An attack dog, personified.

Many know me for my cool temperament. I give the appearance that I let things slide off my back.

Here's a fucking newsflash: I don't.

I'm waiting for someone to drop the straw that breaks The Trayer's back. I'm waiting to show everyone what I really am.

An attack dog, personified.

I remember every backhand comment. Every subtle insult. Every weird look from my co-workers. Most people think, 'oh, it's just Dusty, I can say whatever I want to him and he'll be cool about it, cause that's the way he is.'

Those motherfuckers couldn't be further from the truth.

Yeah, I fucking love Sum41 and often wonder what happened to Savage Garden. But that doesn't mean people can walk all over me at work. I've got so much pent up rage that I need a new garage to store it.

An attack dog, personified.

One of these days I'm going to break my leash and maul your face. I'm going to lick blood out of your eyeball sockets. I know that this isn't usually like me to say these things, but this is who I am sometimes. Nobody really knows me.

As always, hope, peace, strength and love to everyone.



Lovingly,
Dustin Trayer