The worst experience to ever experience(note: that's fun to say) is being right by a pointless argument. How many have I gone through in my life? Well, starting November 26, you could no sooner count how many atoms of gas make up Jupiter. Does that help? Sometimes, when they go on for a really long, extremely long time, I forget what the fight was about and go back quietly into my room. Of course the fight continues, but at least it's muffled from my eardrums.
Instead of becoming the inner hermit I am, I decided while on the delightful computer to begin to write the meaningless fight going on behind the comfy black chair that I sit in. (note: the chair kinda reminds me of one of those big chairs that 'important' people sit in in cartoons and stuff and then they turn around all big shot with their fingers crossed and everything. Why fingers?) Anyways, this fight didn't need to happen and it shouldn't have happened, in fact, even now, I don't remember how, why, or when this argument began. So, you don't mind if I start in the middle, do ya'? You better not.
It starts where Bret goes running to the parental figures door and calling out in the most childish tone known to man, "Mom, Sammy flipped me off and called me the f-word!" (note: he really said f-word, kay?)
"No I didn't!" Sammy yelled back. For a second, I swore she was a he due to the fact that her voice went about two octives lower and she said the forementioned sentence like a California surfer-dude. Bret came running back to protest.
"Yes you did," he pressed, shaking his head, mouth hanging open. (note: you might be wondering how I know what he looked like because this was happening behind me, but Bret's only debate face is this one.)
"No," Sammy said, imitating her brothers, "I raised the finger next to it. And I called you a sucker. I just put the finger down while you were looking up. It was an illusion!" I have to stop typing...oh my eff! 'It was an illusion'! I hope you don't mind this outbreak but I just have to laugh at that. Kay, continuing.
I could tell just by the silence that Bret was rapidly shaking his head up and down, while slowly pushing it forward. Like a turtle. The sound of a hand hitting Bret came flowing into my brain. A brief silence, then the uplifting (note: when I say 'uplifting' I don't mean that my soul felt cleansed, I mean his voice rose slowly.) cry of something dying. His 'cry' voice is that of a baby's crossed with a bat scared by light. His quickly paced footsteps followed their familiar pattern to the 'door of sanctuary'.
"You're such a tattletell!" Sammy called to him. The he/she sounded like they came from hell or something dark and fiery. (note: can you have dark in fire? huh.)
Oh gol, this would never end. So, it's hermit time.