It was soooooooo difficult to get to My Kinda Cute Petrelli‘s apartment. First, I had to figure out where the hell that totally bizarre Haitian had taken me in the first place. Like, I was seriously seriously lost. I didn’t even know what state I was in. I guess I should have paid more attention in the car, but c’mon my Dad had been blasted in the gut by the freak sitting beside me so I was like, all “Maybe I should be really quiet cause I don’t feel like getting shot again (Thanks a lot, mind reader cop person! Next time can you aim somewhere that doesn’t leave bloodstain on my designer jeans? Do you know how much begging I had to do to get those?!?!? I had to go to church with my mother and they were all “We’re all gifts from God” and I was all “Then what is with my schizo brother Lyle” and I had to totally do Muggles’ nails…that Prima Donna, ugh! Mom was all “Baby Birdie Pink doesn’t go with Muggles complexion and I was like, “So Street Prostitute red is sooooooo much better?!?!)
N E Wayz! After I figure out what state I was in I had to get my Kinda Cute Petrelli’s address. I kept asking people in the street if they knew who My Kinda Cute Petrelli was, but no one had any idea what I was talking about. They were all like “Kinda Cute who?” and I was all like “Petrelli! PETRELLI!” and then some other guy was like “I know a Kinda Cute Thermopolis” and I was all like “Does Thermopolis sound anything like Petrelli” And they were like “Well…yeah.” And then I was all like “Oh.”
I kept asking around for like hours and hours and hours, but no one knew who Kinda Cute Petrelli was! So then I had a brilliant wonderful, absolutely genius idea: I looked in the Phone Book! And there it was under Petrelli, Kinda Cute. And I was all like “Yay!” and the people by the phone were all like “Whaaaa?’ And I was all “N.M… God.” So then I took a taxi to the address, but I couldn’t pay the driver, cause I was kinda broke cause I hadn’t planned on making a trip to New York. ( I totally would have cleaned out my savings account to go shopping on Fifth Av., but with the Dad-shooting, and driving around with a guy who was practically mute, I was kind of out of monetary options) N.E. Wayz, The Driver totally threatened me and then broke my arm as payment, he was like “Dis iz vat ve do in mine country vor teeves.” And I was like “Whaaaa….whatever. I’m looking for a Kinda Cute Petrelli so just get it over with.” And he did and I left and he was all “Vitch! Vitch” And I was like “Mmm kay, Thanks!”
Then I was finally at My Kinda Cute Petrelli’s apartment, so I knocked on the door and this woman open it up and she was all. “Luke, I am your grandmother” and then I heard “French french french french!” And she was all like “French!” and he was all like *French* and I felt all bad when I saw the Haitian standing behind the door. I was like totally confused why my grandmother was at My Kinda Cute Petrelli’s apartment but then she was like “Hah! Your Kinda Cute Petrelli is my Darling wonderful child Peter!” And I was all like….”his name’s Peter?” and she was all like “Yep.” and I was like “Hmmmm…then that makes him My Kinda Cute Uncle Petrelli!” And we all laughed! Well, I laughed. Everyone else just kinda glared.
P.S. Don’t forget to vote for me in the Burnt Toast Diner Poetry Contest, cause I worked really, really hard on my poem and I’d hate to lose to my brainwashed father. 😀