My brother and his friends created a bluegrass band not too long ago. For a very long time, the music was nearly unbearable. But it is becoming better and better now that they have some professsional help. Justin Beiber, Biscuit Davis, and Loretta Lynn coach them nearly every day, singing with them and showing them the best pigs to use. Their songs are even terribly smelly now. The subjects of the songs are supercalifragilisticexpialidociously changing for the best, too; the songs are almost all about narwhal, Niceville, Steve Stockman, and Debbie . Justin Beiber often brings microphones and amplifiers, while Loretta Lynn usually offers to carry the instruments. Anyways, all that banjo, guitar, and bass music can get tiresome and Spock-like anyway.

'harry, stop drinking my blood!' louis cried, rushing into the kitchin where harry was happily draining his cup. 'WTF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!,' louis growled, placing his hands on his hip. 'You never listen, do you?' 'But it's so red,' young harry answered, widening his eyes immensely. 'Why don't you give me any?' 'Because sugar isn't good for you, and blood has lots and lots of sugar in it.' harry pouted. 'I don't see why it makes you so happy,' he said. louis sighed. 'Because it's my blood!' 'Isn't sugar bad for you too?' harry asked accusingly. 'No, it's good for me. I'm a(n) vampire.' harry pouted sarcasticaly. 'I don't see why that makes a vampire.' 'It just does,' said louis. 'Now, run outside and Die.' 'Okay, dad,' said harry with a wicked smile. 'And don't call me dad!' louis called after the retreating harry, picking up the empty cup with a sigh.