But Before We Can Radically Reshape The

The Side Effects Of Dying In Your Pants Isn't Really Funny… Alright, It's A Little Funny.

And Imagining That Future Keeps You Going, But You Never Do It. You Just Use The Future To Escape The Present.

You Were Clearly Not Doing Your Part In The Clover Search, Perv.

Nothing Really Ever Happens Like You Imagine It Will.

Late In The Winter Of My Seventeenth Year, My Mother Decided I Was Depressed, Presumably Because I Rarely Left The House, Spent Quite A Lot Of Time In Bed, Read The Same Book Over And Over, Ate Infrequently, And Devoted Quite A Bit Of My Abundant Free Time To Thinking About Death.