Friday, May 28, 2004

They found me. Somebody told somebody something, and that person told someone else. But they found me, and I had to run.
For the last four months, I've been hiding out in Minnosota (Don't ask), Irene's been all over the media (Oprah - OhMyGod - And Why), and I've been shacked up in this suburban nightmare with nothing but the cats and Mildred's decomposing head to keep me company. I'm guessing that conversations I have with Mildred are more exciting than the ones Irene has with whatever media Whores she's currently selling her soul to.
It's taken this amount of time, but I'm finally back on the net, and finally ready to pick up where I left off with the Academy.
I don't know if this has anything to do with Rachel, but I really want to talk to her.
First, I need to get back to work. Night is approaching, and I have a knife with a wicked grin and a bad, bad, bad temper.

You know. I'd Kill for a Gmail account.
Really. I would.