"Just call it the memoir love story of a drug addict white rapper with unresolved mommy and daddy issues." Ha. Yeah, that's a laugher. The love story part of course being my wife Alice. Except she forgets that my rap career in Southern California essentially ended with the shootout in the parking lot of Barnes and Noble, sending us pinballing across the country like a couple of wanna-be Bonnie and Clydes. Only Bonnie and Clyde weren't high on drugs, and they stuck to banks. Alice was a waitress when we met, so restaurants just made sense. And I'm pretty sure Bonnie and Clyde never had children. Our son Caleb was born in a crack motel while the cops were out in full force looking for us. But all that comes later - like way later - after Alice first goes into labor with our daughter Hannah on Halloween night - the night Corey and I got robbed at gunpoint by the Three Stooges. Of course, that wouldn't have happened had I not let Alice convince me that selling crystal meth would make me more money than just pot and ecstasy. But then Corey always said events like that tend to serve a higher purpose. What can I say - Halloween has always had a weird significance to me. There's something symbolic about running around at night with a mask on trying to be Master of your own Universe surrounded by ghosts and ghouls and goblins with your toy weapon in one hand and your goodie bag in the other trying to score as much candy as you can before the real darkness takes over - (Where did that child go? That kid with the He-Man mask? / Sometimes our biggest fears are the answers to questions we ask) Any other questions? Just read the damn book.