“Mom! My toenails do not have fungus. I don’t need them to trim them,” Fred screamed. A tall man greeted them. “Today we’re doing the regular,” Janet, Fred’s mom announced in her high pitched voice. “No we aren’t! No, no, no!” Fred screeched. He picked up hair spray from the big shelf as soon as his mom left. “Don’t make me use it!” threatened Fred. “Would you like a cookie, or some lemonade?” The tall man asked. Fred grabbed for the cookies from where he was. The trey slid and burst on the ground. Fred reached down and got a cookie. “Owwie! I’m gonna sue you all,” Fred yelled showing the bloody finger. The man squeezed the glass out and sighed; “Time to go,” Fred clawed his nails into the table and said, “You can’t make me!” The man dragged Fred away, leaving wood in Fred’s nails
     Fred was tied up to a small chair so he wouldn’t leave. The man took out a nail clipper and Fred pouted, “Why? I hate you. I’m not going to let you,” Every time the person snipped a little bit off of his nails, Fred would scream, and throw a fit. The man had noticed the large amount of fungus. He let him out of the chair, and that was all it took. Fred went insane. He knocked all the perfume off the shelves, stole all the cookies, spilt lemonade all over the computers, sprayed all of the hair spray out, dumped all of the shampoo, cut the customers hair all off, and broke all of the windows. “Now man! Get me my mommy! No more cutting!” Fred screamed after all of this.
    The man sighed. Fred yelled, “You listen to me! I am Fred Figglehorn and you don’t want to see me have a fit!” The man screamed back, “I already did!” Fred ran over and knocked him over. He bit his right arm, and punched his face. “No you haven’t! Get my mommy! Now man!” Fred demanded. The man picked up his cell phone. He dialed 911. “There is a whacko kid in my salon! He is abusing my customers, breaking my property, and using my products without paying. Yes we are at Thacker’s Salon. Bring the police, social services, and whoever you can,” Fred relaxed. He had been to the therapist’s office before. It was fun. He had nothing to worry about. He smiled an evil grin. Messing up people’s businesses was fun. And afterward, you got to go to a therapist and mess up their job. “Man! I get what I want. Get me my mommy! Hurry!” Fred roared.
    His mom came and sighed, “Another wrecked business?” The man replied, “This one costs four thousand. Not including the products or people,” Janet sneered, “Fred! Now I’ve got to go to rehab again! And you’ve got to go to your therapist! Bad, bad, bad, bad!” Fred went to go see his therapist Sarah.