Senators Are True Monsters

(I am eight years old. My mom gives me her car keys, and tells me to get something out of her car at night. I don’t want to go, as I’m afraid of the dark.)

Mom: “Go out to my car, and get my [item].”

Me: “No, I don’t want to go out there.”

Mom: “Why not?”

Me: “There are cen-i-taurs out there.”

(Realizing I pronounced “centaurs” wrong, I attempt to save face.)

Me: “…they’ll make me vote for the wrong president.”