Henry Alexander

I hate moving more than I hate the Detroit Red Wings (I wish they would all be consumed in a fiery pit of hell filled to the brim with Rosie O’Donnells).  It really makes you feel pretty lame when you can pile up your life into a car.  It’s even lamer when you realize all the stuff in your car is worth way more than you realized and that if you got into some kind of awful wreck not only would you perish, but you wouldn’t have any sweet stuff to leave to any of your bros.  Or leave anything that your parents can pawn off to make sure they get the original cast of Star Wars (in costume) to show up to your funeral as you have requested in your last will and testament.  (It’s in my guitar case).