MySpace a place for friends

"Later that night, the old man gave me one of the worst beatings of my life. And not with his gravelly bare knuckles, neither. Were talkin' with his uber-belt—a two-foot long, inch-thick-wide, leather 'razor' strap that barbers sharpen their tools on.  And when he would blast me with it, he would do so with all of his might. I'm not talking about gingerly little bitch slaps here, but full-throttle, blunt-force-trauma ass whippings. He fought like he thought that I fought like a man, too! And when the fury settled like dust, my entire four-foot posterior felt like it'd been doused with gasoline and set ablaze. I could feel the heat surge up my spine until it reached my hair. I would start to smell the awful smell of my own hair burning atop my melting skull. The old man's unforgiving inferno seared through my growing body many times when I was little—purifying my flesh as it did—while I dangled there by one tiny arm that I wished would just come out of its socket like a rocket...leaving the earth behind."