Dear Norah,

Apparently, you're steamed at me for "leading David astray". In fact, word has gotten around that you torched my yellow hoodie. I guess David neglected to tell you whose idea it was to do any of that shit in the first place, but that's not that important. 
I'm writing this because I don't want you to go off to school with bad blood between us. We're lifemates, see, and that involves some kind of mystical bond (or so the crackhead that lives in my garbage can tells me), a bond that, apparrently, can only be broken by a level-nine wizard. 
I also decided that you deserve an apology from me for up and disappearing into thin air about mid-July. Sorry about that. No excuse, I was just being a dick.



I have no idea why the picture is this small.

Anyway, good luck in Chicago. Remember, you're representing all of us when you go there, so give 'em a taste of brick lightning for us! Facebook my fat ass.                    ~K 2 da T

I looked at some of the shit I wrote in this thing early in the school year... and promptly deleted it all, except for the one entry that really matters. What a drama-bitch chump I was! Anyway, since assinaglass has been sullied by my own chumpitude, I went and whipped up a more badass livejournal (oxymoron?) that's hopefully more suited for badasses like these guys:



Yeah, it's sideways. But they. don't. care. They're THAT badass.

Kid_Thunderbolt

Look me up, son.

Four teens.

A grill.

Three small steaks.

The dream they shared.

The creation and consumption of four sandwiches at 2:02 A.M. on October 29th at Grill Central was perhaps the greatest event in culinary history since the dawn of, well, culinary history. I will elaborate no further; you had to be there. You had to taste the love and effort and planning and ingenuity and comradery contained in every bite.

Drew "The Neon Blur" Felch
Brendan "Manhattan" Donahue
Chris "Kid Thunderbolt" Schell
Seth "Seth" Maher

Dieties in our own right.