That was one of the dwarf couple I told you about, who live here in town, in the passenger seat of the car that just went by.
You’re shitting me. I thought it was just a really old-looking little kid. I thought you were making that town dwarf shit up. I thought that was an Urban Legend.
“We are the loly-pop kids. The loly-pop kids.”
Hey, that shit’s not funny. Okay, it sort of is.
Carol has been inside their house, and everything is made to scale, even the shitter. Can you imagine your six-foot ass trying to take a dump in there?
The male dwarf writes police departments around the country to try and get them to send him free shirt patches. It’s his hobby. He’s got a collection.
I’m sure he does. Motherfucker could sew one police patch on the front of an infant’s fucking t- shirt and have a cheap, yet smart-looking shirt, to impress his dwarf friends. Or, alternately, he could sew four of the fucking patches together and make a damn tent. Even dwarves like camping. Can you imagine? Half a can a beer and the little midget fucker would be lit. Now that’s a cheap date.