Six Seconds Should Be Rick Mofina's Breakout

I Read Some, And Then Visited With People Involved In This Curious, Exciting And Somewhat Misunderstood Sub-culture. I Met With A Fang Maker, Who Offered To Fit Me For An Exquisite Pair.

"i Feel Like, Like Pudding," Iggy Groaned. "pudding With Nerve Endings. Pudding In Great Pain."

Max, You're Acting Like A Child, The Voice Said. You're Above Rebelling Against Your Fate Just To Rebel. You've Got A Date With Destiny. Don't Be Late." I Brushed Some Hair Out Of My Eyes. Is That A Movie Quote? Or Is It An Actual Date? I Don't Remember Destiny Asking Me. I Never Even Gave Destiny My Phone Number.

Unfortunately, Every Time Someone Said “debriefing,” The Entire Flock Had One Image: Someone’s Tighty-whities Disappearing In A Flash. We Were Smothering Our Giggles, But It Was Getting Harder. Coupled With The Whole “naval This, And Naval That,” With Its Undeniable Belly-button Connotations, We Were Essentially Turning Into A Sugar-jacked, Sleep-deprived Flock Of Incoherent, Silly, Recombinant-dna Goofballs. This Was Not Going To End Well.

And I Think That Everything In Life Is Kind Of Unreal, Isn't It?