It was midnight now and the sun was falling fast. The milk had expired long ago and the only sound to be heard was twelve-year-old Timothy Baggins whistling John Mayer’s “Your Body is a Wonderland” through his cleft lip and dental braces. Timothy Baggins had spent most of his life in an insane asylum, but quit his job as a dishwasher there to pursue his true interest: origami bumblebee-people. Meanwhile three-armed baby Arnie was sucking away at his gag ball, dancing his little transplanted heart out. And the midget, well, a sweet, gentle, beautiful tear came out of his left eye as he came to the realization for the first time that, at forty-seven years old, he would probably never hit his growth spurt. They could now hear the kittens meowing in the distance, so they knew that they would n