Astrologers: eat a steaming bag of fuck, okay?

And so, at the end of all this, I’m left thinking of the story my grandmother used to tell me about the little brother and sister who find a puppy, and both of them claim the puppy as their own. And they fight and argue about whose puppy it is, and then there’s a tug of war, and the little puppy gets pulled apart, right down the middle. And the kids are without a puppy, and the puppy is dropping bits of gut and loops of intestine all over the freshly waxed kitchen floor, and from the beginning, the puppy was just completely happy to have two new friends.

Of course, this was her way of making me and Mandy not argue over the last ice cream sandwich. Which never worked. Because you can totally cut an ice cream sandwich in half with no fear of intestinal loops on the kitchen floor.

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