1/11/04--Nick's birthday story, Except for the Birds. It's Lance and, well, pick your own co-star (see below). Everything is supposed to be quiet after a massacre.

Okay, Nick. Here's your goddamn story.

I busted my ass over this. I needed time (which I didn't have), inspiration (which was rare and ill-timed), many gallons of canned caffiene (which tastes like battery acid), and a Rent performance (what is this, my fourth?) to finally pound this out.

Also there was the slight problem of you loving certain characters and loathing others, which happens to be the same characters I love and loathe, except backwards. I refused (and still do) to write a JoLa story, so rather than have you bitch at me, I left the love interest unnamed. So you can imagine him as whoever you wish, and the rest of us can know the truth. (Note to the rest of us: If you really want to know who the other person is, it's most likely who you want it to be, okay? Trust me.)

I did all this only because if you whined at me one more time, I would have had to kill you. Oh, and also I love you beyond reason. Or something like that.

Praise, whine, bitch, ramble, and complain to me. Promise I'll write back.

Damn proud to be a youngin'.