The Incorrect Mind of a Certain Burton A. Dennison

August 10, 2010
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I’ve been told countless times that it’s “mongooses” not “mongeese”, but I still continually use the wrong ploralization of the word. I’m not quite sure if “ploralization” is a real word, but I make words up sometimes. I’ve been kicked out of an immessurable amount of Scrabble games for trying to play made up words. I don’t go out without a fight though; I always have a definition to back up my obscure fake word claims. No matter what anybody says, “curfage” is a real word. It is the black liquidy substance that octopuses exert if you sing Broadway musicals to them. Don’t believe me? Try singing a song from Hairspray to a kraken, or hum a tune from Wicked to Spongebob’s eight tentacled neighbor. If you do decide to do any or all of these events, just note that I am not held responsible for any stains or loss of eyesight that may occur due to idiotic actions such as these. Also, good luck finding a Kraken.

If you made it this far then I feel obliged to tell you who I am. My name is Beatrice Espinoza Franklin III, and I’m a compulsive liar. Currently I am fifteen years old, and in a hotel in Paris. That’s information that you don’t have to retain though, because by tomorrow I will probably be a twenty five year old cow wrangler from Bermuda. Or maybe a wealthy man who dresses up like a nocturnal mammal at night to fight crime, using only my massive heaps of money, and brute strength to stop a man who wears way too much make up to be dubbed sane. Although, I think they make a point to rely that he is a mad man.

Once again, if you’ve made it this far, I feel inclined to tell you who I really am. And no, I’m not Batman, I could only wish. My name is Burton Anthony Dennison, and I am, in fact, a compulsive liar. I’m not in Paris; I’m in a mental institution, to be more specific, the Philadelphia Institution for the Mentally Unprepared. “The mentally unprepared”, I always found that odd. It’s like our minds just weren’t ready for themselves. But I like to think that the world just wasn’t ready for our minds. I see nothing wrong with me; it’s everyone else that finds me “mentally unstable”. That’s a funny one too. My mind is very stable, in no way is the structural integrity of my mind in jeopardy.

Most likely you are wondering what I did to land my self the small closet they call a room and the overgrown teenager, who is afraid of almost everything, that they call Frankie. Well, that’s why I’m spending the small amount of time they allow me to have a sharp object, like this pencil, to write down my story. It might not be biblical, but you made it this far didn’t you?

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