When I was young I met a cute, adorible, little pigglet named George in a devine resturant. He smelled of the freshed spring daffodils, sweet peach tea, and had oddly painted toenails that where neon green. He had a little chestnut brown and baby pink body with a tiny curled tail. He wore a dazzling diamond collar embeded with sparkling emralds and lined with shiny platinum. His left ear was pierced with a small, silver hoop.
He sat on a small chair as if he thought he was a person. He started squeling when his screaming pot of tea came out on a delicate silver platter. Next he was brought a dancing inferno of baked Alaska. Being fed by hand he bounced off the walls after all the sugar. Then as he passed out in his plate of food we left and I have never seen George again.
