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Oh Ye of Little Faith...

Hi all. If you’ve reached the bottom of my page and are actually bored enough to read this, then well done: congratulations on your marvelous discovery of…. nothing. Honestly, this is very uninteresting. You should stop reading, like, now, and get back to looking at the marvels of the 21st like moving pictures and actors who run around acting like two year olds. You’re still here? Honestly? Don’t you guys listen to instructions? I’m warning you now, though. I will start talking about myself in a minute, and you do not want to be around when that happens. Aaaah, well. Here it comes. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Hi there, my dear, gallant friends in obsession. My name is Xxxxx (interesting, I know) and I have been murdered seven times (what can I say, it’s fun). I was born and raised in ‘outback’ Australia (that might account for all my deaths) and last year I sold my soul to the devil (via a poker game and a crossroads (don’t ask) for the chance to run away and join a circus. See, I told you. Highly uninteresting. How anticlimactic, a disappointment I am sure (I wouldn’t want you to think I’m not a woman of my word). Laters X.

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