Dreadful! I was sitting on the floor of our living room with Theresa watching a dating show in real time. She got the date and handed me the homemade card saying he wanted to go out with me. It was my old twitter friend, Steve, the journalist, aka VodkaPundit. He was young in his black and blue photographs on the card, and he mentioned me by name. I tried to forget most of the disaster, but it began in a sort of house for creeps and only got worse from there. Think X-files, Home: a greasy blonde woman in a dirty shift was crawling after us, and I was busting out of windows. Why we thought we'd be alright on the second date where I was driving a monster truck is anybodies' guess because pedestrians were walking out in front of me, and I had little control. Steve, my co-pilot, was no better. There went a young blonde kid. Oops, after running over the black guy the crowd was after us. I forced myself awake.
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Available as an ebook, soon to be released in paperback, Pottsgrove Manor and Saint Michael's Cemetery is another Pennsylvania picture...
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Sleep, it used to be every other day twice as much, the same went for dreams. Seems with Fall came every three days thrice as much. First,...
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Sir Frankie Crisp wears Mummy's sixties costume pearls. He's not falling for the drugged cream. He said, too bad, witch. That bitch ...