The sausage either has two endings or two beginnings.
In this sausage's case I wish it had neither.
Swimming upstream against a current generated by the multicolored vomit spewed forth by a billion children who just overdosed on the entirety of candy from Wily Wonka's factory, I resurface only to reach for my bookcase where Carroll's tome rests, grab it and allow the current to pull me under shouting: "READ THE FUCKING BOOK YOU TALENTLESS KNOBS!!"
Daughter 1: Daddy, can we watch Frozen?
Me: Sure thing, honey. Does your brother want to watch as well?
Son: What's it about?
Daughter 1: Oh it's about princesses and true love!
Son - blank stare-
Daughter: and there's a snow monster.
Son: Let's roll.
-movie finishes, Daughter 1 is blaring Let it Go at the top of her lungs-
Me: What'd you think, buddy?
-Son gives me a look-
Me: C'mon, wasn't that bad was it?
Son (these are…