I've been hearing about this blogfest from Kelly's Compositions for a while, and what can I say? I'm a joiner. I decided to censor a word for the squeamish who aren't expecting to run across rude words in my blog. Sorry, delicate-eared sphere. That's how the boy talks. Here's my first page:
Dear Mr. Stallone,
Do you mind if I call you Sly? I know everybody else does, but I wouldn’t want to dis you or nothing. I mean, I know how to pull a punch and all, but if you got pissed at me, we both know I’m the one who’d end up with the rearranged face.
Don’t worry, Sly. This won’t be another fan letter. I thought about writing one of those. I could, you know. I’ve got the first two Rocky movies memorized, and I named myself after you. No ****. Well, my birth certificate says Robert Livingston Sullivan, but everybody calls me Rocky, even my parents. But don’t freak out or nothing. I’m not gonna turn into one of your crazy stalker fans. First of all, I can’t afford to hop on a jet to track you down. Also, I’m fifteen, so I guess my parents would send the cops after me once they noticed I was missing.
I just wanted to tell you about my life. You’re probably thinking, why the hell should I care about a fifteen-year-old lowlife Stallone-wannabe from some rathole (mine’s called Kepler) in eastern Ontario? That’s in Canada, if you didn’t know. You haven’t heard of it? No one has. I don’t know why they even bothered to name it.
I dunno. You can throw this letter or memoir or whatever the hell this turns into in the garbage if you want. No skin off my not-yet-broken nose (ya like that Rocky reference?).