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TBH, I was going to ignore this the same way I ignore those e-mails that claim I’ve got a Nigerian fortune waiting for me.
OK, for real TBH, I totally followed through on one of those and lost some $$. BUT NOW, I ignore them…unless they seem really convincing. Then I go with it long enough to get a phone number and just text them memes at weird times during the night. And yeah, I look up time changes so I know when to best disrupt their schedule. CAUSE I’M THOROUGH ‘N SHIT.
But back to the thing I really thought I could ignore, and had done quite well ignoring. Until the party. (TL;DW–Some creepy ass wrote some creepy ass shit on my wall).
If you’re anything like me, you haven’t been back to your hometown since you were 17. If you’re even more like me, there’s a good reason for this. If you’re me, you can’t remember what that reason is. But you can remember waking up in a hospital some 500 miles away.
Those childhood nuggets safely nibbled on, it should come as no surprise that I’m not really “game” for going back. Mysterious circumstances, extended hospital stays, foggy memories–it’s all a bit Hardy Boys for me. I’m much more of a Mystery, Inc. kinda guy. You get it, right? I’m sure you do.
That’s what made the letter all the more ignorable. You haven’t heard from anyone in eleven years–I’m talking No One. No lawyers, no uncles, no youth soccer coaches who DEF wanted to try and pedophile my fine ass–and then you get a letter promising, among other things, a substantial family estate?
Methinks, “No, thank you.” I read it. Did you? If so, we all agree that there was a major The Shining moment in there, right? I’ll wait while you go back and read it.
My presence may be requested but it is withheld! With vigor!
Well, it was. Until some drunk asshole wrote “She Lives” in my room. Now I’m on a bus. What a time to be alive.
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