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There he is.

My very own Freddy Krueger, Jason Voorhees, and Darth Vader, all rolled into one.
Mean Rooster.

But this time, I’m ready.
This time….

I have a broom.

And I know how to use it!
I whacked the broom on the ground and said, “Come near me and I’ll beat the crap out of you!” I said it like I really meant it and like I was the World’s Strongest Man. And like I’d really beat him. Instead of, you know, run away screaming.

I’m copping an attitude. An attitude to match Mean Rooster’s.
See him quiver! See him tremble!

Okay, he did approach. He was testing me. I showed him the Broom of Death again.

He pretended he had to clip his toe nails and watch Love Boat reruns, but I know–

–he was scared!

He didn’t even stalk me back across the yard. Sissy! Weenie! I win! I win! I’m a star!

I would like to thank my mother, my goats, and, of course, the Academy.

And thank you, too, Dookie, for your courageous assistance. I couldn’t have done it without you.
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"It was a cold wintry day when I brought my children to live in rural West Virginia. The farmhouse was one hundred years old, there was already snow on the ground, and the heat was sparse-—as was the insulation. The floors weren’t even, either. My then-twelve-year-old son walked in the door and said, “You’ve brought us to this slanted little house to die." Keep reading our story....
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