Hi, Hungry. I’m Dad.
Hi! It’s nice to meet you, Hungry! My name is Dad.
Kind of strange that you would tell me you’re “Hungry” when I could swear just a little bit ago you told me you were “Tired”. Maybe I should just call you “Confused”.
Oh, I’m sorry—are you trying to say you want me to make you a sandwich? Well, why didn’t you say so? Ta-da! You’re a sandwich!
Would you rather have a pizza? A piece-a what? A piece of cheese? Well, just say “cheese” then! Hold on, let me get my camera ready first!
Now that I’m looking at you, I’d say it’s about time for you to get a haircut. In fact, I’d say it’s time to get all your hairs cut! Also, close the door; we’re not paying to cool off the whole world! You make a better door than a window, and—oh look, I got your nose, and some duct tape will fix that and that sushi tastes fishy and fake noodles are called impasta and a pony with a sore throat is a little hoarse and—Help! I can’t stop—I heard the scarecrow was outstanding in his field and—Please, do something! The puns just keep coming out involuntarily—and if you get a job collecting leaves you’ll be raking it in and the restaurant on the moon had no atmosphere—I can’t breathe please tell mom I love her—!
…
Kids, if I die, please don’t cremate me.
Put me in a cemetery, instead.
I hear people are dying to get in there.
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