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Immanentizing the something or other

A journey into stuff

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teeny little super guy
If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want—good or bad—BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.

When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you.

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I am still amazed that you convinced Terry Pratchett to come hang out in your room at Worldcon with only two lines of blow, a bottle of Nyquil and two rolls of Pep-o-mint Lifesavers.

Well, there was that time that started when you came out of your room in your new Purple Sequined Tuxedo, with the rest of the band behind. Rocking down Highland street passing out fity dollar bills to unsuspecting pedestrians and students, while Maceo gave you that sweet brass love... it was beautiful, man.

Memories, sweet memories

I know we're not supposed to talk about it but night we drove home from western mass on the back roads will always haunt me. I don't blame you for it. I know you were just too tired to drive. I should have offered to drive or at least stayed awake with you to talk. The loud wet crunching sound that woke me... I can't even describe it properly. And the hours we spent digging the hole on the side of the road with our bare hands... And then refilling it... Well, what are friends for?

Remember when we pistol-whipped that guy whose caused our perfect heist to go awry? You never did say where you hid the body... or what happened to the money... or how the heat never came down on us...

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