We were supposed to go and see the Tulip Festival today. Mom and Dad drove me one whole hour up north and they got within one mile of the tulip fields when I really had to throw up. So I did. All over myself in the car. They stripped me down and drove me one whole hour home. Mom kept saying, "Well, that was a bust." We went home and spent some time instead out on the porch in the sunny Seattle afternoon. Dad let me play with his beer bottle and I liked to blow on it like a horn. Now, would you call that a bust?
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