Stuv And Cissie

It's Steve here. I'm at Cassie's. And I CANNOT TYPE FOR SHIT. So here's Jim:

Jim is not me. I am not Steve's dad. I am, infact, her mother. It's all good. Today, we investigated science things (ie. we blew up plastic gloves, we melted plastic gloves, and we made weird sculptures out of blown up and melted plastic gloves. We then made up all the results, had lunch, danced to Sum 41, and then escaped.

An hour or so was spent sipping drinks in Starbucks (aren't we quaint), and transported ourselves to my home. It was lovely. We spent the afternoon breaking my bed, breaking my sofa and breaking all my food (up with enzymes in the stomach etc.). Mucho television was watched and some fighting occurred. Twas all normal. I can't think of anything amusing to add. I can't in fact think of anything to add at all. Other than to say that Emma must hate me, because she doesn't want me at her party. WELL, EMMA. I DON'T WANT TO GO ANYWAY. I am now in a huge huff. I must add that the pastas (Spastics) were at my house too. Which was why there was a lot of fighting, and bed breaking (oo err).

I also must say that two of the previous posts were not from me. I feel the need to make this clear.