Donald's holy head, my graciousness butt-crack sandwich.
Donald is a freak like me and always will be and that is why he hangs out on the edge of the woods at the end of the field during recess.
He's the only one over there and he walks back and forth thinking about something that is consuming his life and everything he thinks he knows about it.
His petty little mind is probably full of the dark things that mine is, but he don't know how to be the master of his universe, to blend in and charm and awe like me.
Donald's short life is written all over his long face.