Dad thinks that he
is corrupting me.
Obviously Dad does not know about the everclear incident, the drug-trade in the school bathrooms, et all.
Or my French penpal, from whom I learned all the lovely curses in the entry below.
I really don't think people with buttons for eyes are going to mess up my mind, much.
However, one obliges those that are partially responsible for their existance. I do love dad.
Thus, my pet good-horror-novel penchant has been shoved into the closet.
I read in the closet now.