Breakfast is delicious. I take my eggs with a virgin screwdriver. A savory confection of cooked wheat flour and baker's yeast provides the perfect spreading surface for churned cow's milk.
I had just sat down to consume the aforementioned morning vittles when Frank arrived. I stared in shock, viscous maple tree sap dribbling down my chin, as he effortlessly did a backflip through the gaping hole in my exterior wall. How ironic. That was the day I was going to patch-up that hole. I had never intended it to function as a means of entry into my home for a person I really didn't like.
I never saw Frank the same way ever since he killed my father. Now he was in my house, one of seven places where I truly feel safe. All I could do was continue kneeling in my chair as he callously ate my pan-fried swine meat.
After 16 minutes I could no longer take it.
"Get out of here Frank!" I bellowed.
"Nine!" he replied defiantly. "It's a German number that also means 'no'"
Killing my father was one thing, but questioning my knowledge of the German language was quite another. Frank had gone too far. So I called the local law enforcement authority and had him arrested.