My friend Peter was always saying, "Let's go on a road trip!" until he drove his car into a gypsy woman who cursed him by shrinking him. Mini Peter went and put on his giant banana costume which had not fit him since yesterday. As he was sliding into the pool, he realized the costume was a flotation device in case he could not keep his head above water, metaphorically speaking that is, but that wasn't his only problem. He also had the AIDS. So, needless to say things weren't going as planned. Damn condom was bad and didn't fit over his banana cream pie. Anyhow, yesterday he went to a strip club with his paycheck cashed into singles. He had only three singles, however, and they all had Santa Claus's face. Damn little elfs who helped him sell limited edition, one of a kind "How to Date a Sixteen Year Old Target Employee and Not Get Laid, Because That Would Be Illegal." They are selling books on tape because Santa doesn't pay minimum wage, slavery is more cost effective, and elves don't know unionizing even exists. When pressed for comment, Santa insisted this story doesn't make any sense. Giant Peter awoke from his bizzare general anesthesia and realized he wasn't completely proportional, if you know what he means. His left hand was awkwardly small compared to his right. This gave him an unfair advantage when trying to get food from squirrels, who found his little hand delicious. One time he managed to snatch a giant nut from on squirrel with his tiny hand, and grab the squirrel with his normal telekinetic powers, the squirrel was very fat. Oh, and the squirrel also hated awkwardly handed, telekinetic squirrel grabbers with a passion only surmounted by Mel Gibson. The squirrel let out an antisemitic rant of biblical proportions until Disney dropped release rights to "Squirrelypto," an epic of ancient Sciuridae.
