We've had the father cone, "Coney", whom we aquired in a crappy beach bar parking lot, in the backseat of my car for almost a month strapped into a seatbelt. I drive everyone pretty much every night and day and we joke about Coney being a real member of our pack. Well now he is. His wife, Clara May, and him met in the valet parking lot of a ritsy steakhouse, and let's just say she's an uptown girl that goes for the bad boys.
Johnny, the first born, is the soccer star and he's good at EVERYTHING.
Little Sally is just a sweet little bucket of honey; she doesn't say much.
And Eugene, well something went horribly wrong, and Coney denies that they are even blood related. Eugene can usually be found walking into walls or stuffing innanimate objects into his conehole.
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