![]() In case you haven’t been following my every move (and why would you be?), at the end of my junior year in high school, my parents dropped the v-bomb on me. It’s not like I-or for that matter, anyone in my family-can be seen in our house since we’re all, you know, supposed to be dead.īut maybe I should back up for a minute here. What’s the point in having a funeral if you can’t go and see who cared enough to show up? I had an excellent disguise picked out and everything, but the Josh-erator put me under total house arrest. A funeral which, incidentally, my family’s personal VRA goon, Josh, would not let me attend. ![]() ![]() You name it, I’ve got it: death certificate (which I’m not allowed to keep in a scrapbook, per the Vampire Relocation Agency rules), obituary in the paper (depressingly short, if I do say so myself, and ditto on the scrapbooking), and a funeral. ![]()
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