Sometimes I can't type things . Now's different .

I fully realize the futility of typing something which will probably never be read . Having said that , I'm going to . I know you may not agree with my decisions , but I hope you'll agree that I'm tough enough to make tough decisions . By the way , that last sentence was a paraphrase referencing something funny in the not-too-past media . I hope you laugh at it , and I believe that that hope may be grounded in some promising ground . I say that because , even if you or nobody else reads this , I am in fact sending my little joke on a journey ; a journey between minds - from my mind to yours ; directly , psychically . I cannot promise that you'll recognize my message as such , but ... just remember : If you should ever find yourself in your house , reading Whitley Streiber's Communion and laughing hysterically at his admission of experiencing rectal pain after being abducted by the visitors , you might want to reconsider what you're actually laughing at . In the corner of your minds eye may be the embodiment of my joke , quietly , imperceptibly luring your attention away from a visualization of Streiber's sore rectum ... or perhaps his sorrowfull face , depending on your level of perversion .