Point: You guys are
mean

by Pluto the ""dwarf
Planet""

All of you are a bunch of
liars. Yeah, I'm talking to you, all those women who are all like, ""size doesn't
matter"" and then you ditch me and giggle with all your chic 20 year old friends
wearing cocktail dresses in the back of those bars that pretend that they're
chic because they serve electric blue drinks that have names in bastardized
French. You're all liars, because clearly size does matter.

I'm talking to you, mister
Fun Playland who wouldn't let me on the roller coaster because I was too short,
and was all like, ""you'll grow up someday"". But he's a liar because I never grew
up and had to wear platform heels until my mid 60s just to make it onto the
merry-go-round.

I cant believe all of you
kicked me out because I'm too small. I mean, come on! You scientists aren't
exactly huge. How could you not consider me a planet because of my size? I
consider you people, regardless of the fact that you'd rather spend your time
fiddling around with sexless beakers rather than pumping iron and simultaneously
chugging your beers with your bros. How hypocritical is that!

It's not like dwarves and
midgets can't be successful. I mean, look at Verne Troyer. He's a midget, and
he's one of the most successful actors ever to live, with such diverse and
dynamic roles as ""Mini Me"" in Austin Powers, ""Griphook the Goblin"" in
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone,
and ""Coach Punch Cherkov"" in The Love Guru.
All I ever wanted was to be
accepted by the big boys. I'm not asking for anything other than to escape this
Peter Pan psycho world of ""I won't grow up"". Kuiper belt? More like, other
wannabe misfits who don't know what it's like to rotate around their own skinny
little underdeveloped asses, let alone the sun. I was there, and all of a sudden
it was gone, just like taking candy from a baby. Even my own puns have become
self-deprecating.

I have to go now. My Very
Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas.

Counter Point: I Like
Pizza

by Pluto, the
dog

I think most people assume
that I'm more of a peanut butter kind of dog, because my skin is vaguely peanut
butter colored and as they say you are what you eat, but that's sort of
misleading because I'm actually more of a pizza kind of guy. I think most people
also assume I can't talk but that's also sort of misleading because I usually
just take on the strong, silent persona to disguise the fact that I never have
anything worthwhile to say.

I got in a little tiff with
Minnie Mouse, my mother, earlier today when I accidentally let my emotions take
hold of me and relived the ""sorry I killed the squirrel"" incident of 1993. She
locked me out of the house indefinitely, so I'm just sort of sitting here
scratching myself wishing I could be back inside.

My Very Educated Mother
Just Served Us Nine Pizzas! Damn, that woman knows how to make me repent my
sins. It's also a little upsetting that she bought so many pizzas, considering
she and Mickey are just little mice who can barely even chew on the fact that
they represent the bastardization of oral folklore and the consumerism and the
mass media all that other stuff that the atheist types like to bitch
about.

I think I'll sit out here
and make puppy tears for a while. Perhaps if I cry enough, it will flood the
basement and force them to use the pizzas as flotation devices. I really like
pizza.