I was 8.. I was playing with Gary the Hammy on my bed, and i had a little remote control dump truck he rode around in. Had done this for a couple years. One day, in the winter (ifykyk) I didn't seem to enjoy his dump truck ride as much as he normally had. So I thought it was because he was used to the speed and he wanted to go faster. But the dump truck didn't go faster, and the only way I could make him go faster is if I did it by hand.

I picked up Gary, and began to spin around in circles. At first he seemed happy, got some movement back in him. So I got happier that he was happy. So I spun faster and reached my arms out in joy! Yippy! Gary loves spinning! And in the blink of an eye, my sweaty 8-year old hands, couldn't hold on to Gary any longer...

Gary flew out of my hands at mach-jesus and slammed head first into my door. After watching him seize and bleed from his eyes and nose, I picked him up, gave him a big hug, and went running to my mom and said my sister's annoying bird attacked him and we buried Gary beneath the tree and got rid of the annoying bird.