Ah, the old tree house; the birth place of all my childhood promiscuity. Hatching plans and schemes of desperate wickedness, all hidden away from parental surveillance. I should stop lest I confess too much. I would make him a great one, but you may want the walls made of wire :} Love Dad
Ah, the old tree house; the birth place of all my childhood promiscuity. Hatching plans and schemes of desperate wickedness, all hidden away from parental surveillance. I should stop lest I confess too much. I would make him a great one, but you may want the walls made of wire :}
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Tree houses, cool. That thing, wicked sweet.
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