Plant

I wonder what makes these people think that I am a mindless plant, as if I am just going to continue to flourish sight unseen under these most bitter, harsh conditions? They must be out of their minds. After all, it is not all up to me. If they are not going to do their part then there just is not going to be a harvest. They should get used to that idea.

Band Members

Yes, who knew that blah-boring band member Darrin Drake at college just might be a distant cousin of the Buenos? I never thought of this until I started doing some genealogical research on them. Bobby's grandmother Kathryn Drake was from South Dakota and the Drakes are scattered around all over the place. So, like, why should I care? It is not like I was ever a friend of Darrin's or of any Drake person that I can recall. If the Drakes are from South Dakota that means they are probably dull and boring Vikings like all such inhabitants who feel so at home and comfortable in those icy, freezing cold regions of the globe.

Deaf Dennis

Perhaps Dennis Buchmiller and those other instrumental players or whoever it was did not get the message that we sent to them in the first place: Go to hell. It would be so improper and unChristian for me to say such a thing to those guys but to tell the truth, I am required to be so careful to be nice to everyone and positive and affirming of them even if I don't really like them, but that is what I was trying to say to them even if they are already off on some bunny trail trying to make me look bad whichever way they can. The truth is that Dennis is just a Stockton lowlife who is clueless about the realities of my complicated life. Those guys went off on some tangent but I don't remember exactly what the question was or what I or someone else said. As for me, I am not available. What Dennis or whoever it was might think of me just does not matter and is completely irrelevant. Dennis is just a stupid sax player so what would he know about anything? Nothing.

Hatemongers

Yes, this whole thing is designed to make me look horrible. I cannot win this game. No matter what I say or do, everyone is always angry with me and I will get nothing out of it either way. The more I fight it the worse I will look so it makes no sense to bother defending myself. It makes no sense to me why I should feel guilty about the outcome of high school games when I was only one small piece of the team, not exactly a top pick, and did my part as best as I could though never very athletic and not interested in boring athletic stuff for the most part. I see no reason for these well-tanned people to try to pose as martyred black people when actually they have millions of dollars stashed away in banks somewhere offshore so that obviously winning or losing a Blue team relay is no big deal to them and not going to make or break the bank. I did not do anything to them so while I could launch into some bizarre tirade and invent some stuff, actually I would not know what I was talking about and anyway I would have a lot more to lose, like pretty much I would lose everything, whereas it would mean no loss to them to crush me and destroy me completely, so basically the policy is to keep my mouth shut and stay out of trouble so that they have nothing to use against me because, basically, I never really had any advantage. Being white is actually a disadvantage in a lot of ways.

Message

Yes, that was such a weird message that I heard from somewhere, that I am supposed to carry the torch in remembering the Blue team from high school and the memory of Ulises who was the Blue team leader because, well, he died and Carmen, who was Ulises' boyfriend in high school, later married someone else and is no longer able to hold the torch for Ulises' memory. How odd that I would be selected for this impossible mission. I have almost no personal memory of Ulises whatsoever. I vaguely remember Game Day. The Blue team did not win any trophies that I recall but, well, at least we tried. We did all the games that were required of us but one of the other teams won. However, as far as I am concerned those four teams ceased to exist after high school. No one is still keeping score to check whether the Blue team is still at the bottom on the scoreboard, except maybe Carmen and a few other overly exaggerated people who are out of touch reality. After all, if Carmen had attended the 35th high school reunion, she would know that during the meeting someone delivered a very nice tribute speech in Ulises' memory, someone who knows him well so would be appropriate to talk about him and not me. If Carmen had been there, she also could have contributed her speech about Ulises but obviously Carmen is away from high school pretending to be someone else so she would not remember that.

Joe

I do remember hearing someone talking about Joe, I am not sure who, but I am completely baffled at why anyone would go to such great lengths to mount this strange defense of someone I only saw once in my entire life that I can even remember, when he stopped in after dinner to chat and have dessert and we all sat around the kitchen table talking when I was maybe 12. That is the only time I recall ever seeing Joe, although I have heard the sad story of Joe's sad and sorry life and how his wife left him for a while and went to Hawaii and then came back and whatever else happened which I know nothing about but there is plenty of fodder in the diaries for spies like Max to feed on, and about how no one was sure whether Joe and his wife even went to church or were really serving the Lord for some reasons which are never clear, just that maybe they needed to appear at church more often so that the relatives do not worry about them so much. Most of what I hear said about Joe by those other strange people such as stupid Max gives me the impression that Joe must have been quite an accomplished liar in painting such a distorted picture of us because actually we never talked about him much at all nor did he ever play any significant role in our family nor did he ever have any recognized ability to administrate our family's affairs, obviously, being just a regular Joe who should not be poking his nose in places where it doesn't belong. The way Max describes him, Joe sounds like an extremely vindictive cranky old coot who completely destroyed my life based on something I did at age three. How then does Joe expect anyone to have any respect for his trashy slut daughters Gwen and Joanna who obviously made big mistakes as we see from the genealogical record even if they did make it legal later. Obviously, Joe is just trying to make political points by trashing me and making his own wicked daughters sound so much better because they have husbands and children. How convenient for Joe that I should present myself to be slaughtered for the benefit of the uppity-ups.

Pork Rinds

Yes, that was so funny how cousin David reacted when I told him those chips he was eating which I had given him to try were actually pork rinds. Ha ha ha! That is what the package said. Cousin David looked like he was going to puke. I said that perhaps there was some mistake. Just because it says "pork rinds" on the package, that does not mean that anyone in their right mind would actually fry little pieces of pig skin and sell them in a bag as if potato chips or that Grandma would buy them at the grocery store and have them there for us to try, so it was all just a joke. No, actually we must take these labels very seriously because they mean what they say, David replies. Some people actually do fry little pieces of pig skin and sell them in bags as if they were potato chips. David is repulsed by the idea of eating pig skin. Funny that David would react so strongly. I mean, it is not like we are Jewish. It is not like we would be above eating the occasional pork and beans or gravy with gravy on biscuits, not that I have ever tried pork rinds since that time or even thought of eating pig skin. The idea is actually kind of gross if you take the label seriously.

Land Office Swindle

I would be very interested to know why the State of Texas is so actively involved in swindling me out of my inheritance, as if I were mentally defective. The Archives War of 1845 aside, why is the head of the Texas land office archives a guy named Mark Lambert? The chances are slim that just any Lambert would be related to those Lamberts who presume to rule over the McClellans. No, it is more likely that they are just clerks in the government land office who are just doing their jobs. The Lamberts might have a job in the paperwork shuffle and red tape department but it would not be their job to decide whether I deserve to inherit anything. If we all had to prove that we deserve to inherit something then lots of people could easily be lined up against a wall and shot for whatever reason just like in the Old World. I could say the same thing about the Texas land office genealogist, Isabel Alfaro. What are the odds that Texas' head genealogist would be related or married to someone who was in my high school class? I just have no idea how that could be or why some genealogist would imagine herself related to me just because she did a lot of family research and knows more than I know about some of my distant relatives. A lot of these things are very peculiar and not in keeping with the American way of thinking. So just because you spent a lot of time researching useless tidbits of history, that does not make you the daughter of my mother who is the one who has the deed/title, not you pencil-pushers. Sorry, but you really should get a grasp on reality. It probably is tempting to imagine yourself in the shoes of the subject of your genealogy research, but you really should resist that temptation because if you try to lay claim to stuff that is not yours, we will have to sic the president of the United States on you because obviously Texas is not helping.

Back To Jerusalem

I sometimes wonder why people keep talking about the Back To Jerusalem movement as if I would know anything about that. That is something that happens in China of which I know nothing and that has absolutely nothing to do with me. I have not a clue about anything to do with that and no idea how it got started. I do not think there could possibly be any connection between my family and the Back To Jerusalem movement. It is mildly interesting to note that my great-grandparents were in China back in the early part of the 20th century but that was a very long time ago. You must have us confused with the "Voice of China" people, the Hammond family who were well acquainted with my great-grandparents and who continue to travel to China even today. I have no connection whatsoever to the Hammonds and have never met those people. I heard that they moved their organization from Pasadena in California to Tulsa, Oklahoma. They always were Foursquare which is a whole different story of which I know nothing much. The Hammonds probably know all about the Back To Jerusalem movement and how that developed and what it means so you really should ask them. I only know that it exists and that, well, if the Chinese can evangelize the Muslims better than we can, that sounds like a good idea to me. There is no reason to argue with the Great Commission as long as you are talking about the Great Commission and not something else.

Rush

Yes, I do remember once going to the financial aid office at college and asking if I could get more financial aid, like grants and all that other stuff that we are always told about in publicity. I was told that there was nothing else, that my parents make too much money. So that was that. My mother was able to pay my tuition but there wasn't much money left over for expenses like shampoo, etc., so I got a part-time job at the school cafeteria washing dishes which helped with expenses although not really a career builder to say the least, just a couple of hours spent in dish washing, plus I also played piano for a few voice students and was a paid a small amount for that, not really anything to get rich on but at least something to pay expenses. So I graduated and I never want to hear another word from those hags in the financial aid office, Linda and Debbie. Someone really should take those old dogs out behind a barn and shoot them dead because I am sick and tired of hearing the sound of their voices howling in the wind. After all, they always made you feel like a beggar if you asked for anything so I think they should put on the beggar's shoes for a change and see what it feels like. So obviously someone has already said this about them although it wasn't me but I was chosen to regurgitate the sentiment, obviously.

South Dakota Attitude

And what makes all these South Dakota riffraff think that they have anything that I would want? Am I not just as much a U.S. citizen as any of these high school dropout losers from the most pathetically freezing cold, justly forgotten state of the 50 even if I do live in a sunnier place? South Dakota really is the middle of nowhere and there is nothing there of interest to me, especially as I have never been there and do not remember anyone worth mentioning who ever came from that place to teach me any lessons that I would need to get from them. Basically, South Dakota is on the bottom of the list in terms of being a place to live or having anything to see except maybe Mount Rushmore, and are those faces carved on the cliff the semblance of any South Dakota native? No, obviously not. Those are the great U.S. presidents of the founding of our country whose origins were in the states farther east of the Black Hills of South Dakota, obviously. Yes, the sculptor was Danish but born and raised in the U.S., not some provincial village in Denmark. He was trained in Paris, not in what would have been at the time some provincial backwater arts school of the U.S. But is the artist's face carved on the granite promontory? No, obviously not. No, the true artist would not be so megalomaniacal as to think that the art is all about him. Obviously, the art is saying something about a message that is larger than one artist. The true artist did not even live to see the completion of his work in 1941, having died earlier that year. The true artist knew that the story was something greater, more universally true, than just about him. Artists come and go, they have their seasons in the sun and then they fade away or are fired and sent packing or whatever happens to them because we tired of their whining, grandstanding ways. Their art may live on a while longer or it may not but either way, it was a product of its time, a time that is fast receding into the distant past and out of recent memory.

Witches

Ok, so just because in my doodles I drew a picture of a witch, something right out of something like the Wizard of Oz, sort of like the Wicked Witch of the West, she knows who she is, that does not make me a witch or involved in any form of witchcraft of any kind. I was just very bored that day in class, I suppose. I also have other little faces of various kinds and expressions, and also geometric figures and the classic house with tree and sunshine, etc. I do not appreciate these stupid ignorant rabble daring to accuse me in this nefarious, backhanded, backstabbing, traitorous, and wicked way of theirs. Obviously, you were serving as my model and recognized your own face reflected there on the page. Ha ha ha! Otherwise, why else would you react in such a bizarre way.

Doodling

Yes, I do remember doodling in music theory class. I thought it was so insulting for those guys to insinuate there was anything X-rated about any of my doodle drawings. With all these innuendos, people might get the wrong idea about that. You guys really should be more careful about what you say about me behind my back. People might get the wrong idea about me and think of something that never happened.

Bread

Yes, it should be pointed out that one of my high school classmates, Elizabeth, was the bread heiress, that is to say her family owned the Lido bread company. I do not know very much about that situation or why she now lives in Louisiana where she married an American or whatever happened to the Lido bread factory that her family owned and all that stuff that happened during the Civil War down there. I don't really know very much about that, I can't quite remember what she said about it. Maybe you could ask Elizabeth about the bread saga. Nothing personal about the bread choices, but Lido bread is sort of like Wonder Bread if you know what I mean, so it is fine for sandwiches but, well, some people like other kinds of bread, too.

Common Denominator

There is a common denominator in some of these things that I may have discussed with Sharon Turner Deras although I don't remember. Sharon is from Nebraska and prides herself on being a tough cookie which means to be stupid and to act without thinking and to shoot off the mouth without having a clue what you are talking about. This provides an accurate description of former friend Sharon and a few others who have a strange way of turning everything I say into a nightmarish vision of the hellish lake of sulphur, a location which I am hoping to avoid entirely. I never want to go there, not ever, which is why we never use that word unless it is absolutely necessary in its appropriate context: H-E-L-L. Yes, why pronounce this word when it is completely unnecessary and avoidable? I see no point in borrowing trouble that does not belong to me, a child of God who has faith in Jesus as my Savior. "For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved." I do feel sorry for these people who refuse to believe but, as the saying goes, "a man convinced against his will is of the same opinion still." Those who actively stake their claims in the lake of fire could not be dissuaded from such a reckless and damaging pursuit against their will even if a ghostly apparition were to beckon and cajole them to abandon their foolish ways. No, God does not want people who are robotically forced to do the things that we expect them to do just because we say so. "And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil." It is to be hoped that the Holy Spirit will work upon their hearts to soften their dulled consciences and point them toward the light and what is right but it is not our place to make that happen. If you did not like the message I am sorry but shooting the messenger, as for example me, is not going to change the fact that you were heading in the wrong direction. Sorry about that but there is nothing that I can do about it except maybe mention this to Sharon which means that for sure whatever I said will get passed along.

Throwback

One time we were visiting some people at their house not far from ours there in San Salvador and later my mother commented that the daughter looked so unlike her mother and siblings that she seemed like a "throwback" reflecting past generations. That is the word my mother used and which I probably repeated to someone although I do not remember who. Not really a nice word to use in describing someone but, well, it was, well, maybe sort of accurate in describing how I feel about those particular people in terms of throwing them back because they were not really my friends in the first place, only pretending to be friendly for some mysterious reason temporarily, for some vague idea of monetary gain attached to having white people in close proximity, but not really sincere about understanding or being a part of what we were actually doing there. So fine, sometimes when one goes fishing one catches a fish that is not ready for capture and thus is not thrown in the bucket for dinner but instead is thrown back into the water for some other fisherman to catch later on when the time is ripe, or something like that.

My Name Is Not Jack

Why does everyone treat me as if I were Jack the child molester instead of Candi the confused little 3-year-old who did not necessarily get that idea from Jack, maybe even got that idea from some other children who it was heard had already tried the same thing? I am not sure that it makes any sense to treat the 3-year-old as if the prisoner, as if I ever accused Jack when I do not remember anything about that anyway. I am confused and not exactly innocent but, still, not really as confused as I was at age three despite the malicious people who want clamor for my arrested development.

Close Encounters of the Weird Kind

I am suddenly reminded of the time that I went door-to-door witnessing in El Salvador with the AIM team from Arkansas for four or five days. On the very last day we, meaning the little group of four or five people that I was translating for, were accosted by this guy who listened to our spiel and then wanted us to go to his house for some reason to talk more. So we did go there, just a few houses down the street, and talked to him a few more minutes on the rooftop patio of his house but that was all. I don't remember him having anything of importance to say. I don't know why he was so insistent on us going to his house to talk to him there and then he was just sort of weird. We probably should not have spent the extra few minutes it took to go aside, and I do not remember if he ever did get saved, but anyway that is all that happened. So we should have probably just said no to the invitation to go to his house in my opinion but the rest is history.

Tongue Twisters

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.
So how many pickled peppers did Peter Piper pick?
A peck of pickled peppers did Peter Piper pick.

Ok, so I used to eat pickles sometimes as a snack after school. I would eat a whole pickle at a time as if it were a carrot, which is hard to imagine now. No, I do not remember what the brand name was. Was the word "kosher" on the label of the jar? I really do not remember. Why do you ask? Why would it matter? A pickled cucumber is a pickled cucumber is a pickled cucumber, is it not? I mean, Ok, so some pickles taste different than other pickles depending on the content of the brine solution used to pickle the cucumber. Nevertheless, the variations in flavor do not change the fact that the pickle was originally a cucumber which was left in some sort of bucket to stew in its own juices before being bottled and shipped to grocery stores everywhere. So whatever pickles my mother brought home from the grocery store will be the kind of dill pickles that I would snack on. My Dad often preferred those weirdly flavored sweet pickles so she would buy other pickles for Dad. It is strange to imagine that I would eat a whole pickle that way. Here in the U.S. pickles taste so different. Someone was saying that the pickling laws of the United States are much stricter and so the process is different here. I do not remember what the pickles tasted like down there so it really does not matter to me. Nowadays, while the occasional pickle slice adds a tangy burst of flavor to the cheeseburger I am otherwise not much inclined to snack on pickles of any kind or country of origin, especially being much more aware of the health risk of so much salt in the diet, especially the retention of water that results in that bloated feeling. I am not sure why I never noticed this when I was younger but, oh well, isn't that how it goes when one is now on the downhill stretch of life?

Bread and More Bread

Yes, I like bread. The bread that was delivered regularly by the Mennonites in their truck and also the wheat bread that was available at the Selecto Supermarket where my mom occasionally shopped for some things when we got over that way although we lived a lot closer to the Todos Supermarket because we lived not that far from the big shopping market on Boulevard de los Heroes. But I must confess that we rarely purchased the Lido bread available at the Todos supermarket because it even though it was OK for sandwiches sometimes, the Mennonite bread was really good and homemade and so we got delivery of that maybe once a week or so for a while also but after the Selectos supermarket opened and they had even better wheat bread and then mostly that is what I ate a lot because it was very very good. Someone was saying something about the bombing of the Mennonite bread factory but I would not know anything about that because that happened after I left. I just don't even have a clue why bread would be an issue because it wasn't an issue when I was there. You can snack on pickles if you like, and I sometimes did that, too, and other things, but anyway, still, bread was the one that my sister made a big joke of.

Bread

Yes, every day when I came home from school I would go straight to the refrigerator for a snack, usually a piece of bread and a glass of water. My sister always thought that was so weird, like bread and water, like isn't that what prisoners eat, bread and water, and like blah blah blah and commenting on this weirdness to everyone which makes it very uncomfortable for me to want ever speak to my sister's weird little friends who are mostly stupid Baptists anyway. All those Baptists do all the time is sit around saying nasty things about me behind my back so obviously there would be no reason to get back in touch with those little brats. It makes it hard for me to get any respect when my sister has already trashed me to everyone on the planet for various reasons. It is not like she is right about the bread and water thing, just has a bigger mouth to broadcast whatever. It is unfortunate that my sister does not stop to think before flapping her jaw because people actually take that stuff seriously and they might get the wrong idea about me. It is dangerous for her to be yappety yapping all over the place to those little idiot children she knows who they are. I personally do not want anyone to think that I was ever a prisoner. I just liked the bread and water snack

Freak Show

Yes, it always was so awkward to be a little redhead girl down there in Latin America. If we went anywhere outside the city we were like a freak show. All the little brown children would crowd around staring at us. It was weird. Obviously those children are not very educated, not educated enough to know how naive and silly they look staring at us that way, but anyway it made us very uncomfortable. Perhaps these brown people expect us white people to entertain them and make them laugh and put on a show for them but that is because brown people are very ignorant about these things, especially little brown children who may not even have shoes to wear and may never get a chance to learn how to read and write out there in the middle of nowhere. Sitting in a coffee shop some people stand around behind us taking about the "chelitas" meaning of course us. We cannot expect these ignorant brown people to have any level of understanding about who we are and our lives. There is not much time to say more than hello and goodbye. Sorry about that but we are not the property of Latin America. We are U.S. citizens and we are kind of busy having lives and getting ready to go back to the United States which is home to us. There is no reason to stay down there in a place that was only temporary even though we remember also and would mail you a pair of shoes if we could remember your name. I do not remember what I did with the elephants. They are stored away somewhere in the attic perhaps. If you want them come and get them, send your mailing address. Otherwise we have nothing else to say to these people who mean nothing else tous.

Forgiveness, Powerlessness

Yes, it is not like I have not forgiven these people who have utterly and completely destroyed my life and any hope of my future happiness. Even though I do forgive their rotten, hateful attitude towards me, I am powerless to do anything about it. I am completely trampled underfoot by all of these horrid people and there is absolutely nothing, not a single thing, nada, that I can do about it. Whoever is in charge up there at the top has unleashed all of these horrible people to mistreat and abuse me behind my back of course, not that I do not know what they are up to sort of, I can take a hint, and I am completely powerless to defend myself in any way. Eventually they are coming to take me away, ha ha, they are coming to take me away, ha ha ha ha... So anyway, I can take a hint, they want to put me away for good in a sanatorium or looney bin and, if nothing else, a nunnery, because basically they don't like me. I always knew it and recorded this fact in my diary more than once so it is no secret that God cannot do anything for me. God must hate me so much, that is all that I can figure, because there is no love. Love is like dew on lilacs at dawn, the sun appears and the dew fades away. Wow! I am getting so negative I almost sound like dreary Robin, may she disappear into the mists of time never to be heard from again. I feel sorry for Robin and I forgive her for being so dreary but it is too depressing to have people like this in my life. They make me so depressed that I just want to die.

Shower

Yes, I do think that it was mostly Lynda who complained about Terry's locker-room babbling in music theory class, as if there were no girls present. There he is standing in the door whistling at some blond girls walking nearby as if he were some low-class construction worker lolling on the streets of Panama City and there we are sitting at our desks, Lynda and I and maybe Karen and I don't remember any other girls, feeling kind of uncomfortable because, well, I don't know. I always ignored that kind of guy in high school and here I am in Christian college expecting something better than that. Terry always did keep up a constant stream of chatter about all kinds of things, not that I remember much, but Terry always was such an angry person in addition to being completely stupid and utterly ignorant of actual conditions and facts regarding anything connected to me and my life so nothing that Terry says can ever be taken seriously in any way. Lynda, or Dauna by copyright, might have referred to the time that he talked about his dream of getting married and on his honeymoon there would be a transparent shower curtain. Guys say these kinds of things when they are shooting off the lip but we cannot let Terry imagine that we thought that he was referring to us in any way. No, obviously we know that he was talking about some imaginary person far in the future. No, obviously I am complete aware that I am not being invited to shower with Terry. I do not need anyone to explain such an insignificant point to me. It is important, however, to remind Terry that neither am I his dog. I am an intelligent person and I cannot allow such a blithering idiot as Terry to confuse matters to the degree that he inevitably does because he is the type who shoots off the mouth without knowing what he is talking about, as if his point of view were the only thing that mattered. Before opening mouth, engage brain, as reads the poster reads that I gave to my sister's boring boyfriend, Marty Kvetko. OK, so that was mean of me but, well, where is Marty now?

Barrel

Yes, you people really are scraping the bottom of the barrel. There is nothing else to say about the barrel that I know of. My mother would have to explain that. I really do not remember why we did that. It was just something that we were given permission to do by someone. I doubt that we would have thought of doing that without someone telling us to do that. I really do not remember who the owners of the barrel were and at this point I could not care less, probably just some mean and nasty, wicked people who really get a kick out of wielding their power like a sword and trashing whoever gets in their way, doubtless. It is fortunate that we got in someone's way but I really don't remember how that happened.

So?

So all of this boggles the mind. Why should we care about the two ladies in the trailer? We are not the ones who ran them out of town. We dropped something off at the trailer but I doubt that it was anything personal on my part. It was the entire missionary fellowship that voted them out, not us personally, so I do not see why so much is being made out of that. How am I supposed to have a life if I have to spend all my time answering all these stupid questions and paying for something for which I am not personally responsible and do not know anything about? And why should I care anyway? I just don't care.

So What?

Yes, and since when do we care what Chino thinks about anything? He is nobody, just a big foul-mouthed dummy like all the rest of those dummy-class dummies. I really never did give a second thought to anything that he ever said, not that I remember anything about him. This is just a thought from my high school point of view.

New York

I wonder what makes these people think that I would ever go to New York. I will probably die before I ever make it that far. Even if I could afford to go there, there would be nothing for me there in New York. I am probably not good enough to make it there in the fast-paced busy bustling city of New York and I know that. There is no need to explain that to me and rub it in so gleefully. I would not know a soul in New York and there would be nothing for me to do there. I would have no place to live and no job. Everything is too expensive there and people are even more mean and vicious than ever there, all the meanest nastiest people on the planet all elbowing and kicking their way to the top of the heap there in New York. I definitely would not fit so there would be no reason to contemplate such a silly thought.

Two Wrongs Don't Make A Right

Ok, so maybe I hit somebody when I was eight years old, maybe my little sister on the school bus or whoever. Still, two wrongs do not make a right. You, for your part, are a shameless character assassin so you have lost any moral authority to tell me anything. That is all that needs to be said about that.

Fears

Yes, it is incredibly weird how afraid all these old hag-witches are of a little redheaded girl. It boggles the mind how they quibble and quaver and conspire to launch a volley of verbosity in my direction at all times in order to block me at every turn. These events definitively prove that these brownish, brown-nosing women are dumber than dirt, or else vicious or something like that. Any woman who was intelligent would realize that I am no threat to them, that I am just a normal human being like everyone else, neither smarter nor dumber, and that the real problem lies in their pompously over-inflated sense of their own self-importance. I have my opinions like everyone else and it is not important that they agree with me or not. I really don't care what they think. I cannot be expected to remember what I did when I was eight years old. I forget. I know that I am just as smart as the average person if not smarter in some respects so I do not need the patronizing, condescending, haughty attitudes directed at me from certain ones of these stupid brownish people. In fact, they are so stupid they are quite dangerous. If they are going to cop such a stupid attitude towards me, then I will just have to leave them to their hellish fate because unfortunately they would not listen to reason, at least not from me. Sorry about that.

Ask

Ask not what the country can do for you. Rather, ask what you can do for the country. So if I am asking what the country can do for me in terms of welfare, food stamps, etc., does that make me a Democrat? In contrast, if I am asking what I can do for the country in terms of running for president, etc., does that make me a Republican? Hmmm... Things get very confusing sometimes.

The Rest

Yes, I wish someone would tell me the rest of the story but no one will volunteer. Everyone sits back and expects me to work my way out of this corner, as if I already know what everyone is talking about. I cannot do this alone. Obviously, I will continue to dig myself into a deeper hole until either, in the first place, I die, or in the second place, I die. Either way, I die without having a clue what you are talking about or why you are copping this weird attitude. Thanks so much for your help. NOT.