He has robot parts and he has never cried or shown emotion in over fifteen years of friendship. One night, when we were in San Diego last summer, I heard him say in his sleep that he was actually an alien spy sent to collect tissue samples from Earth. And don't get down on being an autobot slut, Sean. Sluts make the world go round. Taking sluts out of the world would be like taking oil out of an engine.
He has, however, written a book that I'm halfway through and which is pretty god damn entertaining, even though it has the grammatical sense of a ten year old, and it really seems like some bizarre nightmare me or Sean would have. Everybody in my life (as a product of them also being in Sean's life) is given a fictional representation, alongside monsters and crime and sex and violence. Good stuff. Every character's life is in shambles after their youth is gone. Sean, you don't even enjoy your young days enough to miss them when you're old, so don't worry.
Hold Tight! I just saw Death Proof again yesterday. What a fucking movie that was. It's a French New Wave film with a serial killer and a twenty minute long car chase scene. What the fuck?
Want an update on me? I'm ten minutes away from orgasm.
Good night, and good luck.
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