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Eight Maids A-milking: This is the part of the song where I always start to forget the words, and just go with “Blah blah a-something!” Anyway, maids. Fine; nifty. Anything is better than birds. And when I think of a “maid,” I pretty much automatically think of low-grade, “Cinemax”-style soft-core historical porn, featuring girls in those black-and-white uniforms.
Brandon had skated through middle school and half of 9th grade with the rock-bottom level of “achievement.” No one had stopped to ask why. Brandon had spent his formative years keeping classroom chairs warm and occasionally getting past question 3 on a test. He had fallen through the cracks, and it seemed like no one had noticed.