Little Jenny carefully picked through the partially digested remains of a skreekagog.  Somewhere there was a password–the twit had swallowed it and now its skreekagog fur and limbs and entrails were staining the floor.  Not her skreekagog, of course, but a meaner, nastier, uglier skreekagog named Admiral Fluffybutt.

Jenny hadn’t liked Admiral Fluffybutt, nor its human: a simpering girl of 15 who had just begged and begged her parents to get her a cute and fluffy alien like Jenny’s.  This other girl hadn’t deserved to be called Jenny.  Skinnyratface.  That was her proper name.

Jenny’s skreekagog–not the one named Admiral Fluffbutt but the one who also belonged to a girl named Skinnyratface–err–Jenny. Eff it.

Jenny stopped monloguing in her head–


Twitter has ruined my ability to speak English... she thought–




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