The Story of How Everything went Downhill

They have sat me down. Me. With a bunch of papers​ and a pen. To write a statement. My statement.

It actually feels​ like a joke.

You know why? Of course you don't, but I'll tell you. Because I don't do this writing business, okay? I, as it is, barely dot my i's and cross my t's.

But do these idiots here understand that? No, they do not. And so, I'm stuck writing.

I wasn't doing anything wrong, and if I had been, i would be huddled up whimpering in a cell like Aaron Becket, not in this super creepy room with a pen and paper.

Maybe that is where i should start, with Aaron Becket. Because if that shithead had not gone and opened his ten kilometer wide hole of a mouth, I would be curled in my quilt right now with a bowl of popcorn, just netflix and chilling.

So I guess this is basically about why in the Good Lord's name I am here, inside a Las freaking Vegas police station, looking like a hooker, eyeliner running down my caked face, with no knowledge of where the rest of my gang, other than Aaron, is. And why Aaron is in that cell bawling his eyes out.

So, simply put, it started with Aaron Becket.