YOU don’t know about me without you have read a forum by the name of The Writers of the Future; but that ain’t no matter. Some posts there was made by Mr. Martin L. Shoemaker, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied one time or another.
Now the way that the forum tells it is this: Martin is all nice and friendly and encouraging, while I make bad jokes and encourage evil habits; and somehow it will make us both rich. We ain’t got six thousand dollars apiece from it, like those other two fellows done– but we ain’t too unhappy bout it. We done made some friends, and we done sold a story or three. Martin tries to sivilize me; but it was rough living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular and decent he was in all his ways; and so when I couldn’t stand it no longer I lit out. I got into my old rags and my sugar-hogshead again, and was free and satisfied. But Martin he hunted me up and said he was going to start a new blog, and I might join if I would go back and be respectable. So I went back.
So I’m gonna try to be sivilized. I’m gonna try to cut back on the teasing and bad jokes and hints of secret knowledge. I ain’t gonna mention The Stories I Could Tell You ceptin when there’s stories I can tell. I’m gonna encourage your goodhabits, not your bad ones.
But fair warning: sometimes an alter ego can backslide. Just a little…