"When I was growing up, I kept getting into fights.
In third grade I fought a boy named Jerry, and he knocked out three of my teeth and broke my wrist.
In fifth grade Tim picked a fight with me. He threw me against some concrete steps and knocked me out; I woke up in the hospital four days later.
In eight grade I picked a fight with Ricky, and ended up with a couple of broken ribs.
In tenth grade I pushed Sam down a flight of stairs. He got up, pulled a knife, and chased me down. I needed eighteen stitches on my forearm and six down my right side.
After that, I decided that I'd rather be a lover than a fighter.
And that hasn't worked out too well either."
Friday, September 20, 2013
based on an actual blog post
an adaptation of someone else's hopefully-fictitious story: