Dear Miss Barret,

MY HANDS ARE SWOLLEN AND ITCHY AND NO, I DON'T THINK IT'S THE SWINE FLU. I CAN'T TAKE PICTURES TODAY BECAUSE MY SAUSAGE FINGERS (WHICH YOU CANNOT EAT) CANNOT PRESS THE SHUTTER BUTTER. MAYBE THEY'LL HAVE TO AMPUTATE MY HANDS LIKE THEY HAD TO AMPUTATE YOUR DOG'S FOOT.

I remember that day. You were really sad. So I went to Mr. Lampe's room and spoke of my Burlesque Fest desires. WHICH HE WAS THE MC FOR.

WHAT KIND OF SCHOOL IS THIS?

Hail the Hippos...

and their shitty dance team.