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Rush or Simins

August 2, 2007

I lay in my room, not being able to sleep, when a very small taxi flew past very slowly. It came in the door, slowly floated across the room, then disappeared into the wall. I went to follow it, but it bumped my head and spun off into dark pshycedelia. I awoke and saw that my door was open; that must have been the cause. The taxi came again, around the corner and into my room, via the open door. It did the same thing; slowly floated across my room and vanished into the wall. I squealed. Alan Sy came in cause it was 3am and he wanted to sleep. Just as he came in I noticed that there were pringles crushed into my bed. I tried to explain that it must have been the taxi, but he obviously didn’t believe me. While cleaning up some of the pringles/cakes from beside my bed, I noticed it was a lot worse than I first thought. There were pringles crushed all over the floor, and creampuffs smooshed into the carpet and the walls. I said that I should get the taxi to clean it up. Alan gave me a lecture about the rubbish.

Jerry rang me up and wanted me to pretend to be a good buisness man. I reluctantly agreed. He said that I didn’t have to worry about anything because my mum should be there too, and she knows all of the details.

When I put on my tie (which took forever), I went to the office. There was a collapsable table with some imprtant looking men behind it. I waited and waited for mum. Eventually I thought, “I can’t wait any longer,” so I walked up to the desk. Just as I did, Laura cut in front of me with her husband. She said in a very snobby brittish accent that she was here on behalf of Geoffery. The official man started writing, stopped, and said, “Geofferey Rush or Geoffery Simins?.” She said Geofferey Rush. I stepped forward and said that I was there on behalf of Geofferey too. “Which one?”

“Which ones were there again?”

“Rush or Simins,” Laura snapped.

“Uh, which one did you choose?”

“You want Simins!”

“Oh, right, Simins then.”

Mum came in the door in a very lazy way. She was wearing a gross sweatsuit. I was so embarrased. “So, what we doing?” she asked.

“Where’s your nice clothes?” I asked.

“In the Moris, should I put them on?”

“It’s too late for that, talk to the man”.

She started using a lot of buisiness talk, to which the man responded likewise. Laura disappeared, irritated, into a puff of smoke.

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