I’d like you to meet my son. He’s six years old, cute as a bug and smart as a whip. Now where could he be? He was here just a minute ago…..

No, wait! I see his grubby sneakers, his well-worn sweatpants with the collection of rocks and nails in the pockets, his unaccountably spotless Godzilla t-shirt. ACCKKK! Where is his head? There is some sort of unruly tumbleweed kind of shrub atop his skinny little neck where his head should be!

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