My research and documentation will more than likely be taking an extended recess. This is mostly due to the fact that, for the entire summer, I no longer live in the same dwelling as the Kinger. There may be a periodic outburst of discovery over the next three months, but it's more than likely that I won't be able to keep as vigilant of an eye as I'd like to on everyone's favorite gingersaurus rex.
There was a final entry that I had started to write the day before I left the fabled apartment where I monitored Kinger's habits, but it inevitably fell through the cracks, as it lacked the Kinger charm. Kinger, Brett Bauer, and myself basically went on a glorious campaign across the bars of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, drank a lot of beer and met a curiously frightening homeless man/drug dealer who called himself "pops," and who apparently also "owned half of New Hampshire and all of the drug-farming communities in Southern Maine." The evening ended with me sitting on a bus back to UNH campus, convinced, for reasons unknown, that Tim King was actually going to hurt me.
Okay, so, maybe that would've made a good entry, but I was tired and too burnt out from finals to conjure any sort of wit. Thankfully, that event stands on its own.
Until next time,
-Robert Pearsall
Loyal Sidekick, Holy Scribe, Short Kid with Stupid Looking Sideburns
My favorite part was when you kept threatening to immediately move your shit out and never, ever nevereverneverneverever come back.
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