he EVER do that?" Harold groaned.
"What did you say?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" growled Uncle Burden, his face contorting and looking very un-groovy.
"I SAID...." started Harold, but Uncle Burden stomped off to polish his surfboard before Harold could repeat his already corny sentence. Pudgely's birthday. How could he have forgotten? It happened once a year. Every year. Ever since Pudgely had been born. Birthdays tend to do that.
Of course he didn't even need Uncle Burden's reminder to know it was Pudgely's birthday. Presents were stacked up in artistic piles all around the house thanks to Aunt Prune.
Harold looked around his room for some socks, and found two pairs, which he mismatched. Just to peeve the Duerrsley's, of course. When he was fully dressed and mis-matched, Harold made his way to the Duerrsley's modern kitchen. Both his aunt and uncle were already there, reading Entertainment Weekly magazines. Harold noticed that a few of the presents had been un- wrapped, including a video called "Verbally Abusing Your Stupid Dorky Cousin: Volume III" That was one of Pudgely's favorite activities, along with telling everyone how cool he is.
Unlike Pudgley, Harold was very skinny and small for his age, due to the fact that all the Duerrsleys had for their meals was a pop tart for breakfast, slim fast for lunch, and whatever restaurant is "in" for dinner. Somehow, Pudgley had always been able to sneak a one or two slim fasts. Like one or two hundred.
Since it was Pudgley's birthday, Aunt Prune and Uncle Duerrsley decided to take Pudgely and one of his friends to the Brooklyn Zoo. Obviously, he was going to take Pierre "king of" Polka. He was in Pudgley's "clan" and was one of the people who enjoyed annoying Harold the most. He had good reason to. You see, they didn't punch, tease, or taunt Harold, because a smart enemy- not that I'm calling Pudgely smart or anything- but a smart enemy attacks not the body, but the mind.
Because of this terror, Pudgely's clan was the fear of the neighborhood. Even more than Pshycho or Sixth Sense. Dude. The source of their wrath was annoyance. And thats where Pierre "king of" Polka comes in. He's the hit man.Pudgely usually holds Harold in place, and then the "Polka King" strikes. He polkas. It's pathetic. He's so bad, that even Harold cannot stand the pain, which leads to Harold, all alone, twitching on the floor.
Luckily, Harold wouldn't be going to the Zoo. Nope, the Duerrsleys wouldn't stand for that.He would be staying with the neighbors, dubbed "Family 007". These peopls were spies, and had a strange obsession with James Bond. Every year, Harold went over to their house on Pudgely's birthday, only to watch the 007 movies over and over and over, while all the members of the family takes notes and observations for a "science expirement". Yes, this experiment had been going on for some time now, and Harold was starting to suspect something. He heard Aunt Prune scream to Uncle Burden through the kitchen.
"Hey, dude, the 007's called. They can't take him."
"Him who?" asked Uncle Burden.
"You know, him."
"No, who?"
" HIM!!!"
"Who?"
Aunt Prune gave in and whispered, "Harold, or whatever his name is. It seems that they have watched those movies way too many times, and their brains are fried."
"Dude," Uncle Burden replied in awe, "what are we going to do? I mean, Aunt Tiffany can't take him, because, well, she's my only sister, and I couldn't do that to her. Besides, she lives in Barbedos."
" I guess we'll have to take him then." said Aunt Prune, with no enthusiasm, and with no expression on her face, to which Pudgely dropped his morning pop tart, eyes wide open.
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!"
Harold wasn't too happy about this either, but it might be fun. He could go to all the different exhibits, and maybe even go to the rodent house. While he was thinking all of this, Pudgely was screaming, and it sounded very fake.Luckily, the doorbell rang and Pudgely stifled his cry for the fear of embarrasment. It was Pierre, with his mother.Harold couldn't hear what was going on, but Aunt Prune and Mrs.Polka were carrying on about a very solemn conversation, which Harold thought might be about him.Or kneehigh socks.One of the two.
About 30 minutes later, Harold found himself being shoved out of the door and near the car. Just as he was about to open the door to the sleek red convertable, Uncle Burden pulled him aside.
"Hey, man, don't do anything, ya know, funny while we're at the zoo, ya know?"
Frankly, Harold had no earthly idea, but he went along with Uncle Burden and said,
"Okay,"
and went into the car.
During the car ride, Harold was very happy. He was going to Brooklyn Zoo- he'd never been before- and he was going to get some food with more than 5 calories and 6 grams of fat. Cool, man.
Harold arived at the zoo, taking a deep breath of air.This was a mistake. Harold gagged as an unearthly smell reached his nostrils.
"Maybe we shouldn't go by the skunk cages" gasped Harold. Pudgely and Peirre sniggered but quickly stopped and their faces turned pale.
"Good idea," gagged Pudgely.
First stop at the zoo was, of course, the snack shack. Pudgely ordered a triple cheeseburger and Pierre ordered a chili dog. Harold's mouth watered as he saw the menu, but Aunt Prune quickly produced a Slim Fast from her handbag. Harold groaned, getting the attention of the surley faced teenager that was serving them.
"Whaddaya want?" she mumbled, ending it with the special flair most teenagers have, a spitwad right on Uncle Burden's shoe. His face turned beet red, but Aunt Prune quickly ordered Harold a greasy slice of pizza before Uncle Burden started a scene. It wasn't bad, either, after Harold had mopped up most of the grease off with his napkin.
The trip to the zoo had been bearable so far, but now was the part Harold had been waiting for. The rodent house. Harold's party stopped in front of a glass cage that contained a single weasle. Pudgley mosied over. "Move! I told you to move! I said move you little.....weasle!!!!"
"Don't mess with the weasle, man," said Harold. Pudgley decided that a weasle wasn't and exciting enough rodent for him, so he and the Duerrsleys went over to see a wombat.
"Sorry about him. I know what it's like. To be locked up, feel like you've got nothing. Dude, thins stinks, now I'm really depressed."
"Yeah yeah yeah. Blah blah blah. Can you get to the point?"
Harold looked in astonishment at the glass, and saw the weasle he had been looking at was looking at him. It looked plainly irritated.
"Can you hear me?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Do you talk to people often?"
"Yeah, people just wask in here off the streets and we sit down over a nice cup of tea and have a little chat. Of course not. Wha'd you expect, kid?" sais Mr. Weasle Dude in a high-pitched New York accent.
"I see you're from Death Valley. Was the weather nice there? Do you miss you're family? Did they have cable?" The weasle, standing there with his arms folded, jerked his head toward a sign that read 'Bred in Captivity.'
"You're like me. I never knew my parents either." Suddenly, Harold heard a primative noise. Hmm. It wasn't every day that they had a caveman diorama at the Brooklyn Zoo. Oh wait. That was Pudgley. That was the only sound he could make. He wanted to save up his energy until lunch. Why you ask? Well, for eating.
Harold turned around and saw his cousin, open mouthed, pointing at the glass door and just staring. "Looooook," Pudgley managed to get a sound out. Aunt Prune and Uncle Duerrsley ran over, and stared too. Harold realized that they had seen him having his little chat with Mr. Weasle Dude. Pudgley inched forward, all the while his legs stiff, until his face was touching the glass. After that, he kept backing up and running into the glass again, as if he couldn't get it into his head that glass is inpenatrable. Poor child. Harold thought of a funny phrase ("dude, don't go to the light") and muttered t to himself so that the Duerrsley's couldn't hear. Pudgley fell down, and found himself at the bottom of the weasle cage. The glass had magically disappeared. All of these things happened at once: Aunt Prune started screaming. "My poor baby, ", Harold started laughing, Uncle Burden turned purple, Harold continued laughing, the weasle boke loose, Harold is still laughing, and everyone in the Rodent House started running from the dreaded eight-inch tall weasle.
Uncle Burden gave Harold a menacing look. Harold stopped laughing. He did manage to catch what the weasle was saying while it was making it's was through the screaming crowd: "Thanks , kid. Death Valley here I come! Hmm, maybe I should stop at the Starbucks before I leave?"
Aunt Prune was shocked. Uncle Burden was speachless. Pudgely was hungry.
As soon as they got home, Uncle Burden grabbed Harold by the ear and pulled him out of the car.
"Den-Go-You-NOW" he stammered.
Harold obeyed quickly. Everyone was so riled up, they forgot that they had left Pierre at the zoo.
Harold lay down on his hard bunkbed with the cowboy print. His stomach felt alittle sick after that pizza, but he couldn't go to the restroom until all of the Duerrsley's were fast asleep. Harold could hear the muffled sounds of Saturday Night Live coming from the living room above. This might take awhile.
Harold turned around on his side, thinking about how he could be watching TV now, if only his parents were alive. As long as he could remember, Harold had lived at the Duerrsley's, and as long as he had the ability to talk, he had been asking questions about his parents.
"But what happened to my parents??Why can't I live with them??" he asked persisitantly. "Be quiet and eat your Slimfast." But Harold finally heard the story, short and rushed. "Your parents- they died in a freak trolley accident.Yeah, while touring in San Franisisco!" "While traveling in a circus!" "Uhm...that's enough, i think, Burden" Somehow, it seemed like they were making it up as they went. Harold certanly couldn't remember a trolley, or a circus. All he could remember was a bright flash of purple, and a bad headache.Much as he doubted the Duerrsley's story, what else could of happened?
The Duerrsley's hardly seemed sad about the "freak trolley accident", but the story did seem to vary each time that it was told.
It was odd- though he had no friends at school (Pudgely and the handy dandy "Popularity Chart" took care of that) people on the streets (well, technically, the sidewalk) seemed to know him. Once a tall lady in a zebra print bathrobe had come up to give him a huge hug, and quickly walked into the crowds before Harold could react. An old man in a silver bathrobe had come up to him and promtly shaken his hand, then also dissapeared into the crowd. A mob of teenagers in fuzzy golpher slippers had once spotted him near his house and shouted, "There he his girls!". Harold only just got away.
Then again, Harold wasn't quite sure these were not set on him by Pudgely. But there were those slippers...
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I do hope that you've fallen absolutely madly and deeply in love with this story, you silly chickens, because I have a bruise on my fingers from typing so much. You never write, you never call, you never REVIEW.. I am working my fingers to the BONE for you people. Is it too much to ask that you leave a comment telling me {in detail} how wonderfully charming I am? Is it too much to ask that you set up a Pigzits shrine in the back of your closet and begin worshipping me immediately? I ASK YOU, IS IT TOO MUCH TOO ASK THAT YOU GIVE ME A LITTLE RESPECT? OR A SMALL THIRD WORLD COUNTRY? Honestly, readers, I am more than alittle disappointed with you. I'm also more than alittle late to my anger management class. I bid you good day.