Just so you know, humanity still sucks. But I'm more content with it now. Today was the Civil War reenactment thing, meaning I was going to go get hit on by Hannah and come up with some way of shooting her down. "How did that go, John-Boy?" It didn't. She wasn't there. I heard wrong. Instead, Tara told me to hunt her down so she could give me my graduation present early. I have a pointy thing! A pretty dagger with an eagle-shaped hilt in tricked out in brass (I think) with a nicely sharp blade that is pretty well balanced. I'm happy now. More on happiness...I'm going to the flea market tomorrow. Why? Because Gaden and I are going to get estimations on supplies. We're going to do some war games. They're building a new path in the park. It goes right beside a pretty damn good fort that Gaden and Friends made several years ago. It's still pretty solid, despite three years or so of deglect. And the area surrounding it is perfect for war games. We already have a pretty good system worked out. All we need is a second base, helmets, goggles, paint (or temporary dye...I'll have to suggest that), "weapons," rope, and duct tape. And people. The way we'll be doing this, it'll be very easy to go from Capture the Flag to Capturing Bases to DeathMatches (which I think we'll avoid) to assasination. Also, we'll have a bit of a system to help cover others' disadvantages. Others being me. You see, I'm quite the big lad and can't really run that fast. So, instead of having the same hit that would take out someone smaller kill me, I'll be able to shrug off just about anything up to artillery fire. What we'll be using as artillery, anyway. It'll be sweet... I think I pissed off Erika. It kinda sucks because I really didn't mean to. *sighs* I'm just a big stupid oaf at times, you know? However, I'm a big stupid oaf with a pointy thing, plans for war games, a dream of a comic shop, and the sounds of the symphony still ringing in my ears. That makes me a big, stupid, and happy oaf. What kinda sucks, though, is that this big, stupid, happy oaf also has a big, stupid, son-of-a-bitch bruise/scrape on his belly that deserves to go to hell and rot for eternity. Without the rest of me. I leave now. Slainte Mhath and Pax Vobiscum. John-Boy
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