Epilogue

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Anna's P.O.V

"The End." I say, looking at my snot-nosed, shit-headed, sarcastic sass arses, son of a dumbfuck children in the eye. Monroe was crying of laughter by the end of the story of my life and our kids' face's were priceless like they just got told Santa Claus wasn't real and he really just goes to your house, breaks in, steals all your crap, and replaces it with new stuff so you don't notice, and rapes your parents; threatening them not to say anything until you're older.

"And that, kids, is how I got adopted by those two old hags you call your grandparents over there on that couch fucking making out while they eat pizza if that's even possible and they're like what 40 or something? Shits nasty. And should probably be illegal. Oh and look ones wearing a cheetah print trench coat cause plot twist: He's in the Cheetah Girls instead of One Direction and as if you thought it couldn't get any worse he's wearing pink sparkly boots with heels on them like he isn't already gay enough. All this is happening while his hubby is whispering thirsty ass  comments in his ear, children," I pause, looking my eight year old little girl and thirteen year old boy in the eye. "Oh and those two idiots also had a foursome with great uncle Chucky (Ed), and Robbie Williams."

THE END.
JUST KIDDING.
THERE'S A BOOK THREE.

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