Sometimes I want to write a story called The Day The Weebles Fell but I’m sure licensing would be a bitch and I’d have to pay Playskool or some stupid shit like that. Which is why you’ve never gotten read such moments as:

“The light dimmed behind Tippy. He shuddered, the fear manifesting as a slight backward and forward motion, and he wobbled and chewed his lip and prayed to God that someone would come and save him. Deep down in his wide, round, stabilizing ass, Tippy knew that no one could help him now. No one at all.”

So really, it’d be your loss, not mine.