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She called,just after midnight and she was

  • She called,just after midnight and she was crying.Criyng so hard that I had a hard time understanding who she was,but when she said something about fire I knew
  • it was Trish. Her words were scrambled between tears and deep breathes, but I could understand that her bus was on fire. 40 feet of what she called home was now nothing more
  • than cinders, twisted metal and a few stray
  • cats. I adjusted my bowtie and headed toward the cinders. There was nothing
  • redeeming about the movie "The Tuxedo."
  • It was, she asserted, quite simply the most stupendously awful piece of cinematography in the history of mankind, if not the universe. I was inclined, I said, to agree, but
  • I had a SETI transmission from the alien sitcom "Four and a half Cephalopods" and a nickelodeon reel "Ouch my Trousers!" which both had worse cinematography. She said this film
  • must never be seen again and put a match to it. However, I was able to save a few frames, which I carefully placed with my collection of cinematic rareties salvaged from
  • some little kids room I burglarized. I looked at the frames I was able to save, one was a nude scene featuring Whoopi Goldberg, I didn't look at the rest. One day I'll look back on
  • my time in juvenile detention without shame or revulsion. For now I could only reassure myself that my time will come. My time will come.

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