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Originally Posted by EMMAh
In the other a crazy killing killed my grandma's friend by sticking salad forks into her temples. Then he would write poems and get them published int he paper. All the poems had hidden meaning which said that he would kill me if I told what had happened. Everyone thought the poems were the most beautiful things ever and didn't get why I hated them.
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Spielberg should make this movie.
I had a strange dream recently- Dave, this unnecessarily violent and evil wanker I went to school with, stole my bicycle. Which is weird because I don't actually own a bicycle anymore. Anyway, I wrestled the bike from him and rode off in escape, as he chased, and then I woke up. The real, non-dream Dave once tried to suffocate me with a can of anti-perspirant.