Demons with Bows

I thought little brothers were strange; then I discovered little sisters. Wielders of ribbons and nail polish, these beasts can prettify an unsuspecting victim in a matter of minutes; and it will not just be the boy, the toys will pay to. I have discovered that action figures don't look good in tutus, the remote-control cars don't look good in heart stickers, and I don't look good in nail polish. With little brothers, all toys fight: dinosaurs fight; soldiers fight; dragons fight; Barbies fight; and matchbox cars explode. Girls have dinosaurs have tea party's with the dragons, the soldiers go on dates with the Barbies, and the cars kiss.

I have recorded two children playing with toys. Guess who's the boy and who's the girl:

Number 1. Joe got in his car to go to work, completely unaware that this was the last day of his life. Halfway down the street, the newly discovered Maximosaurus ate him, car and all, in one bite. The earth's militaries saw this as a threat and organized an attack. The battle was epic, Cablam, vrom vrom, Boom, Stomp Stomp, ratatatatata, Chomp Burp! The world failed to stop it. Fortunately it ate an atomic bomb and died.

Number 2. "Oh Melody, would you go on a date with me?..." blah blah blah blah blah "...I love you!" *kiss* *kiss* *kiss* blah blah blah "Lets make cookies!" blah blah blah.

Farewell and may you never have your picture taken in a tutu.

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