Thursday, September 08, 2005

From Patrick Lewis' journal

July 4, 1986

Dear loser,

This sucks. You're away at surfer camp and I'm stuck here scooping ice cream for rich snots who laugh at my hat. Like I picked the stupid thing. When I'm the new Draig, I'm going to cast a spell on all of them so they get bad hair. With bugs! And I'll make them all smell like fish fries.

At least your mom lets me come over and play Atari. But it's not the same without you. Dickhead. When are you getting home? I can't even call you because dickhead dad didn't pay the phone bill again. You'd never guess he had so much power. You'd think a man who could wield the youknowwhat could manage to pay the phone bill. Or at least make the company forget we owe anything. Yet another reason my dad is a dick.

Okay, well I'm writing for a special reason. It's not like I'd talk to you otherwise. I want to borrow your books. You know the ones. Your father gave them to you instead of a new surfboard. I know where the key is, so I was just going to take them. It's not like you give two farts what happens to them, but Dad insists I ask.

"Things of power should be respected." Dickhead Dad.

So. Can I? You gotta write back because of the phone. Do it soon so I can stop reading them under the covers. Yeah, I already took them.

Jason the Amazing


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