I don't like you, you don't like me. I think you're stupid, entitled idiots. You probably think I'm just some old dude, with a superiority complex. But that just means that I have experience. Listen to me. I'm the boss. We can work together towards a common goal. If you guys just listen up to what I say, and jump when I say jump, we might survive this... ALIVE!
No, Jack. You stop it. No crying. This is not the time to cry. There will be time to cry later, but not now. Now you must be strong. Don't look at me like that you weak little punk. Man up. What is with this generation? So damn whiny. I've never seem so many frickin' sissies in my entire life.
We just have to make it for a little while longer. It's almost over. Stop crying, all of you. Holy crap! You guys are a bunch of damn babies! What?! What?! Do you want your Mommy. Is that it? You all want your Mommies and your bwankie and your pacifier? Is that it? You all make me sick. We don't deserve to make it! Ah dammit! Did somebody just wet themselves? I quit! You morons can just babysit yourselves!
Or that's what the video tape from the nursery at church supposedly "irrefutably" claims I said. Whatever. They don't know what it was like, nobody does, only the ones who were there, know. They were weak. Weak, I tell you.
HILL BLOCKS VIEW IS DEAD.
...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. firstname.lastname@example.org