Desperate Cry for Help 028

I bet you're thinking that you know all about me. That there's no secret I can keep from you. You can see inside me, right through me, like an empty beer glass on some random Friday night.

But if I'm a beer glass, I'm all twisted, and frosty, and perhaps even shaped like a human leg or in some surreal Escher spiral pattern.

You under-estimate everything I am capable of. You say that I can only run 8 miles per hour for 8 minutes before I drop over dead, unable to breathe. But I bet I can go for eight and a half.

You say I can only jump 4 feet into the air, but I'm sure I can manage 3'6"... which is less.... so you've actually over-estimated there.

See, you know nothing.

All your statistics are lies.

You owe me a banana, bitch.