it's precisely at this time that i feel compelled to remind you, gentle reader, that everything on this page is fiction, a creation of a deranged mind, for amusement only, and certainly not a watered-down document of the completely wonderful adventures of a ridiculously fortunate young black man just struggling to deal in america.
i mean you wouldnt really believe that one day he would just get on the innernet, do a few quick searches, find some adorable pictures of a college girl in santa clara, start a dialogue and have her fall for him? come on now.
oh and the older girls say, of course you could woo her, and i wonder why theyd say that, i havent had any luck wooing them. average looks, no car, unemployed, older than dirt, disgustingly reclusive, nervous on dates, and so stuck in the Victorian age of dating that a young girl basically has to lift her blouse and shove my head into the pleasure chest for any action to take place. so why would i bs you, nothing in this book is true.
her name was gwen she lived in vegas. kicked out of the private school for partying too hardy, straight a's, nearly a perfect SAT. that parts true. eyes are greyish blue. they'll look right inside you. five months of chatting. one month of bonus telephone calls. One failed breakup where shed have none of it. and for once it wasnt me who was whipped.
still i had my doubts, the devil whispered all the things that he will when you're meeting a pen pal of nearly half a year "shes a he" "youre ugly" "look at your receding hairline" "look at your yellowing teeth". "nineteen going on nineteen, popular everywhere, super long blonde hair. you aint going anywhere."
And since nothing on here is even halfway true, this i will tell you, after we went to the dairy queen, i said, wanna go to the movies? she said, i'll do anything you wanna do. i said, i wanna go to the hotel, they have a bowling alley and an ice rink. she said, as long as they have you. And nothing here is even true.