We know you're stuck in a sinkhole with your parents or some sadistic substitute. We know the only attention you get is a hassle from some twit looks like he's in a cellular phone commercial and thinks you're a freak. Thinks you're dangerous. Maybe you are.
We know you're expected to keep yourself busy and stay out of their hair and just shut your mouth, that everyone from the President to the local post office wishes you never existed and is busy forgetting that you do. We know that everything you read and watch and listen to is an attempt to beat your way out of a locked room too small for the life you're dying for.
We know there's nothing left for you. And we're pissed.
We're the Randalls.
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