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What you are now reading is a story. NOT the story of a girl who cried a river and drowned the whole world, NOT a story of a time when mighty beings upon dragons ruled the Earth, but the story of your common, garden-variety spaz.

            These are the life and times of the incredibly average, yet strange, person now typing these words. My parents are super sensitive about security, so I will not use real names. For any friends reading this, the nicknames I come up with should come from real nicknames, but not always.

            A little about myself... ummmmmmmmmmmm... I was born in Oregon and moved to Washington. I like green, black, and silver (it's shiny!), I have an active and strange, some say violent, imagination, and I can talk to cats.

            Which brings up today's argument. I come home, make myself a turkey samich (not a SANDWICH, a SAMICH), and sit down next to Mojo, my cat. Mom, who felt bad about waking him up earlier today, told me to give him some turkey. "Right," I declared, "some cold turkey for the live one." (my mom calls the cat turkey) I'm an IDIOT! Sure my cat loves it, but now he wants more!

            "No! Goway!" I tell him.

            "But, I want your samich," he says.

            "No! It my samich!" I explain.

            "Please?" he asks. This goes on for another thirty minutes before I pick him off my lap and run away, my precious samich clenched in my fist.

            This happens to everyone who has food in my house. Not even the dog is safe from the ravenous ball of floof that stalks our house. Maybe one day he'll learn...

            Nah!