It's The End Of The World As We Know It
So I came back from my great grandfather's funeral, but I'll get to that in a more somber post.
My first entry would be about a strange dream that I had three or four days ago that has really been irking me for some reason. It involved me wandering around the school for a while, and then deciding to go to the Judo hallway for some reason. Nothing was very clear. Anyhow, everyone was down there, including Alyssa, who for some reason hugged me. And I hugged her back. And we just stood there like that for hours. Then she said something, but I couldn't hear. Then I said something, but she didn't understand me. Then I left. And when I came back, she was gone.
And that's it. But it kept playing over and over and over in my head during the weekend. And I don't know why.
But what really spurred me to throw this entry in (since I didn't really have plans of mentioning the above) was the psychotic update on Something Awful. OH MY GOD. As a gift, I'm going to try to translate as much as I can from the horrifying handwriting.
Prepare thyself.
"Dear Arafat,
Look red pubes! [There is a bag taped to the letter with - you guessed it - pubes] You don't have to send me any of yours or anything. I plan to pick yours out of my teeth someday. Hurrah! I can be as lewd as I want without feelings of guilt. Just to prove I am red all over (& that I rarely shave anything currently. If I am not getting laid, I don't really care) I also sent hair from other various parts of my body. If you are thinking that the armpit hair looks brown, think about the thickness and hold in up to the light."
*vomit break*
And by the way, there is hair taped all over the letter in little baggies. What the fuck?
"Now you know that I am quite a bit nuttier than most people [NO FUCKING KIDDING]. I am sure you will want to share (unintelligible). Just make sure you also say that the reasons I don't have are:
1. I rarely leave the house
2. I am not getting laid anytime soon
3. I really don't care
Not because I am filthy, I shower every day and wear clean clothes. Oh, and don't bother smelling the pubes. They are from the mound; carry no "scent of a woman" if you get my meaning. I plan on scissorlocking you around the neck & smothering you to death someday. I want the smell to be a surprise (like you've never smelled a girl before but you haven't smelled me.)"
I strongly urge you to stop reading at this point unless you have grotesquely curious curiosity. I shit you not, it's about to get to the point of no return.
Don't say I didn't fucking warn you.
"I dunno if I told you before (which I may have), I don't have inner lips so if I am freshly shaved & you close your eyes you can pretend I am prepubescent... other than the heady bouquet of female (strange symbol), if you are good at what you are doing, every (with an upside down e) womanly voice hollering moaning & screaming things that quite possibly would make a sailor blush.
On that note I have go to tell you more intimate details about me that is usually known as "too much information" or TM for short."
Because NONE OF THAT WAS TM.
"I don't know why the need to disclose this to you resides in me but you are my pretend boyfriend (as in you are not my boyfriend but when I have dirty dreams about you & other such things I just pretend that it was really a date & that we had sex yea thisissarcasm and it's not done well.) In any case. I swear when I have sex it's really going well on my end. I can't help it; it's really weird. It's freaked some people out."
Some people.
"It's like tourette's syndrome in a good way well if you like vocal girls who utter fuck at high volumes in a really breathy way."
How the fuck do you utter fuck at high volumes in a really breathy way?
"I say other things but I won't put any in print [Thank God] so I guess when you pull your peter during a particularly torrid fantasy session I emakey [WTF?] player you can put a pillow in the microwave stick it over your face (to simulate giant breasts [OBVIOUSLY]) and think of all sorts of horrific things that may fly from my lips (along with moaning and other sex noises)"
This is the Ong Bak of scary letters. It beats others into bloody submission. And then microwaves their pillows.
"See... when I get stifled too it all comes out at once. You get the brunt of the sexual tension over the phone; by mails let's just hope if I hang out with people my own age before all the tension is gone that I don't end up sleeping with them."
No, it gets better Doug, the only one I know is still reading.
"I was in a predicament when I was "dry" and unattached I fucked a 17 year old in the passenger seat of his sports car while stoned and on Xanax."
I'm so glad this drug works for someone. No, this story gets even better.
"I swear he said he was 18 but I haven't been brought up on charges & I am pretty sure the age to consent in Texas is 17 but not enough to say anything to anyone who might have me arrested."
No, we aren't fucking done yet. I'm staying the goddamn course. This is only page 3 of 5. You reelected Bush in the middle of the war, so we aren't done yet.
"You know, I think the only reason I am not considered a slut is because I am not underhanded, sneaky, in a state of denial, or stupid & heartbreaking about casual sex. I don't play games [clearly], I don't casually sleep with guys who can't handle it [but everyone else apparently] & I don't lie [also exceedingly evident] & say that I am not prone to one night stands on occasion [occasion being every day whose name ends in "day"]. I am more prone to tell a guy he has no chance of dating me but that I do need a guy to call on when I get laid by guys [notice the plural form here]. It's kind of hard to explain [quite the contrary, you're clearly a psychotic whore]. I don't whore around [uh huh] I just do what I want if the opportunity presents itself."
Now listen, the opportunity has present itself I think to us all at least once. Maybe. Maybe she doesn't know what whore means. I mean Jesus, I'm not an assassin; I just kill targets of opportunity. For a modest fee.
"I guess you have gotten the opposite side of that coin [clearly]. While I tell most guys I won't date them but I would fuck them [remember, not a whore] I tell you that not only do I have direct plans to fuck you until you jack up blood [clearly a caring individual with a cool head on her shoulders we're dealing with here] I also tell you that you're not just in the pool of guys I would date but I plan to persue you like the Scottish persue good haggis in America (how's that for an analogy)."
Clearly, we're dealing with a lucky man. Would that we were all so fortunate.
I just have to get to Boston but I am working on that or else wouldn't be re-learning basic algebra [what a sacrafice] & studying vocabulary analogies. Stupid SAT, but if I score high enough on it I won't have a problem getting admitted without Community college. If I had taken the correct English classes [because there's obviously more than one] and didn't get kicked out of the math department (never tell the head of the department to "fuck off" and make jokes about N-gons to your ex-marine math teacher [because this is not common knowledge]) I would probably not be in the situation I am in now. Also if I didn't use high school for party time [but that clearly was a secondary issue of little importance]. But being a young druggie freak kid is my past & I must reap the crop [and the semen] I have sowed. To completely change the subject , Court TV & the show CSI are very influential [and also, coincidentally, semen related] in my current state of mind. I keep thinking forensics is the way to go [because if you can't speak english or do basic math, advanced science is always an option]. I am gonna stick with being a computer geek [read: whore] but I think also I should stop watching Forensics Files to ensure that fact. I am notorious for changing majors [and fuck buddies]."
We're heading into the home stretch now.
"Oh, I said something previously that you didn't believe."
The tragedy here is that I've believed every word of it.
"I am going to put it in print, & maybe you will understand it."
I've pre read her statement and I believe it is not something that needs to be understood nor scanned over with the eyes for any duration of time. But if you've lasted this far, you're probably ready for anything.
"A voodoo charm to keep your man from cheating [because HIS fidelity is clearly the issue here] is to sneak menstral blood into the food you serve him. It works but it also makes the man extremely jealous [because 17 year old kids in "sprts cars" are men with which she has clearly demonstrated this voodoo curse's viability] due to the hormones and pheromones in menstral blood."
I'd just like to point out before we move on that if this is true and drinking it makes you crazy, imagine what kind of psychosis it induces when you're producing it monthly.
"It also can make the man [sic] so jealous that he will get violent and kill the woman [clearly undesirable in this case] because he is so convinced she is cheating on him [which with her clearly has no basis in fact]. When hormones become inbalanced people get violently angry [or incredibly effeminate] and the pheromones are a kind of bond."
Clearly.
"Pheromones can make or break an attraction [between two flies]. They can cause problems and make females who hang out together a lot menstruate together [go go Power Rangers!]. When you see a beauty and the beast couple (especially when the female is the beauty) it usually has to do with pheromones [or actual attraction, or admiration of character, or fulfillment of psychosexual needs, or money or...] If you do research on it [as she clearly has] I am sure you will find it interesting [or alternatively: terrifying]. I could give more personal proof but that would be giving up my secrets [and we can't have that happening]. In any case I'm going to get ready to mail this. Have fun."
And you thought YOU were crazy.
My first entry would be about a strange dream that I had three or four days ago that has really been irking me for some reason. It involved me wandering around the school for a while, and then deciding to go to the Judo hallway for some reason. Nothing was very clear. Anyhow, everyone was down there, including Alyssa, who for some reason hugged me. And I hugged her back. And we just stood there like that for hours. Then she said something, but I couldn't hear. Then I said something, but she didn't understand me. Then I left. And when I came back, she was gone.
And that's it. But it kept playing over and over and over in my head during the weekend. And I don't know why.
But what really spurred me to throw this entry in (since I didn't really have plans of mentioning the above) was the psychotic update on Something Awful. OH MY GOD. As a gift, I'm going to try to translate as much as I can from the horrifying handwriting.
Prepare thyself.
"Dear Arafat,
Look red pubes! [There is a bag taped to the letter with - you guessed it - pubes] You don't have to send me any of yours or anything. I plan to pick yours out of my teeth someday. Hurrah! I can be as lewd as I want without feelings of guilt. Just to prove I am red all over (& that I rarely shave anything currently. If I am not getting laid, I don't really care) I also sent hair from other various parts of my body. If you are thinking that the armpit hair looks brown, think about the thickness and hold in up to the light."
*vomit break*
And by the way, there is hair taped all over the letter in little baggies. What the fuck?
"Now you know that I am quite a bit nuttier than most people [NO FUCKING KIDDING]. I am sure you will want to share (unintelligible). Just make sure you also say that the reasons I don't have are:
1. I rarely leave the house
2. I am not getting laid anytime soon
3. I really don't care
Not because I am filthy, I shower every day and wear clean clothes. Oh, and don't bother smelling the pubes. They are from the mound; carry no "scent of a woman" if you get my meaning. I plan on scissorlocking you around the neck & smothering you to death someday. I want the smell to be a surprise (like you've never smelled a girl before but you haven't smelled me.)"
I strongly urge you to stop reading at this point unless you have grotesquely curious curiosity. I shit you not, it's about to get to the point of no return.
Don't say I didn't fucking warn you.
"I dunno if I told you before (which I may have), I don't have inner lips so if I am freshly shaved & you close your eyes you can pretend I am prepubescent... other than the heady bouquet of female (strange symbol), if you are good at what you are doing, every (with an upside down e) womanly voice hollering moaning & screaming things that quite possibly would make a sailor blush.
On that note I have go to tell you more intimate details about me that is usually known as "too much information" or TM for short."
Because NONE OF THAT WAS TM.
"I don't know why the need to disclose this to you resides in me but you are my pretend boyfriend (as in you are not my boyfriend but when I have dirty dreams about you & other such things I just pretend that it was really a date & that we had sex yea thisissarcasm and it's not done well.) In any case. I swear when I have sex it's really going well on my end. I can't help it; it's really weird. It's freaked some people out."
Some people.
"It's like tourette's syndrome in a good way well if you like vocal girls who utter fuck at high volumes in a really breathy way."
How the fuck do you utter fuck at high volumes in a really breathy way?
"I say other things but I won't put any in print [Thank God] so I guess when you pull your peter during a particularly torrid fantasy session I emakey [WTF?] player you can put a pillow in the microwave stick it over your face (to simulate giant breasts [OBVIOUSLY]) and think of all sorts of horrific things that may fly from my lips (along with moaning and other sex noises)"
This is the Ong Bak of scary letters. It beats others into bloody submission. And then microwaves their pillows.
"See... when I get stifled too it all comes out at once. You get the brunt of the sexual tension over the phone; by mails let's just hope if I hang out with people my own age before all the tension is gone that I don't end up sleeping with them."
No, it gets better Doug, the only one I know is still reading.
"I was in a predicament when I was "dry" and unattached I fucked a 17 year old in the passenger seat of his sports car while stoned and on Xanax."
I'm so glad this drug works for someone. No, this story gets even better.
"I swear he said he was 18 but I haven't been brought up on charges & I am pretty sure the age to consent in Texas is 17 but not enough to say anything to anyone who might have me arrested."
No, we aren't fucking done yet. I'm staying the goddamn course. This is only page 3 of 5. You reelected Bush in the middle of the war, so we aren't done yet.
"You know, I think the only reason I am not considered a slut is because I am not underhanded, sneaky, in a state of denial, or stupid & heartbreaking about casual sex. I don't play games [clearly], I don't casually sleep with guys who can't handle it [but everyone else apparently] & I don't lie [also exceedingly evident] & say that I am not prone to one night stands on occasion [occasion being every day whose name ends in "day"]. I am more prone to tell a guy he has no chance of dating me but that I do need a guy to call on when I get laid by guys [notice the plural form here]. It's kind of hard to explain [quite the contrary, you're clearly a psychotic whore]. I don't whore around [uh huh] I just do what I want if the opportunity presents itself."
Now listen, the opportunity has present itself I think to us all at least once. Maybe. Maybe she doesn't know what whore means. I mean Jesus, I'm not an assassin; I just kill targets of opportunity. For a modest fee.
"I guess you have gotten the opposite side of that coin [clearly]. While I tell most guys I won't date them but I would fuck them [remember, not a whore] I tell you that not only do I have direct plans to fuck you until you jack up blood [clearly a caring individual with a cool head on her shoulders we're dealing with here] I also tell you that you're not just in the pool of guys I would date but I plan to persue you like the Scottish persue good haggis in America (how's that for an analogy)."
Clearly, we're dealing with a lucky man. Would that we were all so fortunate.
I just have to get to Boston but I am working on that or else wouldn't be re-learning basic algebra [what a sacrafice] & studying vocabulary analogies. Stupid SAT, but if I score high enough on it I won't have a problem getting admitted without Community college. If I had taken the correct English classes [because there's obviously more than one] and didn't get kicked out of the math department (never tell the head of the department to "fuck off" and make jokes about N-gons to your ex-marine math teacher [because this is not common knowledge]) I would probably not be in the situation I am in now. Also if I didn't use high school for party time [but that clearly was a secondary issue of little importance]. But being a young druggie freak kid is my past & I must reap the crop [and the semen] I have sowed. To completely change the subject , Court TV & the show CSI are very influential [and also, coincidentally, semen related] in my current state of mind. I keep thinking forensics is the way to go [because if you can't speak english or do basic math, advanced science is always an option]. I am gonna stick with being a computer geek [read: whore] but I think also I should stop watching Forensics Files to ensure that fact. I am notorious for changing majors [and fuck buddies]."
We're heading into the home stretch now.
"Oh, I said something previously that you didn't believe."
The tragedy here is that I've believed every word of it.
"I am going to put it in print, & maybe you will understand it."
I've pre read her statement and I believe it is not something that needs to be understood nor scanned over with the eyes for any duration of time. But if you've lasted this far, you're probably ready for anything.
"A voodoo charm to keep your man from cheating [because HIS fidelity is clearly the issue here] is to sneak menstral blood into the food you serve him. It works but it also makes the man extremely jealous [because 17 year old kids in "sprts cars" are men with which she has clearly demonstrated this voodoo curse's viability] due to the hormones and pheromones in menstral blood."
I'd just like to point out before we move on that if this is true and drinking it makes you crazy, imagine what kind of psychosis it induces when you're producing it monthly.
"It also can make the man [sic] so jealous that he will get violent and kill the woman [clearly undesirable in this case] because he is so convinced she is cheating on him [which with her clearly has no basis in fact]. When hormones become inbalanced people get violently angry [or incredibly effeminate] and the pheromones are a kind of bond."
Clearly.
"Pheromones can make or break an attraction [between two flies]. They can cause problems and make females who hang out together a lot menstruate together [go go Power Rangers!]. When you see a beauty and the beast couple (especially when the female is the beauty) it usually has to do with pheromones [or actual attraction, or admiration of character, or fulfillment of psychosexual needs, or money or...] If you do research on it [as she clearly has] I am sure you will find it interesting [or alternatively: terrifying]. I could give more personal proof but that would be giving up my secrets [and we can't have that happening]. In any case I'm going to get ready to mail this. Have fun."
And you thought YOU were crazy.
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