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If I were you, I’d stop reading right now at this very moment. There’s no reason to get involved with it all, because the ending will only baffle you. You will see everything we had done and not like the outcome, not one bit. You might even feel moved to write me a long question filled letter expressing your perplexed frustration for us three and for our dismal future, but to that just let me say please don’t. I’ve gotten so many letters of late that I can barely keep up as it is. So my advice is to do something more constructive with your time, because after all this is just a book and you’ve already heard all the stories by now. Our story has been on more news channels than the weather forecast or an infomercial about a remote control vacuum cleaner. Anyways, this is our story in our own words and it’s the truth regardless of what CNN, FOX, MSNBC, ABC and all the other so called media outlet hacks care to say about it. So just put this down. You will become infuriated at the amazing things we have done and not like how we are seemingly going to be rewarded or to be more precise, enslaved for that good fight. So buy something else, maybe a self-help book, because you probably need it or take that online college course you been threatening to do. There might be no better time than now to apply for that second part time job so you can get those plane tickets to anywhere other than where you are at right now. So save up. Move on. Or just buy a bottle, kick back and read something else, maybe something with King or Patterson on the cover under those eerie Adobe Photoshop graphics, because at least then you will have an inkling of what you’re getting into. With this all bets are off, because this wall of text before you is the preemptive newsflash right before your favorite show – you’re originally scheduled program has been canceled due to…a police chase on the 405, a liquor store fire, a gang war, a strip club brawl or whatever else we came across in our journey. Right now in Times Square there is a huge billboard with our mugs and the caption: Guilty or Innocent? There is a phone number to text your verdict for $1.50. I used to wonder who got all that dough, but that was way before I became media savvy. The Greed-heads are everywhere and we wonder why the world has gone to Hell. There’s no limit as to the destructive attitudes of people in exploiting the misfortune of others. It’s a tradition as old as time itself. So just put this down, Stephen King is to the right and Dean Koontz is likely not too far from there.

I am writing this opening paragraph in a jail cell, alone and away from the others, because this is one of those stories that have been on every news channel around the country and probably the world. E.R. and Herb also have their own cells by the way, because of the nature of this case and are being questioned likely more than myself. As for me, I am sitting on a stone hard, cold, cement bunk and typing this on an old school laptop. Judge Montclair, who was appointed to this case, ruled that I put all this on paper. He wanted me to explain things and write a brief description of myself for public record. So for good or ill, this is said description. The rest of our story has already been written down as it has unfolded by yours truly. I am a wannabe George Orwell with Hunter S. Thompson tendencies, so I have already put all of the aforementioned down in notebooks. In fact, F.B.I. agents are searching my house for as we speak. The idea is they will lash this opening introduction on top of the other stuff I’ve already written thus creating a book or so it would seem. Honestly, I think this part right here is just another evaluation tactic.

Whatever the case, I write to you now being monitored around the clock by a platoon of armed guards. I’m also being studied like a lab rat by some serious Master Degree and PhD minds, because of not only the popularity of our case, but because of a rare brain condition. 1 in 250 million people have what I have and I will delve into all that shortly. It’s like a won a lottery for my brain, but I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Anyways, that I will be shifting every ten minutes or so as I write this, because this isn’t the most comfortable of settings in which to write this introduction.

At the moment, I sport an orange jumpsuit and orange Croc shoes. I eat what they loosely call breakfast at 7:00 a.m., which they say is scrambled eggs and toast. At noon lunch consists of a meaty gelatinous, glutinous conglomeration and then there is dinner. Dinner is processed bologna, not even real bologna on top of a hamburger bun. I never, ever eat dinner.

If you’ve lived under a rock for the last year, my name is Miles Seymour Dane, but everyone calls me “Freak.” I don’t like it much, but then again nobody can really choose their nicknames. My nickname is “Freak,” for countless reasons and this book, if this does become a book will show that. Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines “Freak” as the following:

FREAK: frēk/noun

  1. A very unusual and unexpected event or situation.

“The teacher says the accident was a total freak”

  1. 2.  A person, animal, or plant with an unusual physical abnormality.

Behave or cause to behave in a wild and irrational way, typically because of the effects of extreme emotion, mental illness, or drugs.


“I could have freaked out and started smashing the place up”

  1.      A sexual deviant.

The truth is I am all these definitions and then some, so let these words reflect that. By the way, the definition of freak you can find on page 192 of The Merriam-Webster Dictionary, abridged edition or well, online. I remember everything I read. It is my great curse and my twisted blessing.