I can't really put thoughts into words right now. That is never a problem for me, but yeah,... Some thoughts are too complicated for words. If words were translated in binary, my thoughts would be in hex. For starters, I'm listening to Radiohead. Specifically, OK Computer. This is a great CD. It sounds kind of like Kid A mixed with Hail to the Thief, but I doubt any of you "readers" would know what in the nine hells I am talking about. Stupid doo-dads. Anyway, I, being Shane, am at Jeremy Walbridge's house. There are seven of us, including me. Currently present are Jeremy "comblood" Walbridge, Shane "Calypso" Bergeron, Brandan "Willshire" Martini, Robert "Predator" Holiday, Alan "Zeus" Gradolph, Derek "Longshot" Anderson, and Travis. Since little Travis changes his alias every time we engage in simulated combat, I won't even honor him with more than one identity. Call him Travis. Or niche. Or nigerachi. Your choice. (As for all of you "fair" maidens who thought that Travis was pimpin' just because he tore it up at Mario's party: I tore his throat out and handed it to him, and I'm not nearly the best Halo player here. Just thought I should clear that up. But don't hate him, love him like you'd love an abandoned, broken puppy, in need of love. Lots of it.)
Moving on. It is now a little after the last time I said what time it was, and I'm twitching. Just a little, but the spasms are there. Right as rain, they are. I think that the reason is because we were just outside in the bitter, unforgiving cold trying to do hundred yard dashes through eight inches of snow. Extremely cold air does not help asthma, and asphyxiation does not help migraines. Just thought you should know. Hell, I lost myself. I need a break, and I'm taking it. Now.
INTERMISSION . . .
I'm back, after about a half an hour. It's all good. I was just watching Willshire play Rainbow Six 3, and I saw something pretty funny. Brandan (Ding) was walking into some kind of a warehouse, when out of the blue, Louise gets tagged in the head by an AK round, and blood sprays from his head as he bolts to his right at a downward angle. Good stuff.
I think I should clear something up. If we catch any of you calling us by our names outside of combat, or outside of Halo, we're likely to form a lynching mob and kill you. Yes. And in nasty ways, too... We'll do it too. We can. The seven of us can wage war on a small country. Like France. Hmm,... Never mind. That does without saying. Maybe we could take switzerland. They don't have much of a standing army, and they're a little lacking in the special forces department. Yeah, it could work...
Anyway, this is an interesting weekend. I just found out that Crissy and I "made cookies," and that Derek had something to do with it. Now, don't get me wrong: I can't really remember any of this happening, but I'm not going to deny it either. It's surprisingly possible. The possibilities are endless, and let's not forget that the possibilities are possible. It's possible.
(Tee-hee, I'm being subliminal. Blatantly subliminal.)
(Ed. Note: As it stands, this essay is unfinished and is to remain this way. Shane had high hopes for this essay. He wanted to go back and forth between the party and the essay, updating you on crazy happenings that were occuring. Then... he fell asleep. Right before Dungeons & Dragons, too!!! The essay is good as it stands though, so I've decided to post it.)