I read dead people. They don't realize they're dead, they keep posting anyway. I felt frightened and afraid, until I realized that all I had to do was read their postings and understand they needed to let us know that step-mamma's soup was Lysol-laced and lil' sister was gonna' get it too unless the barrier was broken.
Oh no, there's this gaping wound in my head! I recall a broken window, Fletch in my bathroom in his BVD's and why I should've, really and truly should've, brushed my teeth more often. Toy soldiers, table tent with post-dead puke smell and too many postings. Way too many postings- because I read dead people...
Oh no, there's this gaping wound in my head! I recall a broken window, Fletch in my bathroom in his BVD's and why I should've, really and truly should've, brushed my teeth more often. Toy soldiers, table tent with post-dead puke smell and too many postings. Way too many postings- because I read dead people...
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