Tuesday, April 28, 2009


When we were eight, Stephen-who-was-always-grounded scraped his palm pretty awful. He stuck out his hand to let his Weimaraner lap up the blood and gravel. "It'll heal faster," said Stephen-who-sat-atop-his-wooden-fence-to-chat-with-us-when-grounded. I doubted him but never cared to investigate his medical procedure. I surely never tested his treatment on myself. I didn't really understand Stephen-who-peed-in-a-girl's-mouth sometimes, anyway. Twenty-two years later, as moments ago I pondered the San Jose Sharks losing to the Anaheim Ducks and licking their wounds, I finally get Stephen.

It was consensual and they were kindergarteners, the peeing.

I really like cats. I wish I weren't allergic.

I used to be a hockey fan like really bad.

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