What happens when your parents can't supply you with clean water....

Alright, so i've decided to make an attempt at a blog completely free of sexual innuendo. Heh, ENDO. Wish me luck.

This first brings me to recount a story of a small, lonely child. A child so lonely and small his parents wouldn't even supply him with water to wash himself. Since we are yet to discover his true identity, he will be referred to as Jimothy for the remainder of this blog.

Once upon a time, little Jimothy arrived at school. But OH NO, his feet were dirty. So upon leaving his period 4 history class in room 16, Jimothy waited for the corridor to clear for him to wash his feet in the conveniently placed sink which no-one has any idea what it's for.

Jimothy had it all planned out, his feet were to be squeaky clean, if it weren't for one fatal flaw..

A group of myself, Brother Lucas Wesley "Wezzles" Prior, and Squeaky found ourselves hopelessly meandering through this corridor for a reason I don't entirely remember. As Wezzles and I paused to avert out eyes upon a comic strip on the wall, Squeaky fulfilled her namesake in practically exploding in seizure as she laid her eyes upon Jimothy during his foot-bath. As expected from Emily's long history of talking to/intimidating small children, she proceeded to question Jimothy's bathing habit. It would have been a successful endeavour if it were not for the whole seizure thing. What was meant to be a simple intimidating squeal turned into an array of disturbing noises which can only be compared to say, Daniel at a Pokemon convention. This resulted in Squeaky being restrained and returned to her cage, as per normal. Whilst i tried to apologise to the small child, I could not help but laugh too, because yknow, WHO WASHES THEIR FEET IN A SINK AT SCHOOL. Upon us leaving, we made the sudden realisation of something so obvious at the time- Jimothy and his unnamed friend were in fact cleansing themselves prior to performing a religious ritual, where Jimothy would make human sacrifice of his small and meaty friend. We have since returned several weeks later, but found no evidence of their being, apart from a small pair of "light lilac" scissors, now in the possession of Mr. Geerling.

I will now include a picture of this occurence, please do not hesitate to contact any one of us if you find this child. There may be other small, tasty, naive boys awaiting their own sacrifice...

Thanks in advance for any help you may provide.

On another note, I am now prompted to say:
emily jane cannings owned me, andrew guy formica, in an epic nudge battle.

It's true. I have been completely and utterly annihilated in a nudging battle of the highest accord. Apart from being mentally disturbed (good thing), ninja, good at throwing things in the bin and missing because she doesnt want to make anyone else feel bad about their own throwing, ace at intimidating small people and accidentally flinging rubber bands at them whilst trying to skin herself of freckles, and proud owner of the hottest bangs in the country, she is now a champion of yet another highly acclaimed sport. I congratulate you and I hope your mentos taste like victory.

PS you owe me sausage biscuits.