A Little Craving

I am craving a reader. Just one, its all I wish for.

Santa: What do you want for Christmas, little boy.

Little Boy aka Bobby Baldwin: A reader.

Enjoy that creepy image of me sitting on HoHo's lap while I digress.

Considering I have no reader, no one will see that and no one with experience my disgustingly morbid sense of humor.

I think the only people who have really experienced how morbid I can be are my creatiive writing teacher and a the girl that sits behind me during that class. My teacher is forced to read the scraps of paper I hand in displaying morbid stories of machines that make women beautiful and a creature with wings made of severed hands. What she doesn't realize is that these terrible back-slash briliant ideas are born from her writing prompts, which means it is her fault.

The girl that sits behind me just likes to read what I write before we turn our papers in. I enjoy reading her's also.

Its strange I speak of this in the present considering creative writing is now the past and I will not have the class again. I know I am going to miss it, but I found my silver lining. I get to take photography next year!