And The Truth Is, I’d Felt Kind

I'm A Liar. And I Can't Stop Thinking About Boys.

I Thought About Telling Him The Truth: 'oh, Nothing. Just Having My Soul Exorcised So I Can Roam Around Purgatory, Looking For The Ghost Of The Dead Cowboy Who Used To Live In My Bedroom.

Jesse, This Is Craig. Craig, Jesse. You Two Should Get Along. Jesse's Dead, Too.

> Cracking: No Need To Yell. > Ftlouie: I’m Not Yelling!!! > Cracking: You’re Using Excessive Amounts Of Punctuation, And On-line, That’s Like Yelling.

My Shoulders Sagged. Really, Is It Too Much To Ask That I Be Able To Come Home From A Long Day Of Work And Relax? Oh, No. I Have To Come Home And Read A Bunch Of Letters Written To The Love Of My Life By His Fiancée, Who, If I Am Correct, Had Him Killed A Hundred And Fifty Years Ago. Then, As If That Is Not Bad Enough, He Wants Me To Explain The Vietnam War.