Fuckleberry Hinn

Hey there!

It's you. How are you? I'm fine, thanks. And you? Oh! I already asked you that. How are you? Ha-ha!

How are you?

Oh... Oh! How are you? How are you! Ha-ha! 

Fuck-

That's how you do it, folks. That's having a big boys and girls' conversation. It's fucking shite. It shouldn't go like this, though. That is a bad example. The thing is, though, it often does. It often does.

The world is a wild place for the wee. It's full of pitfalls like the above aborted conversation. The pure of heart are no match for the brutality of such a world. It's a wonder that I get through at all, at all.

When I was wee, I had some stunning misconceptions about things. Do you know the game Altered Beast? I had only read it, the title, I had never heard it said, and thought it was called Alerted Beast. A subtle, yet important difference. Alerted Beast is better, no? More active, somehow.

I thought that people had to have sex in the hospital, on the operating table, to make a baby be born.

All the wee don't have a clue about things. 

When I was wee, I didn't like chips, or any food, I think. I must have ate dust or something. I ran everywhere.

I wore a red vest.

I was the lead character in many books aimed at children (in my enfeebled child brain).

I can't fucking wait 'til Summer. Summer here is class, so green and hot. It's the best time, and I think about it every day. Winter is a cunt (but not that, bad, not so bad).

I plan to lead an idyllic Huckleberry Finn-like existence with Wee Sarah on the banks of the St-Lawrence. We'll grow our own food, hunt, swim about all day and ambush wayfarers for money and all.

I can't wait!