Meet Steve.

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Steve was born last week at camp. In arts and crafts. Chase is his crafty father. I don’t think Steve has a mother. Poor Steve.

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I believe that Steve was conceived with but one purpose in life. To torture his Uncle Noah.

The Scene – Every day for the last seven days:

Chase: No-aaaaaaah!! Say hi to Steve.

Noah: Get that thing away from me.

Chase: But it’s Steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve. (Wave Steve back and forth).

Noah: Mom , he’s doing it AGAIN.

Chase: Steeeeeeeeeeeve!!!!! Steeeeeeeeeeve!

That’s how we ride in our house.

I feel sorry for Steve. Not so much because he is the bastard puppet child of an eight year old with questionable intentions but because his life expectancy is approaching zero.

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Steve is about to go on the lam. Into the puppet protection program. It’s for his own good. Just pretend this post never happened.

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