This is me drowning in cum numbers at my accounting job in Nebraska back in 1937. My Norwegian boss used to call me tadpole, in not sure why but I think it had to do with the fact that I’m French and was new to the job so tadpole was a play on the whole “French frog” thing. Anyway I quit my job because he kept wanting me to go out and put signs up that said “fisted old horse for sale” because in his native language of Guarani the word “fisted” means happy. So he thought he was putting up signs for a happy old horse for sale but everyone who called about the sign was a real weirdo. I told him his mistake and he hit me with the belt from a belt sander and told me he was my dad. I was pretty confused at first because I’ve known my dad my entire life and he would never hit me with a belt of any kind, a bike chain sure but not a belt, belts are for pants and sanders. And not the Bernie or Colonel kind either, more like the old obsolete tool used to make surfaces smooth back before jagged surfaces became the hip new thing. So I was drowning in cum numbers and couldn’t finish all my work in time to save the horse, it was sold to an old woman named Gillie and she turned it into a fibreglass statue for her sister in law’s ex husband who had too many UTIs to ride a real live horse. I wonder what he’s up to these days.