You're doing a great job, sport. I'm proud of you, even when you might be down in the dumps. You've always got your old man to look out for you. In a week we could maybe go to the range or have some late night fast food? That sound like any fun?
Could always just stay home, Josey Wales is gonna be on TV tomorrow, if you feel like watching an old-ass cowboy movie with your dad. Anyway, the mill's letting us off for a week since we lost the straight-mast forklift, can't get any work done. Tell me if you need anything, a day out of school, anything. I could probably sweettalk your ma into being fine with it it if I kissed up enough.
This burns me with the torture of a thousand suns exploding directly inside of my eye sockets, evaporating my brain and my heart in a mere millisecond, and yet even so my soul screams on, it's tortured wails of agony forever echoing and echoing into the ceaseless pit that is the void of oblivion (and doom eternal)