Ok.. maybe not.. but he’s dead inside.. at least he smells like he is.
Actually.. he has decided that he doesn’t like me.. something about me having a big ego.. or something crazy like that.
He thinks it will be more fun to travel the world looking for weird artifacts and whatnot..
well Jack, I hope you catch a hella cold, and maybe.. as your laying in the desert watching the vultures circling your soon to perfectly baked carcass, you’ll wish I were near.. to love and to hold.. tightly around the neck.
Bye bye, Jack.
What I have written is entirely true.. unless, of course, I’m Talkin Bull.
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I’m not dead…
I’m getting better…
I don’t want to go on the cart…
I feel fine…
I think I’ll go for a walk…
I feel happy. I feel happy…
Ow! Why the hell’d you hit me in the head?