Below are the 9 most recent journal entries recorded in Kyouichi Motobuchi's LiveJournal:

Thursday, August 18th, 2005
11:30 pm	So the class trip is tomorrow. Woo-trucking-hoo-hoo. So, mother helped me pack. I really don't want to go on this trip. Mother actually went in and talked to the principle about my not going. It's pointless. What, a class activity, in which we're not being told why we're going, or what to bring? When I inquired what textbooks we needed to bring, I recieved a shrug and a "the bell already rang, run along, Motobuchi." How completely rude. Oh well. I'm going to bring my bookbag just in case. I wasn't sure what to pack clothing wise, but... mother helped me with that. I'm not too concerned. As long as there are showers. I've packed all the proper cleaning utilities I may need. Tch, rooming hasn't even been sorted out. I did leave a note requesting that I have a room alone. I wish not to share a room with one of the smelly chovanistic poo-heads that happen to be in my class. We have to be at school in the bus parking lot by 6am, do we not? It's 11:30 now. I suppose I'll retire after double-checking to make sure I have everything ready to pack, and also have mother do the same. Oh, how I am looking forward to a 3+ hour bus ride on the same bus as Kiriyama, Tsukioka, and friends. I'm absolutely ecstatic. Off to bed I go. It's a shame dad's on a business trip. I would really like to see him before I leave. Truth me told.. I've never spent a night away from home. It would be a lot more comforting if I got to at least give dad a polite little bow before I head off to school in the morning. Oh well. Goodnight. Current Mood: I feel like I'm missing something. (12 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, August 4th, 2005
1:17 am	And my true worth shines through... I apologize that I have not been updating this "Live Journal" lately. But... I've been having a hard time. I have never been more ashamed of myself, nor have my parents been. I made a 98 on a math test. MATH. Math, my best subject. That I have aced with A+'s all my life. Up until... Well, damn. Sitting here typing on the computer isn't going t ohelp this. I really have a lot of studying to do if I'm going to pull that up. IF I can pull that up. le sigh. Current Mood: worthless. completely worthless... Current Music: my sighs of despair and defeat. (28 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, July 19th, 2005
7:24 pm	Short entry Contemplating getting contacts. So, what do you all think? Yay or nay? Current Mood: pensive (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, July 11th, 2005
11:13 pm	So Kiriyama is... This is truly "WTF" provoking. So I went to a banquet with Father the other night. I saw Kazuo Kiriyama there. I was also introduced to his father, who is also a very wealthy man-- which, I can conclude that... Kiriyama is of related status. Is my equal. But ISN'T equal TO me. Yes, if you put us both on a scale, we would be equal, but, we're not EQUAL, I mean.. I'm... a lot better than he is, right? Class Representative vs. Class President of Dilenquency.... right? I'm so lost. How can someone of excellent upbringing turn out to be such a self-proclaimed "badass?"... I would have updated before now, but I'm entirely blank and confused. So.. someone with an apparently wealthy upbringing is in the same classifcation as me? Status means EVERYTHING. And my status and his.. are equal? So we're equals? I'm equals with that little prank-pulling bastard? No. NO. NO. NO. I'm superior. My grades are superior. My mentality is superior. My intellect, my demaneor (sp), habbits,... ugh, I AM superior. I am NOT his equal. He's a filthy little pile of shit-- But his father and mine attended the SAME BANQUET. I know not WHAT the banquet is for, but Father only attends important ones--ones with important people. People with money, status, prosperity, influence, and possibly vulnerability. And Kiriyama... ARGH, NO. So I went up to him, my Father introduced me, and we... well, I tried to talk, nothing really came out. I was so confused. He was completely quiet sans a small exchange of words. It felt like we were complete strangers, being formally introduced as if we were strangers, and having never spoken one-on-one before. But ah, I knew Kiriyama, I knew him, and I KNOW HIM NOW!... He's a DEVIOUS, STEAMING PILE OF.. DEVIOUS.. FECAL.. DEVIATION!! He was MEANT to be born in the lower class. There's no way he's my equal. He's not the same as me. Father talked on me on the way back. Did you all know Kiriyama is into instruments, or so Father tells me? Father drove us home and talked of othing but what he heard of Kiriyama from his father. But many of it may have been wrong, as we all know how words are misinterpreted when handed from one person to the other.; I can still remember what Father said last before silence overwhelmed the vehicle--- "You and Kazuo have a lot in common. You're so much alike. You should invite him over sometime." WE'RE NOT ALIKE AT ALL! WE HAVE NOTHING IN COMMON! I'm diligent! He's a DILINQUENT! And Father wants me to INVITE HIM OVER?! FOR WHAT?! A GOD DAMNED TEA PARTY?... INVITE KAZUO KIRIYAMA OVER FOR TEA? TEA! He'd BREAK THE TEACUPS! He would have NO RESPECT for the tea--and even if we were to perform a PROPER tea ceremony--HE'D THEN HAVE NO RESPECT! He WOULD break the tea cups. I can see it now! His rage--his petty, built up rage from being born into the WRONG caste would burst, and he would ABOLISH those poor little tea cups-- NOT ME! I HAVE MANNERS! HE DOESN'T! HE HAS NO RESPECT FOR AUTHORITY, OR FOR HIS--OWN--DAMN--EQUALS! OR HIS SUPERIORS! And I'm CLEARLY his superior. I wouldn't DARE pull a stunt like the firework BULLSHIT... stuff...!! I've been raised PROPERLY, in a PROPER household, taught MANNERS, but... ... So has he, huh?... I am completely lost. I suppose I should end this now. My temple is starting to pulsate. (13 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, July 7th, 2005
4:10 pm	dslkfjadskfldjfalk. Twerps! ((Backdating without backdating: Pretend this is July 6th. I didn't read Kazuo's post, and I should have SOME kind of reaction...)) YES, YOU ALL WOULD BE CORRECT. SHOOTING FIREWORKS INDOORS IS NOT THE GREATEST IDEA! NOR IS IT SAFE! OR MORAL! OR ANYTHING! How fucking DARE they! It's not even a holiday for US to celebrate, let celebrate it IN DOORS! With FIREWORKS. IN THE SCHOOL BUILDING. IT'S ILLEGAL. ILLEGAL! Impudent little fuckers! Kazuo Kiriyama! Indeed! Shou Tsukioka! INDEED TO THE SECOND DEGREE! NUMAI AND SASAGAWA! AND HIROSHI! I swear to God! When my father hears about this-- And when this gets to the board of education-- they will be in the deepest shit imaginable! EXPELLED! ALL OF THEM! Fucking DELINQUENTS! RUINING our learning experience-- My--my-- MY PRIVATE READING TIME. I wasn't studying for once. I WAS READING! Reading for PLEASURE! And.. BOOM! God, I would have loved to have gotten my hands on their little necks-- Ugh, the lower class is such a bitter race. Kazuo Kiriyama thinks he's exempt from all rules and regulations because he manages to lead up his own little "sect." He has his own little CULT! A cult of fanboys--fangirls--fanboys AND fangirls, or what have you!--and I'm not sure WHAT to call Tsukioka! A Fan-IT! ARGH! The inferior--the poor--are so godamn angry with everything, aren't they? OOZING with anger because THEY can't be a blessed as some of us. Eternally simmering in their loathesome lives, taking it out on what they resent the most: SCHOOL! Little do they know, that scum like them, without education, will be NOTHING! They can't rely on their half-assed parents! Poor, petty little bastards like Kiriyama, Tsukioka, Numai, Sasagawa--if they don't fucking learn to RESPECT the TEMPLE OF EDUCATION, they will be NOTHING! NOTHING! This pisses me off. It's not my fault that they're the asscrack of the economy. It's certainly not the school system's fault. You know whose fault it is? Their parents. THEM. The children--Kiriyama, Tsukioka--Numai--Sasagawa--ALL OF THEM. It's their OWN DAMN FAULT. YOU LITTLE PROSTITUTES OF THE ECONOMY!!! Current Mood: accomplished (19 Comments |Comment on this)
2:04 am	((Pre-RP Post)). The "Big Man." ((Holy shit.. I found full scanlations of the Battle Royale manga, and read Motobuchi's "scene"... wow. I loved how the manga depicts him. I feel sorry for the kid. I thought I might as well write an actual POST--NOT A LIVEJOURNAL ENTRY FOR MOTOBUCHI--but so I can get a basic grasp on what I want Motobuchi's character to be like. Besides, Motobuchi IS going to play. Reading the manga made me want to cry when I thought about how I could branch off of Motobuchi's home life with the "big man" thing. I only wrote this so I could get a good, tangible grasp of what exactly I want to go on INSIDE of Motobuchi. You already have an idea of how Motobuchi acts around others, from the journal entries and whatnot, but what goes on from Motobuchi's perspective in regards to himself remains something that I need to accent for my own reference. Don't reply in-character, hehe.. this isn't a LJ post, this is just a pre-RP entry ;) I did this with eiji_satou, too! ^^ It helps.)) Kyouichi Motobuchi closed the door to his room in silence. His dark brown eyes locked onto his target--his bed--as he drew near to it before he collapsed face-first onto his bed. He took off his glasses and set them on his nightstand before burrying his face into his pillow. Vibrations echoed through the soft cushioning of the pillow as he screamed at the top of his lungs until his throat went hoarse, and his room became silent. He began to hear a noise downstairs: his father had come in just minutes after he did from the car. Motobuchi closed his eyes and sighed heavily, his nose dripping heavily onto the dark navy fabric, trying to hold in his sobs. "So, did our son tell you what he wants to be when he grows up?" his father's impatient voice bellowed downstairs. "Hmm?" his mother replied. Totally disinterested, she had been preparing a meal downstairs. Although they could afford a chef if they so pleased, Motobuchi's mother insisted on cooking. Little pleasures suited her fancy, which deeply contrasted with her mother. "He wants to write. WRITE." "Like?" "Write BOOKS. POETRY. Can you believe that? Kyouichi wants to write novels and books. WRITING. Can you believe that?" "Well, if it's really what he wants, dear--" "There is NO money in it." "Darling, it's not always about the money." "But look at us. We have money." "That doesn't mean we're happy." "So, you're NOT happy with our life not being just mediocre?" That was the first time Motobuchi heard that word. Mediocre. Was this what everyone else was? His mother paused. There was silence before she began again. "No, darling," began his mother again. "I'm happy--" "Well, then, Kyouichi would be a LOT happier if he got a job involved in the government. I could see him as a lawyer. Damn, he'd make a great lawyer." "Honey, he's 15--shouldn't he be thinking about his OWN future, not what you want him to do?" "No, he TOLD me he'd rather be a lawyer tonight at dinner." And that was somewhat the truth. Alas, his father focused on the most ridiculous details... "So, Kyouichi," his father began. Motobuchi hadn't been on an outing with his father for 2 years. His father was always busy. A bigwig--the head of environmental affairs. He was rarely home. They barely talked. It struck Kyouichi Motobuchi as peculiar that his father would want to go out to eat with him--just the two of them. "Yes, father?" "Hey, hey, why don't you just call me dad?" his father asked, grinning cheesily. Kyouichi forced a smile. Under the table, his fingernails were digging into his skin. The only time his father talked to him was if it was some form of disapproval. His father had taken him out in public--god knows what the hell he wanted to talk about now. Kyouichi remained silent, waiting for his father's reprimanding. "Okay, 'Dad'. Hey, why did you bring me.. here...?" he questioned. He shrugged his head down to his shoulders, afraid to look his 'dad' in the eye. "....What?" Kyouichi shuddered at his father's tone and clenched his eyes shut tight. "Can't a father go out and spend time with his son once and a while?" he asked, his tone completely changing from his typical brazen harshness to a more subtle, gentle tone. Kyouichi sighed. "So, how'd the baseball game go?" "...You mean basketball?" "No, baseball." "...." "What?" "Dad.. I haven't played baseball since elementary..." "...Oh. Right." An awkward silence swept over the table. Motobuchi's heart thudded painfully in his chest at his father's failing to acknowledge what had been going on in his life. His glasses fogged up, and he still started at the napkin in his lap. "So, Kyouichi," his father began again. He always started his sentences like that. As if Kyouichi were a good friend, not a relative. An acquaintance, more or less. He cleared his through, as Kyouichi still stared down at his lap and failed to make eye contact. He peered up slightly to see his father's forced smile--a fascade to cover the impatience he felt. "SO, KYOUICHI," his father said, a little more loudly this time. "Huh...?" "What do you want to be when you grow up?" "Oh, I dunno," Kyouichi fiddled with his fingers more and more. Please, please, don't pry, you won't like it, Dad, you won't... "Tell me. I'm curious. I want to know what my son wants to do with his life." As if he gave a damn, Motobuchi thought to himself. "I guess I kind of want to write..." "Errr, what was that? Sorry, I didn't hear you." It's time to be brave about this, Kyouichi. Tell him straight out. "I want to write." His father let out a sarcastic, frustrated snicker. One that wreaked, 'oh, well, isn't that cute.' "...Write? Write what? Books?" "...Yeah. Stories. Novels. Maybe even textbooks, I guess," he said briefly. He wanted to write about normal lives. People who were loved, even if as nothing but a character. Complex lives, tragic tales with happy endings. Other people. Motobuchi desperately would have loved to write about what he knew about other people. Well, he didn't know much about people--he wasn't too social to begin with. He's never really had any friends--except for that Akamatsu kid, was it--the fat one--that was always nice to him. He didn't know the first thing about people. But he wanted to learn. More than definately, he would have loved to have friends--people to observe, to watch. He always quietly observed his classmates, but never let his heart too weighed down with ponderings that the true luminary occupies himself with. Not that he had time to, either, what, with music (he played piano and violin masterfully, and he was currently working on the clarinet as a new "something to master" in Music), studying (he was the top in his class, Kaori coming a close second. He never made anything below an A in his life), clubs (he head up several clubs--he was also involved in the student government being the male class representative, as well as being the head of the Chess club there at school), and his father also encouraged him being involved in fencing after school. He didn't have time to write, to observe people. His life was already too crowded. "....You what?" "..." "You want to write? Authors don't get paid very much." "It d-doesn't bother me, I-I really--" "Being dirt poor DOESN'T BOTHER YOU? You don't want to be like everyone else--filthy scum, lazy adults. YES, even some of the ADULTS are lazy in this country. They can't get off their asses and get DECENT JOBS to support themselves, get some godamn money so they can live their lives NOT working paycheck-to-paycheck." "Well, I--no, no, I want to be a lawyer instead, no, I--I--sorry--I--" "So you WANT to be a LAWYER now?... So what the hell is it, Kyouichi?." Pause. "We're leaving." "What?" "So, Kyouichi," he began. Kyouichi flinched at his starting yet another sentence with this. "You want to WRITE, huh? God, is this what I've raised? A kid who wants to WRITE? For god's sake, what are you? A faggot? Real men don't write their damn stories. You aren't GAY, are you, Kyouichi? A poet? Most poets ARE gay." Kyouichi had said nothing about poetry. Kyouichi Motobuchi felt tears well up in his eyes. His father was the only person who could ever let his tear ducts burst. He sniffled quietly, as his nose ran in little streams down the corner of his mouth. Taking deep breaths, Motobuchi wiped his nose with his sleeve and raised a finger to wipe away a little tear that had formed in the corner of his eye. "We're leaving. Come on." "Don't we need to pay for the meal?..." he managed to utter shakily, looking back at the table as he followed his father in shame. "You don't always HAVE to when you're well-known." Motobuchi's eye flinched at his father's naivite. How could he INFER that you didn't have to pay? "B-but--" His father growled quietly and entered the driver's side of the car. Almost reflexively, Motobuchi lept for the back seat rather than the passenger's side. "You know WHY we're well-known? Because your FATHER HAS A JOB. He works for the GOVERNMENT. See me? I'm a government official. You're lucky I was able to get a night off to spend with you before your huge end-of-the-year trip. You're just lucky. I had to ask for this evening off WEEKS in advance, because I've been BUSY. Busy WORKING, and making MONEY, not writing some fucking novels. This is JUST what this country needs, isn't it? Another pansy-ass adult afraid to go out and do something and retreating into their own little fantasy world to write about just about that: fantasy. My son, the author. Indeed. 'How Fireflies Fly,' by Kyouichi Motobuchi." His father paused before snickering at his own remark. "HAH!" he said loudly, audaciously, and sarcastically. The faux laugh crushed every ounce of confidence Motobuchi had left. The ride home was quiet, but he could feel his father simmering in disappointment with his son's announcement. As soon as the car stopped, Kyouichi's fingers grasped for the handle and opened it, slamming the door hard once he was out and walking as fast as he could to the front door of his house. His father remained in the car, a hand to his forehead in what seemed to be pensive thought. "Hi, honey, how was your--" his mother began. Upon seeing Motobuchi ignore her entirely, storm up the stairs to his room in a moment's notice, and slam the door, she trailed off. The slam of Motobuchi's door echoed throughout the house. He closed the door so no one could come in. Every time he ever let someone insde of his "doors," they hurt him. They joked about him. They mocked him, teased him, criticized him. They scoffed at his dreams--dreams that were just as real as everyone else. Dreams that did nothing but disappoint his father, who had other things in mind for Kyouichi Motobuchi. "I-I'm sorry..." Motobuchi whimpered. He whined pitafully into his pilllow, his tears being absorbed by the expensive, soft quilting of his pillow. As expensive and soft as that pillow was, all it did was dry his tears. It didn't keep them from coming. "His father's a very BIG MAN. He should know that he can amount to more than that, and he will, god damn it!" His father was screaming now at the top of his lungs, his deep voice going hoarse with rage. A big man... My father's a very big man... I have to.. I have to stop crying... he wouldn't... want.. me to cry, it's.. too feminine... "A FAGGOT!? His 'Dad's' words resonated through his brain. A big man, indeed, but also harsh. Cruel, uncaring, and blinded by the economy. Blinded by what the country wants most: prosperity. Not everyone was meant to prosper. Prosperity doesn't always mean happiness. This country demanded respect from its peons, as did the government. Would respect make the government satisfied? In the end, would that really matter? Who was happier, in the end: people like Shuya Nanahara, or Kyouichi Motobuchi? Who, in the end, were the happiest? The one trying desperately to live up to his parents' visions of grandeur, or the one following his heart and doing exactly what made him... content? Kyouichi Motobuchi got up off his bed and wiped his tears once more with his long sleeve. He took a deep breath before wiping his running nose with his other sleeve. He staggered over to his tidy desk and sat down in his computer chair, hitting the power button on the tower. I have to make the Big Man happy. With his doors closed, he could retreat into his little world of fantasy, away from the bullshit that went on outside his door until he was forced to exit. Even then, he was completely vulnerable to the harsh reality that the real world is harsh, especially to people like Kyouichi Motobuchi. That writers were abused and loved just as equally, as were lawyers. But somehow, no matter what Kyouichi wanted to be, ridicule was all he recieved. Whether true to himself or pretentious, Kyouichi could either please the masses or please the Big Man. Nights like that night confirmed that indeed choosing the latter was more productive in the end. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, July 5th, 2005
11:13 pm	Relationships. So I've been talking with this girl on the internet. Her name is Rei. I guess you can say I'm attracted to her... I met her on a chat room. She "brb"d a little while ago and went into the XxFREE_GAY_SEXxX channel. I find that a little bit suspicious. I suppose she'll come back to our private room shortly. ... I mean, not that I couldn't get a real girlfriend if I wanted one. I just don't. They interfere with my studying and computer business. But see, if I had an online girlfriend, I could have a girlfriend and code and study at the same time.... ...Hmm. Scratch that. Bad idea. On another note, I aced all of my tests, as usual. And Mother and Father are still arguing. They've been fighting a lot lately. I guess I'm a little scared that they might split up, and we'd be another half-assed divorced family. Oh well. My Father has money and intelligence. That's what women need to satisfy their petty needs: money and intelligence. Intelligence to defeat the "men are stupid" stereotype that sexist women have developed. My mother won't leave him. We have a happy life. My father makes a load of money and is a "bigwig," so to say. My mother is just as happy. We have a gigantic house. A load of money. Everything I could possibly want. Nothing will happen to sever the overall happiness we have. Sigh! Relationships are ridiculous. I am single because I choose to be, contrary to popular belief. In the end, kissing a girl won't be what allows me to be a prosperous lawyer making a load of money and defending whatever justice there is left in this country. Education does. (9 Comments |Comment on this)
5:10 pm	And so, the truth hurts. This may possibly be offensive to some of you. Don't take it too harshly, but... I can't stand angsty, emo, poor people. They're always so bitter. Especially that little Hirono. I'm glad she finally got what was coming to her for coming up with such.. innapropriate methods of toymenting me. So I told my parents, whom immediately consulted the teachers, whom sent a note to her parents about her... actions. I can't wait to see her face tomorrow. And if she DARES touch me again, she'll be in even more of a steaming pile of shit than before, as I will be telling my father immediately. Motobuchi - 1 Hirono - 0 Once more, justice is given to those who deserve it. Current Mood: jubilant (9 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, July 4th, 2005
11:21 pm	A night's events and what have you. So this will be my first LiveJournal entry. I heard the hype over it among my classmates--and I guess I should try it out, I mean, if everyone else thinks it's so marvelous. Not that I want to be a conformist by any means. It's curiosity, I promise. So, what should I write about? Of course! This is a journal. I can write about whatever I please. Such as... Basketball. What a cute little sport. So, I went to the game. It was just simply adorable. All the boys bouncing an orange ball up and down on a waxy floor, getting uncomfortable, itchy, sweaty,... Ugh, how can people do such a thing? The whole concepts of sports is counter-productive. Nonetheless, I did go, grudgingly, and watch Mimura and Nanamura throw the little ball into a ring with a net hanging from it. Apparently, they're attempting to make up for their lack of intelligence by scoring bonus points with their peers by throwing a ball into a little ring. Because, of course, as we know, throwing balls the size of your head into a ring even bigger than the ball completely validates stupidity. Though, I have nothing against Mimura and Nanamura. Mimura's a pretty awesome guy. I hear he's into computers. Nanamura on the other hand... I'm sure he's a great guy, but his guitar playing is completely disgusting. Doesn't he realize that it's unruly, and possibly illegal? Did he look into that? No, he didn't, but he continues. Does he take into consideration that "rock" music deteriorates the brain and ruins all respect for music--you know, REAL music--like Beethoven, Verdi, Chopin, et cetera? No. He still jams away on his little guitar as all the girls in our class--and even NOT in our class--swoon over his rebelion and lack of respect for the government. Ah, yes, the government. There's something. You know, I'd like to be a lawyer. I'd like to work with the law. I'd make a lot of money. Seeing as my parents' status remains prosperous, I already am positive that I will be able to make it into a good, prestegious school. Where I will find a career more befitting than sitting outside of the school building with an accoustic guitar. You know, the world has no place for lazy people like Nanamura. His grades are mediocre, and guitar playing won't get him far. It's not like in America: everyone who has a guitar can make a band and make money. This is The Greater Republic of Eastern Asia. Granted I respect each person in the class individually and seperately, but that still doesn't mean that I can't feel a bit of resentment towards Shuya Nanamura's naivite. He really thinks he must be special with so many people surrounding him, giving him all the attention he wants. Stupid. I have a few friends. Not many. But there are a lot of people in my class that I do like. I try to be friends with a lot of them, but somehow they can't seem to fully grasp the respect they should have for the MALE CLASS REPRESENTATIVE. It's a position that should be upheld with honor, not slandering the A+ I got on my Geometry test. Sometimes I get absolutely sick of the sheer immaturity of my classmates. But I love them. No matter how alienated I feel at times, I at the same time, feel at home. I guess I should have felt alone today at the game: I came alone, and watched the game alone. I cheered within a group of people--we were all together on the same half of the gymnasium... well, most of us. I felt at home just hopping right in and cheering. It was the heat of the moment. I garauntee I'm not buying into this bullshit of game fandom. But.. I honestly don't know what I'd do without my class. I'm sounding ridiculous, aren't I? In fact, I hate sports. But something about watching my classmates--Nanamura or not--was absolutely awesome. Basketball is completely pointless and serves no other purpose than entertaining those with no class... but... hmm. I probably could have better spent my time staying him and studying for one of my three tests tomorrow. But I know I'll pass with flying colors as usual. I'm glad I went to the game. It was stupid, but I felt at home. I felt right tonight. Even if there's no one in the class I can honestly refer to as a friend--a complete and total friend-- I still consider them some damn wonderful acquaintances. I'm not sure what else to say. I believe I've reached a contradiction. I should get a good night's rest. Three tests is quite a lot... so I should be well-rested and prepared. Goodnight, my fans. (Or lack thereof.) Current Mood: aggravated Current Music: Something OTHER THAN "ROCK AND ROLL." Pfft. (12 Comments |Comment on this)