my third grade teacher was a stripper.

we didnt know what was one. not sure we woulda understood. found out when i was in highschool. we loved her back then. loved her more after.

she was our fourth grade teacher too. cried during reading us “Where the Red Fern Grows” out loud.

was the first reason i wanted to write.

somehow that was fourth grader logic: i love my teacher so much that i want to write a story that would make her cry.

i wonder where she is.

we called her Mrs. Janice even though she wasnt married. in those days we called everyone Mrs.

i dont think ive called anyone Mrs since.

last night my true love asked me if i still wanted kids. i said eh. she asked if i still wanted to get married. i was all eh.

she said dont give up on your dreams just cuz i wont marry you.

i was all, i gave up on being manager for the Cubs so who cares about all the other little stuff.

she said baby.

i was all, yes baby.

she was all, do you really want to marry me?

and i was all, no.

she said what!

i was all i want to do you then marry you then do you again.

then we talked about how Bush is a fucking pussy for not letting Condi Rice take the stand on Capital Hill and take her lumps for knowing about 9-11 and not doing shit about it.

and i started singing “whats he building in there” by tom waits but i changed it to “whats he hiding over there”.

then we told each other we loved each other.

then i fell asleep watching the sopranos

and i still havent made it through sundays episode.

lady gauchos are in the sweet sixteen for the first time ever + the foxy moxie pierce + ken layne

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