Keywords: Clarinet, Wrestling, Eskimo
There's an Eskimo under my bed. No, don't peek; he hates that. Every night I put on my jammies then lull him to sleep with my clarinet ("Ode to Joy" -- he loves that one). Mommy thinks I'm practicing for music class. Sometimes I hear him sobbing; he misses the taste of baby seal. Well, I've never seen one at school or on my paper route, and my encyclopedia says they're slippery. The idea of wrestling one? Gross. Yesterday I fed him tuna and said it was baby seal. But he knew the difference. I mean, come on, he's an Eskimo.
Preview for tomorrow: Counterfeit, Frog, Dirigible