Today has beed a bad day. Momma been workin' up a grump like she bees gittin' paid for it; then at suppertime she losed her beans. Georgie, eat with yous mouth shut! She were shriekin' so bad it sound like the brakes on her mouth was shot. I only jus' thunk; well, how do I apposed of git the food in then? So I axed her, does ya wants I oughta stick my foor in my ear? Then Grammy sayed, whadaya mean ya hasn't et in a year? An' Grampy axed Grammy, what is ya stickin' in yous rear? Then Momma growled on me, now look on what you started, Georgie! An' Grampy axed, who farted? An' Grammy slugged Grampy with her spoon acause she thunk what Grampy thunk what she were bein' farty. Then Momma up an' tooked away everbody's food an' tole us, yous can all jus' took that bad behavin' to bed! We's prawly all gonna starve to deaf in our sleep tonight. Tomorrow mornin' Momma gonna has a clump a skinny dead doggies. Lookin' like poor little furry slippers. I can't not bemember a worser day.

Today I were a magical Unicorn with my magical horn on my head what makes alls everbody's wishes comin' true when ya rubs it. 'Cept for stupid Betsy sayed what I ain't no Unicorn acause they starts off bein'  horsies. Ya don't thinks what yous a horsey does ya George? You jus' bees a Corn Dog, she sayed. So I axed her, is you wearin' them pig tails acause you is a pig, Betsy? She spitted when she talked jus' like Momma do; an' she sayed, I IS A PIXIE! I tole her, well, we must of bees be a great team then; Pixie the Pig an' her magical Horny Headed Corn Dog brother, George. She jus' spinned around an' goed away. Which, guess what? That were zactly my magical wish! I is a very good Corn Dog!

I telled on Betsy today acause she were wearin' a lampshade on her head like a party-girl; so I figured she beed drinkin' outta Grammy's karaoke bowl. But Momma jus' laughed an' sayed, oh, no, Georgie! Betsy has beed spaded, is all. She gottsa wear that cone so's she don't bees pickin' at her decision. Then Betsy tole me what now that her orneries is gone, she can't not catch the PMS no more. That must of bees Pretty Mean Sister, acause she sayed she prawly even gonna be nice to me ever sometimes now. Which, that gived me an' Betsy a idea. We is gonna save up all a Grammy's empty beer bottles atill we gets forty or seventy dollars; an' then we's gonna go an' git Momma spaded, too! Then lucky lucky George gonna be livin' with two nice girls! I can't not hardly wait.