Don't struggle. That never helps.

Now comes the fun part.

Truthfully, I'm thankful for you.

I probably don't have to point it out, but all that unpleasant nonsense the other day was just that-- nonsense. I am neither a mass-murderer nor a mime, et cetera.

And no, Deb isn't a super hero or a cokehead, and if I made a crack about how good she'd look in brightly-colored spandex she'd probably hit me, so I won't.

So, um. What's the deal with today?

|[ooc: FOURTH-WALL THE HELL OUT OF HIM, PLEASE. I would like to request though, that no other City folk remember anything incriminating that gets said today, after the curse ends? ;_;]|

Jim Morrison was my father.

I'm a prosthetist because amputees get me off.

In my spare time, I like sedating people and hacking them up with an axe.

My murder was staged as a suicide.

I think breaking into people's houses is a good way to get to know them.

Killing their family? A better way.

I spent fifteen years of my life on drugs pretty much 24-7.

I'd just as soon kill you as go fishing.

I lost my virginity to a French prostitute, but I enjoyed slitting her throat more than screwing her.

Deb and I do cocaine together every Saturday night.

I once hitchhiked cross-country dressed as a mime.

|[ooc: some of this is true, some of this is false, some of it is nonsense and some of it, I don't even know. ♥ He guessed the gist of the curse and thought he'd blow off some steam.]|