With a clip-on tie from K-Mart. In the outhouse when we were kids. Her name was Sayla. Like Layla, but with an S. She was sweeter than a Nestle Toll House chocolate morsel.
When I was arrested for transporting Vietnamese slaves, Sayla bailed me out.
When I overdosed on Altoids, Sayla rushed me to the hospital in her Mr. Softee truck and waited with me for a whole hour.
When I attempted to glue President Bush's private parts together under the podium at my graduation, Sayla was the one who pulled me away and told the Secret Service that I had Down Syndrome.
I don't think I'll ever get over Sayla's passing. The fact that we were Siamese twins made things even more difficult; our blood type is hard to come by and I'm gonna need a new heart PRONTO. Yeah come to think of it, Sayla could be a real selfish bitch sometimes.