Hello, my name is Lyndon Powerade Nelson III. My friends call me Trey, well the writer of this series calls me "Trey" because, honestly, up to this point have you really seen me with any friends? I'm what you call a surrogate character. Simply, I'm just a vessel for this writer guy named, Louis Toliver Jr. I don't really know him and it's obvious he doesn't know me, yet. I'm not sure what his motives are but let's just roll with it and pick up where we left off last season. You see, I'm just a young guy working 4 or 5 jobs with A.D.D. I had a Michelle Branch obsession, but my neighbor, Nate, who has an internet addiction, has surely ruined that for me. I've been pretty traumatized by my recent break up with my ex-boyfriend, Terri, who is a female to male transgender. However, Terri has come to realize he rather be with women. On top of that, I'm slowly becoming the surrogate father to Ben, or Fisheater2013, a vulgar 12-year old I met online gaming. Any questions? Well, let's get back to Richard E. Nixon Junior High School and finally finish that 3-part episode. **This recap has been for the lazy asses that don't want to go back and read the first season.**
It’s forgettable- the number of times I was called a “fucking faggot” as a kid. As a former child of god, I wasn’t expected to know what those words meant. I was taught that repentance was vital to achieving everlasting life. My momma made me go to church every Sunday. I said my prayers as I was told. But I eventually learned that Catholicism was never my sanctuary. Christianity was never my safe-haven. God never stopped the cheap shots. He never once prevented the harassment or pure embarrassment that I felt from the words of my “kin in Christ.” Now, picture me- a helpless faggot, blinded by the incandescent lights of an old catholic church. I was home from college spending Spring Break in my former hellscape. So, naturally, my momma yet again made me go to church. This time, on a Wednesday. It was Ash Wednesday. When I was among the folks from home, I felt out of place. So much that I’d imagine camouflaging myself. Like saber-tooth in hiding. But the difference? I had a far mo...
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