This is the part C-- edited out...and I tend to agree.

A while back I got this itch to start a writing project...a conglomeration of sorts with friends. So I started and the discard from the beginning is presented below. The problem is that I quite like the discard, so it is my hope that you will join me in adding to it; whatever you like, however you like--just add you bit as a comment, we'll see where it goes. R.

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…Somewhere over the Midwest it happened. A child discovered the Father Christmas didn’t really exist; the he was just a figment of some poor bastard’s imagination who liked to rob children of their innocence. That and he liked fragments and run on sentences. I thought about telling the child to cheer up, that things would be better and life would continue for the rest of her existence to let her down. I thought about telling her that it was the small things that mattered and that is where one needed to draw their inner strength from. I wanted to share the picture in my mind of a dew drop on the end of a tree branch at sunrise, the waves crashing on an empty, secluded beach or of wild mustangs running wild across the vast and endless plains of the United States hinterland. I then came to my senses. First, this child had no arms and only one leg. I’m sorry, all my images of serenity and greatness cannot do shit for that poor creature. She was not happy and I understood why. Secondly, nobody respected her. Common folk and caretakers alike treated her like some kind of token freak. Undoubtedly she was but compassion does not require the transfer of idiocy.

The freak child episode, while providing some black comic relief, got me to thinking. And then I was done. Quite honestly I like being done without all the thinking business; it is taxing. So instead I usually chose to consume massive quantities of chocolate candies and ketchup, sometimes together. It has been about 20 years since the freak child with one out of four appendages came into my life and then very quickly out of it. I can’t help but think that she has somehow colored the fabric of my existence much more than I would like to admit.

By now you have probably come to wonder exactly who I am? God, I am a megalomaniac. That is just the problem, so I don’t think I can give you a very satisfactory response; maybe they can. However, for rates and payment options refer to magazine instructions. But regardless of the randomness of my musings I think that a proper introduction is in order. Hi, hello, how are you very well thank you, much obliged to make your acquaintance. Good, now that that is done, I’ll clue you in to my latest adventures in Borneo.