This is what happens when you run a blog for over five years and then one day you are like GOD, I HATE EVERY LAST ONE OF MY STUPID READERS. Then you just stop writing on your blog and to show up to the star of John from Cincinnati's house and you let him tell you that he's in love with you after only being around you for less than five minutes. Then you give a lot of thought to the entire scope of your life and how you hate that people can read about what they think your life is about. THEY ALWAYS THINK YOUR LIFE IS SOME REALLY POORLY EXECUTED BRET EASTON-ELLIS NOVEL AND IT IS MAKING YOU CRAZY because it is a finely crafted Bret Easton-Ellis novel, something he has yet to write or even conceive of--your life is his magnum opus and maybe he might never get around to writing it because you are too fucking amazing to allow him to have the rights to your story. So then your love affair starts across the country via e-mail and still you save your story for yourself. The only way this could happen is killing that old, stupid blog and starting fresh. A blog where you have never gotten drunk and typed your last name 45 thousand times. A blog without your pictures and face. A blog that could get you into more trouble than anything, but without any trace of the who in you. This is the story of the Hurricane.