Once again, I ask you to go easy on my poor little Trigger. When he was five, he had no friends. When he was 15, still without friends, he began to imagine what it would be like to actually have close buddies. Soon Guadalupe Jose, Wendy Suit and One Market Plaza were his constant companions. I thought it was odd that all of his friends were imaginary, but the school psychiatrist set me straight: “Hell, everyone at the school hates Trigger and consider him the ultimate loser. His GPA is 0.015 and he even got a fail grade in the Art for Dummies class—even with the extra credit he got for bringing in a black dildo. If It weren’t for imaginary friends I am afraid that he will end up posting on a rail foamer internet site. And imaginary friends are a step up from loser railfans.”

Now Trigger is in his world of make believe. With his deluded political heroes he finally thinks he’s special and important. Somehow this has given him the sense of purpose that has eluded him all of his life. Owning the Libs!

But he still needs more. I think back to him watching reruns of Gomer Pyle and dreaming of becoming a Marine…only to have those dreams shattered when he found out that Gomer forsaked Sgt. Carter and married a fireman. It was about that time that I found his collection of Men magazines under his bed and---well let’s not go there.

All I am trying to say is that Trigger is seriously mentally disturbed and to keep that in mind if you respond to his rambling posts. Also, as a favor to me, please tell him to give me back my black dildo.