When I moved to Austin, everybody would talk about all the things I had to do and needed to see. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre House was first on everybody’s list. I wasn’t really interested in seeing a house where a massacre took place, still everybody insisted. I started doing
some research about this infamous slaughterhouse and the blood bath that took place there in the 1970s.

What I found was very interesting: a whole lot of NOTHING…No newspaper
articles, no mug shots of Leatherface, and no death certificate for Grandpa.

It’s all fabricated.

Still, people swear that this gruesome event actually happened — a
friend of friend knew the family.


I see how it could be exciting to live where a historic event took
place, but a chainsaw-wielding cross-dresser and his enabling family? It kind of makes me sick.

I can’t fact people into submission — they would rather believe the
story. Not such a huge departure from our country’s history (or
history in general): full of fabrications, and exaggerations,
Thanksgiving, I cannot tell a lie about cherry trees, ect. The
hypocrisies aren’t hidden; you just have to look in places that
haven’t been filtered into being flattering and school

I am fascinated with child development and the fact that no parent
will ever get this very tricky responsibility right. Seeing the pure,
trusting excitement that a child feels when they know that Santa has
brought presents, or that the Easter bunny has scattered chocolate
eggs all over the backyard, may come at a price. The smiles are
warming to our hearts, but has some kind of eventual emotional damage
taken place at their expense? I can only speak for myself, but I
couldn’t help but feel confused and lied to when I found out
one-by-one that

the holiday characters that I thought loved me didn’t exist

not to mention

having all the infinite dreams and magic smashed into millions of sparkly shards that blew away with all of my possibilities.

After I learned that all the holiday magic was a big, fat lie, I found
myself questioning my faith in God. It’s like the boy who cried wolf;
after so many false alarms, I wasn’t going to fall for it again. Oh
yeah sure, God’s real… It was a very harsh reality check.

I would love to conduct an experiment with children being raised in
reality: pure and simple, no lies or candy-coated concepts. I would
just like to see if they were more realistic in life choices, more
selfless, and more contributing as a whole. Don’t worry Moms: I will
never have babies. My sister nearly killed me when I told my niece
that Santa was really her mommy and daddy. She still hasn’t forgiven
me for it, and my niece still chose to believe in Santa.