Once upon a time, I was a rebel. And I have the tattoo to prove it.Then there was the spiked hair-the shade of which changed monthly-"colorful" language that can't be found in your everyday sixteen-count crayon box, a pack-a-day habit, less-than-modest wardrobe, and an obsession with guitar-trashing, drum-bashing music.Did I mention I'm also a preacher's kid? That's right. And like the prodigal son after whom I modeled myself, I finally saw the error of my ways and returned to the fold.
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