Did you ever want to play questions?


Do you have a backhoe I can borrow?

Will I be able to get my security deposit back after I dig the basement?


Having listened to and loved tapes and records of the shows, wasn’t I thrilled, at the small-town college where my dad was the library director, to be introduced to an old professor who had written scripts for The Shadow radio show? And wasn’t I too shy and foolish to ask him about it?


Why am I laughing so hard at this?



Is there anybody in there?


Is your self-ban over?


Or is he just part of the Conspiracy?


What if I AM the conspiracy?


Because reasons?


Aren’t we always? Didn’t we miss you? Don’t you need a big ole hug?






What?!? But why wouldn’t he get hugs anyways?


Would that explain everything?


How did I accumulate so much stuuuuuuufffff?


Amazing isn’t it? Even when stuck in an apartment?


Can you find matches?


And didn’t I get rid of a boatload of crap before we moved into this place four years ago?
On the plus side, hasn’t my limited budget been responsible for keeping the accumulation of more possessions from growing exponentially? And didn’t we get rid of unused kitchen stuff when we had a small-scale bug infestation last year? So really, am I just complaining about the fact that I own things and they need to be packed into boxes?


Haha, why must you tempt me so?


Can’t you see that I’ve been where you are and realized that you probably don’t need all that stuff?


You’ve been in my apartment?