the greatest hyperbole of all time

My publishing career got off to an inauspicious start in the fourth grade, when I spent two months collecting wallet-size photos from all my classmates so I would have the complete set before the yearbook came out. The project, in which the accumulated pictures were assembled and pasted in a spiral notebook, was a success of sorts, with the only entry marred by a “photo not available”-emblazoned silhouette being the school nurse Mrs. Ruhl, who would prove to be a thorn in my side many other times before my graduation to junior high. A follow-up attempt in the eighth grade was met with not nearly as much cooperation, and I soon abandoned the project, resigning myself to the institutional dreariness of a yearbook whose glossy pages would be adorned with impersonal, half-hearted wishes from my compatriots to “have a kick ass summer.” I did so, but only out of a sense of obligation.     


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