Hey, don’t disrespect your Unkie like that.

And I’ll grow some more.z

Three whole inches, sergeant wee wee.

No. I grew much since last year.

I’m not.

You’re done growing, X-ray.

Wee little lad.

I’ll call you sergeant wee-wee.

A wee little lad, even.

But you’re my little X-ray.

So is the fact he’s denying my unkie-status.

See? The color changed to affirm this ideology.

Why not? I’m your unkie.

Call me Unkie.

Listen, nephew. Not like that.

Like, normal intimate. Close as friends.

It defies science, and so does our profoundly intimate bond.

I do, X-ray. You’re my troubled nephew now.

And I am eleven.

It is to me. It’s your nick-name.

So omnious.

X-ray.

Eleven.

Try to go on a deficit but still eat the necessary foods.

Is my name eleven now? I like it.

That’s stupid. Not to be rude, but it slows your metabolism and renders the likelihood of gaining weight to be much higher.

X-ray, let a kid be grateful that he’s developed physically. Tsk tsk.

Yes. Niche.

137. Ish.

Well, I’d like to flex mine.

What’s everyone’s weight?

5’6.

Driving and eating seems overstimulating.

I touch grass when it’s not scorching hot out.

Y’know, nature is so pretty. It’s a shame I don’t go out more often.

I like The Smiths.

Everyone’s favorite eleven year old has returned!