So It's Come To This
Brandon was supposed to write a guest update for tonight's ISB detailing a true tale of violence and mystery from his family's sordid history. But since Brandon is a bad friend and a horrible person (children burst into tears whenever he walks by and when he comes over for pizza, my dog just hides under the table and growls), he didn't.
So you can blame him for the lack of a real update. But as an alternative, I present the conversation wherein I discovered his betrayal, edited to make his childlike scrawl readable.
Hey, I'm tired and I hurt my hand playing tennis yesterday. It's either this or more pictures of french fries.
Chris: Where's my column?
Brandon: Oh shit give me about 20 or 30 min. k?
Chris: YOU WRETCHED LITTLE HALF-MAN!
Chris: I ought to kick you and beat you with sticks.
Brandon: I had to go see another movie today
Chris: By the by, I effed my hand up yesterday.
Brandon: Really? That sucks.
Chris: Yeah. Remember when I fell?
Chris: I scraped one of my knuckles and I think I might've sprained my wrist a little bit.
Brandon: I meant to write the story this morning but my dad was gone before I woke up. I could do it tonight...
Brandon: but it would be better if I could do it tomorrow.
Brandon: So I could, you know, like find out his name.
Chris: Damn your beady little eyes. I don't have anything to write tonight. You better have it tomorrow, you deadline-dodger.
Brandon: I saw The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.
Chris: That's why I don't have my column?
Brandon: You fucked up your hand.
Brandon: And I missed a deadline
Brandon: See, thats something to write about.
Chris: Excuse me while I find something blunt to strike you with...
Brandon: Just cut and paste this conversation.
Chris: I haven't fallen THAT far. [Ed. Note: Yes, apparently, I have]
Brandon: It's got racial slurs and threats of violence.
Brandon: You know, like most of your posts.
Et tu, Brandon?
Be here tomorrow when I rip the lid of the Terrifying Secret of Hezekiah Wallace.