It came back again, even though I dissected that part of my brain and replaced it with the chip containing old Love Boat reruns, but somehow, some way, it keeps finding its way back through the sordid circuits and forgotten wires that made up my central nervous system now.
I had all of the bones donated to the University so they could help recreate a full scale replica of John F. Kennedy, post headshot. The shot my mother gave me with the crowbar was remarkably accurate to the area where he was shot. I think she'd just finished watching a documentary on him, and that's where she got the idea from. Or maybe she was just reliving the experience. She was there that day.
She claims the real assasin couldn't take the shot because he was too busy drilling her behind some tree shrubs, so the signal went to Oswald, now she's mad at me because I'm the excuse she uses for not being the woman who schtooped the assasin of JFK.
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