I say this thing over and over, and everybody laughs.
Then I get in frouble.
Mom says I'm a frash-talker, and I better stop talking frash to the kids.
And not to call her names either, 'cause I go to my room.
I tell her, I say, I tell you, it's Cole's room. It's not my room.
It's Cole's room. That's sure Cole's room. Where I'm going for time out now, huh, doody-head?
You're like a potty head. Frick or freat, smell my feet, gimme sumfin good to eat, I don't care, I pull my underwear up. It's almost Halloween. I see scarefrows in the yards. I see scarefrows downtown, and I yell SCAREFROW! There's a SCAREFROW!
Then I say Hold my hand Mom.
You're a doody-head.
Old lady.
You're a old lady.
Nice haircut Mom. Nice earrings. No! No! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!
It's not my room, I can't go to my room!
Hold my hand Mom.
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This guest post was not scripted. Nor exaggerated. Start praying for me now.
Bethany,
ReplyDeleteMan! I am prayin!! he is a frash talker! That part about "not even my room" {hilarious!!} (sorry)
Would you happen to know about a strange box that was on my back steps this afternoon? It contained a picture of four teenagers--with you included that should be labeled, "smells like teen spirit" and ummm.. a cell phone and shirt with some sequins..???