You are a disgusting piece of shit, and we’re going to get along famously. But first you need to calm down, shut up and put it away – at least for a minute. Stop clicking between tabs because you’re too much of a lazy slob to read my story. Have some fucking respect.
Pay attention to me, because *that* makes me wet.
I once heard it said that everyone has a book in them, but in most cases that’s where it should stay. For me that’s certainly true, for the simple reason that the book I want to write is not exactly of the wholesome sort. I’ve been teaching college in California for fourteen years and, no, I’m not going to be more specific than that; if the journal I’ve been keeping all of these years got into the wrong hands, or my cover was blown by you, my career would be over.
On Friday my husband of eight years found my journal and, well, that’s not exactly what we’re here to talk about so I won’t bore you with the details. Except to say that if the self-appointed chief, commandant, liege lord wants to resign his position then you won’t hear me complaining.