N.B.: Yesterday, I posted three times. Today I’m back to my regular one.
In my junior year of high school, I threw a birthday party and invited my whole class. Unfortunately for me, Matthew Gibson—one of the few decent people in the class—happened accidentally to be throwing a party the same night, so everybody went to his party and three people came to mine. All four of us sat around and pretended nothing was wrong.
When I walked into homeroom at school the next day, Mary Beth Crawford turned around, saw me, and said, “Hey, Faustus, I heard you had a really bitchin’ party last night!”
This was thirteen years ago and I still have dreams about rending her flesh into a thousand tiny pieces.
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