My dear, Sleep late. Have fun. Get wild, drink whiskey and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind but falling in love and not getting arrested. Your life, your rules, your choices. Take heed of the cautious ones, but don’t join them. Be wild. Be undomesticated. Be free! Falsely yours, Hunter Stockton...

My dear, There’s nothing better than talking to someone who absolutely refuses to listen while they, of course, say that they are they have the best ear in the world. There’s nothing better than talking to someone who refuses to question the questionable beliefs they’ve based their entire questionable life on. There’s nothing better than talking to a good, mean Jesuit. Falsely yours, Hunter Stockton...

My dear, A day that lacks fun is horrible. But it’s more than that. A day without fun is a day that eats shit. It’s a day that could have been better if it had not happened at all. It’s a day that deserved, no, required, an abortion. … Might as well sleep in, and let someone else eat shit. Falsely yours, Hunter Stockton...

My dear, I was once as foolhardy as you. I taught myself on as many things as possible and I reached a point where I thought, no – I KNEW I knew everything and no-one could speak of things I did not know ten-fold more than them about. I thought I was the smartest youth in the west, the east – heck, probably in the whole universe. Yup, I thought I knew it all… And then life hit me. I was ignorant, not wise. I was shunning...

My dear, Seriously, when you’re in a bad heep of trouble like being stuck out in a storm on a row boat, please, do more than pray. Pray to God, but row away from the rocks. Ask for the Almighty’s help, I’m not advising against that. But I say if you have two paddles and a safe direction to head in, it’s your God-given duty to use your arms to save yourself. If you’re in a bad mess, ask for help, but help...

My dear, Who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed? Sure, maybe the man on shore got to see life for what it was, and lived to tell a tale. But he who road the waves… he got to experience the thousand beats a second pounding of his heart; the sensation of sweat running down his neck, his back, and his thighs – from pure exhilarating fear; and...

My dear, Never turn your back on fear. It should always be in front of you, like a thing that might have to be killed. For occasionally, it does. It has to be looked straight in the eyes old school cowboy style – guns drawn and all. And then you’re going to have to quick-draw it and show it whose boss. But don’t worry about committing murder, fear never actually dies in battle – you learn that after a while. But you...

My dear, You know what I tell myself everytime I write? Faster, faster, until the thrill of speed overcomes the fear of death. I sit on my chair, and force myself to write… and keep writing, until I get to that point where it’s no longer the fear of mortage payments that’s driving me, ’till it’s no longer the thoughts of long days with empty stomachs forcing my fingers to glide over that keyboard – but...

My dear, See, me and you are crazy cooky peoples. We don’t have a choice in the matter. And normal people don’t understand crazy. They either raise it above themselves, or place it beneath them. They either gasp at your deeds and call them heroically daring, or point and boo and call you devil-incarnate; the anti-christ. They either look upon you with horror or with awe. See… If you’re going to be crazy, you have to...

My dear, When I was growing up I never played basketball. Or soccer, or football. I read, and that was weird. I never watched dramas on tv, or sitcoms, or television altogether for that matter. I read, and that was weird. People called me weird as I read and read. I got smarter from all that reading, and I got called even more weird. I started writing, and I forsure thought my name had changed to weird that day. Then I started making more...