"I got one!" he squawked.

He'd caught a redhead. They're special.

I pretended not to care. "Where are we going?"

"Home. Where do you think, oaf?"

I'm an "oaf", whenever he has a redhead.

"Let me go," the carrotite said, unenthusiastically.

Who cares what Orangutana wants.

He'd flog her. Firetonians show marks the best.

"This again," she muttered.

"I hate you," I hissed.

At home, Pumpkinella bent over, waiting. She said, "Why don't you dye your hair red, then?"

"Because I don't want to get flogged. Why don't you dye your hair anything but red?"

"Because," she sniffed, " I'm special."