STOP STEALING MY FREAKING QUARTERS, YOU JERKFACE!

Tiny: *walking around with a plastic baseball that used to be a mint container [before she threw it on the ground and they flew everywhere and we had to pay for it]* La di da di da. *shakes baseball* ching ching ching I need gas in my car. *walks over to small, plastic Flinstones car*

Me: Hey, are those my coins?

Tiny: No, those are not your coins.

Me: I'm pretty sure you've got my coins in your hand.

Tiny: No, I doesn't. *walks over to my stairs, where my piggy-bank is*

Me: Hey. HEY. GET OFF MY STAIRS. Josalyn, stop stealing my change. Stop it! That's MY money, you turd! GET OFF OF MY STAIRS! STAY OUT OF MY ROOM!

Tiny: No, no, they're not your coins. *putting coins on steps*

Me: Joooooosaaaaaalyyyyyyyyn, stop taking my cooooooooooins! That's my hard-earned money! (not really. It's pretty much all leftover and/or found.)

Tiny: *ignoring me*

Me: *walks over to stairs and, yep, my piggy bank is unscrewed. I think I need to punch a bird in the face. Just a little* Um, Parental, did you open my piggy-bank?

Parental: ....(Facebook).... Whaaa? Oh, uhh, no. I wouldn't do that.

Me: *dramatic sigh* No, that's not it... Friggin a, Josalyn! STAY OUT OF MY STUFF, you BUTTFACE. Someone's going down and I think her name is Josalyn.

Tiny: No, Josalyn's not going down. *sing-song voice* I'm not going dow-owwwn. *dancing*

Me: GRAAAGHHHHHHHHHH. Stay out of my stuuuuff, you turd face! I've told you, over an over, stay out of my STUFF. *walks over to pile of crap toys. Sees ring that I was looking for about a month or so ago.* HEY. What is this? OHMYGOD. YOU! *points to Parental* Yoooooooooou! YOU!!!

Parental: What?

Me: Do you see this? I've been looking for this forever and... *sigh* Agh, how did she get this? *walks back over and, holy jaysus, she's got another one. My brain might explode. [I hatehatehatehatehatehatehate people touching my stuff.]* LOOK AT THIS. LOOK. *puts about 4.3 centimeters from Parental's face* You see this?

Parental: Oh my gosh, how did she get that?

Me: That's what I'm saying! It's my skippy ring. My skippy ring. How. did. she. get. this. *points at Tiny* You! Yoooou!

Tiny: Me! Meeee! *laugh*

Me: Awesome. *exaggerated sigh/groan* Whatever. Freakin a.

And that's what happens. She steals my stuff and I turn into a crazy pirate and get all groany and whiny and this is so not cool, Tiny, so not cool.

She also knows how to unscrew things, which is extremely inconvenient for all parties involved. She likes things like lotions and spilling stuff with flailing and running and taking over my water. Good times. And I absolutely cannot stay mad at her.

I like my quarters, okay? Laundry, even numbers, really really really terrible tipping, it all works out with quarters.

PS. The last tag looks like it says "swords" 3 times.