Return the favor, oh little Sandy Rozner, or I'll be forced to toss your turtle off the bridge. Why did such a small, minor, miniscule action have to end with such a high potential for death and grief for an innocent animal? Yes that shell might be tough, but so was Bob Strype and his head resembled that of a decaying jack-o-lantern when his bungee jumping dare went amiss on that very same bridge. Hell, I don't know why we are having such problems as you were fully aware when I gave you the piggy back ride five years ago that you owed me one in the future. It's not my problem that I've gained 158 pounds since then, the problem is yours.
This is the main downfall when dealing with booze, Sandy. In your case, booze was responsible for you making such a foolish promise to me back then, and has now turned me into an obese wreck looking for a piggyback from a girl who once mooned nineteen consecutive cars when we were driving home from a weekend journey to the Rolling Stones concert in Florida. I wish those good times could've continued for a longer period of time, but you wanted space, and I went aimlessly drifting around for a year until I found myself stuck in a ditch, 158 pounds heavier, and wanting a piggy back ride out of this madness.
In all seriousness I love that turtle, and like you more than most I have met in my brief life. Yes we have our problems like all couples do, but I find none more entertaining than you, and you have openly admitted feeling lovey-dovey in regards to me. You even once called me a spark on the horizon and my Lord you were correct, a fine compliment, almost nicer than when the bag lady called me a "thick bunch of a hunk!" Whatever that means.
No, I'm sorry your time is up and the turtle's time has come. Hell, I don't even think you could lift me on your back, you flamingo-legged tease. I'm going to look this turtle in the eye, wish him a fond farewell on his journey to the great unknown, and shot put him down to doom. The force of gravity is not enough; I refuse simply to drop him. My cannon-like throwing arm will power this change in the life cycle. And you don't even show remorse; hell, I even think you appear to be laughing... LAUGHING! Such nerve, but yes I could see the humor in this if I wasn't so darn upset.
Well, now I've done it, and I'm glad; I'm even going to take a walk down the hill to collect his remains for a proper burial. You can come if you want, but promise me you won't laugh or cry; instead, we will simply stand in confused silence for six minutes. After the service we will play some miniature golf and have a jolly good time. In all seriousness, this is probably the most fun I've had since Richard accidentally discovered Mrs. Friedman changing and—because he was so weirded out by the situation—tackled her to the ground and screamed, "Faulk came close to making history, but Richard Saxon brought an ace plan and true grit to bring it to a stop!" She never baked us cookies again after that incident. For that, I am glad.