Join the club. I can hardly believe it myself. But Dad wouldn’t let me call you on the phone. For one thing, he said Mom is waiting for some client to call; but of course he also started squawking about how much it costs to call Vermont from Virginia, and how when I get a job and pay the bills I can make long-distance phone calls whenever I want. Typical parent stuff. Of course, that begs the question—why don’t I just e-mail you? Here’s the short answer: Brothers stink. And now the long answer. The Loser Posse, also known as my brothers, has been hogging the computer all week, ever since the three of them pooled their money and bought this idiotic new computer game called—get this—Awesome Jawsome. The hero is some stupid shark-headed mutant named Jawbone. I’m not sure what the point of the game is, but an awful lot of it seems to involve chomping on innocent bystanders and trying to rack up incisor points. You heard me. Incisor points. Don’t ask me what it means—I think: it has something to do with teeth.
