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Patient number 21: The causes of patient number 21's bouts of hysteria, psychotic episodes, and pyromaniacle behavior can most likely be linked to his childhood experiences. His mother was a former body builder and a steroid addict. His father was an inventor who spent most of his days in an unheated shack outside of their small house in North Dakota. Apparently the father's inventing consisted of his repeatedly tearing down and rebuilding the shack. The patient has clear memories of his mother drowning his pet hamster in front of him to show him the importance of having "good abdominal strength".
I'm scared. They say when you write you put your soul on a piece of paper. If this is true, then 100 words is not the blessing I once thought. Instead it is a horrible curse. I'm scared to lose my soul. I once thought that I could get by without it, and tried to free it, yet it did not leave. It has found a way out. Every time I put that pencil to the paper, it leaks out slyly, bit by bit. I have to find all the old words strewn about and eat them. It's mine again.
pi meet pie. Assuming that pie is round, you can get pi from pie by dividing pie's circumference by its radius. Far as I know, you can't get pie from pi. Some say that, as an infinite non-repeating sequence of numbers, the answer to all of life's questions lie in pi. Others say that you can find happiness in pie. Pi is a mathematician's wet dream, and pie only his dessert, unless the particular mathematician is a glutton, in which case pie may be both. Pi's a very important number in many fields, but it doesn't taste good like pie.
my dad once said something that completely surprised and amazed me. 'twas for some stupid survey thing 'cause I thought they were funny. The question was, "the thing about me which most surprises you." He simply replied "that you lived." This touched me in some way I can't explain. Something about that simple statement made me much more comfortable about him and me. It was scary today, when I heard. There's so much about him I don't know….so much I want to ask, but at the same time, I know him, but not at all. Yes, I love my dad.
Today he admitted to me that since he was very young he was plagued by strange nightmares of stick men with scythes for hands. The nightmares stopped after a few years. But then, when, as he stated, "bad things" started to happen around him, these men would again appear. He related one specific incident where he was eating lunch with a playmate at school, and the men appeared. Next thing he new his playmate was knocked unconscious from a blow to the back of the head by a lunch tray. I asked him if he new anything about escape mechanisms.
He candidly replied, "I don't know much about digging." He told me he was sorry about his friend, because he liked him and didn't want him to disappear. I inquired as to what he meant by that, and he said that after things like that happened, the people had a tendency to disappear. I wanted to know whether he meant that they were taken away, or whether he believed that the people actually disappeared, but he became moody and introverted at that point and wouldn't answer anymore questions. He kept mumbling about how that day they were all riding newts.
Today I decided to try and get someone to believe that I'm partially allergic to the sun. not so much that I have to be holed up and only come out at night, but just so that I have to keep as much skin covered on my body as I can at all times. When they inquire about my face, I'll simply reply that I have a non-scented prescription sun block. I'm fairly certain I can pull this off. I'm a pretty decent liar. I once convinced someone that I was born inside out. That has to count for something.
Of the thing of which I write today, it matters not much at all. Its importance is very little in the scheme of things big and small. You may think it trite, or even just alright, But in the end, my only friend, it really is your call. Warning: the remainder of this message may be inappropriate for children under the age of 18, the elderly, those with compromised immune systems (such as those with a kidney transplant), Richard Simmons, nuns, and small woodland creatures: Fuck all y'all! That what we gangstar ninja's say, and we fucking rule the school.
And now, excerpts from the forgotten book of the bible, the book of lemmings:
The world consists of fire cannons, boiling pits of acid and lava, and bottomless oceans, which will all kill you…. unless you build over them.
Umbrellas can and will save you from a life threatening fall.
Pack mentality - when encountering a death trap (such as one that cuts your head off), go through with several other lemmings, at least one of you is going to survive.
Ritual suicide is an option, and is accepted in god's eyes such that it leads to the survival of others.
I'm going to be a real big weenie and ask for more study time for the final. Since I basically mindlessly scribble notes in class, I don't pay that much attention to what you say. On all previous exams I have simply crammed the night before hoping it would be good enough to get an A. So far that has worked, but considering the amount of material on the final, I really don't think that's an option. So, disregarding the previous two statements I feel that a little extra time is not out of order.
Thanks a bunch
And now the short story of Horny-Man: (Note: The story of Horny-Man is a short story because Horny-Man was a sick and twisted individual. They called him Horny-Man for a reason. He was prone to do horribly disgusting things due to his overactive sex drive. I won't even relate the tale of the time Horny-Man was forced to fight the bus full of christian schoolgirls. Well he actually wasn't forced at all, but that's what he told the police. Then there was the time with the new pet store…. that was in the paper for months. And then when he…
Amusing scenarios common to these parts:
Drunk girl leading even drunker girl to destination while slurring words of encouragement.
Two drunk girls carrying unbelievably drunk girl slurring hopes of not getting arrested.
Drunk girl caring for boyfriend as he pukes his guts up on the side of the road.
Drunk frat boys getting in fights over who's drunker.
Drunk guys wondering what they should do about drunk friend passed out on sidewalk.
Drunk guys leaving drunk friend passed out on sidewalk to his own devices…. So they can get drunker.
Me incredibly drunk doing whatever the hell I please, dammit.
"I really wish you wouldn't do that," the elephant said in what he hoped would be stern voice. As usual his feelings had betrayed him, the words coming out dry and lacking confidence.
"Hmmm…?" replied the lioness, turning her head ever so slightly, not bothering to really look as she continued.
"….never mind, you really wouldn't understand anyway. But, you know, it really hurts me that you would do this. We used to respect each other. Now it's as if none of that matters at all."
Pondering for a minute, the lioness turned and said, "I have to live somehow."
I met the most amazing girl tonight. I think I love her, although she does not know this. I can't even begin to describe her. Perfect height (her eyes just about meet my jaw-line). She has the most perfect glasses, really frame her face, makes her look oh so lovely… she's incredibly beautiful, I tried to tell her this several times. One of the first things we did was compared stories of drunkenness. Don't know who won, honestly, but I think we impressed each other. Why is it every time I feel this way it's fortunes' way of mocking me?
ode to peeing:
upon much pontification,
i decided on public urination.
and with further consideration,
i felt that it was the perfect salution to my situation.
so the next time you are feeling peemly.
and the disposition doesen't seem so timely,
remember that you can relieve yourself freely,
by just urinating publicly.
Thank you very much to Joe for allowing me to urinate publicly the other night. I really had to go to the bathroom, and even though it was his job to protect that apartment complex, he let me go anyway. Man, I love urinating in front of people.
He had that dream again. The one where he wakes up in a cold sweat feeling nauseous afterwards. In it he is standing in the kitchen holding a knife in his hand. He calls to his friend to enter the room, softly at first, but then with rising intensity. When his friend enters the room he turns on the light to find him standing there. Then in that wierd way that can only happen in dreams, he sees himself through his friends eyes as he slowly cuts his own throat, all the while with a sick grin on his face.
i cannot write of what i am thinking. it saddens me, it depresses me. i used to be an optimist. long ago this probably would have made me happy. i would have smiled, maybe said, “golly, that was swell.” perhaps i’ve grown up. could be i’ve matured to see through it. yeah, that’s great and all, but just a way of beating around the bush. i think that i’ve just become incredibly selfish. of course thinking hasn’t been working too well as of late anyway. too many maybes/ifs/ands/buts/ors. something i know to be true is that i hate “diary” days.
right from the beginning I could tell it was going to be an interesting night just by the crazy look in her eyes. sure enough, thirty minutes, twenty seconds, and one pipe-bomb later, we stood admiring what we had done. Not long though, for, as you can imgaine, we realized the cops would be here soon. I took the long route to the next spot. when we got there things started to go wrong. there was an accident, and some idiot pulled out a gun. Before i even realized what had happened, i had alread taken the bullet for her.
twenty minutes. can you imagine that? twenty god damned minutes of my life i spent talking to a series of plastic toys from burger king last night. the purple plastic blob was having a heated discussion with the green plastic blob about the ethical implications the space bar candy bar. the mere semantics of it could destroy the mind of a quantum physics prodigy. i decided that before things got worse and the orange plastic blob started to smash things, i would have to use the secret weapon: otter-pops. yes, otter-pops. after that we had a lively game of categories.
a wise man once said to me, “thinking backwards is the only way to see in five dimensions.” by ‘wise’ i mean ‘alcoholic’, and by man i mean ‘40 year old female prostitute’. well, that may not have been the exact wording (it may have actually had something to do with a diabetic cat), but i’ll tell you this: at the time what she said made perfect sense and seemed to put my life in order. but now whenever i think of that phrase i have to take a bottle of aspirin just to relieve the pain in my head.
quite frankly, my dear, i am an idiot.
my life is an exercise in extravagant idiocy.
i follow the politics of idiocracy.
so yeah, people tell me i am smart. they refer to me as intelligent. when asked about it, however, i like to say to the person: being smart does not mean that you are not dumb. it just means that your idiocy is on a different level than other people. perhaps one day, i will screw something up that will cost the lives of hundreds of people. pretty scary right?
at that point we usually change the subject.
bird, little bird.
little bird fly.
fly away little bird, go and catch the wind.
do what man has aspired to for generations.
naturally, smoothly and surely.
to where ever you may go.
i will see you again, little bird.
as true as the sunrise you are,
lovely little bird.
and then we rose together, like the moon and stars. quietly and beautifully, as if one. trying to hold on but with he quickness of daybreak we seperate and dissolve. scatter like the desert sand dunes, awash in a sea of endless likeness, never to be reunited. or will we?
another day, another dime, another bus, another city. just rolling across the country with no agenda. no wants to see the sites. no needs to be with people. just a road and where it takes you. flip a coin at the fork in the road, because honestly, who cares about the path less traveled, you’ve never been upon either path before. the white and yellow lines flow on the sides, and that’s all the cares in the world. hitch if you can. oh where to go tomorrow. it’s either left or right, or forward or backward, or past and future.
dear dennis r. powell,
recently we have been upset about the amount of partying you have been doing. in previous quarters you had been up at least three points in the party area, but as of lately we have seen wuite a deline, ten points down to be exact. the share holders are quite worried. they blame it on sheer laziness. unless we see an upswing in the next fiscal year i’m afraid that we are going to have to let you go. however, with your past successes i don’t think this should be a problem. sincerel yours,
a letter to jospeh, from franklin:
it seems there has been a mistake. you see, i did not steal your Mr. T original tin lunch box. i know how much it meant to you, therefore i would never take it from you. i understand that you were upset, but i felt it unneccesary to beat me up and take my Dukes of Hazard lunch box without any proof that i had committed the act. possesion is nine-tenths of the law, after all. anyway, i feel this issue needs to be resolved before winston’s Smurfs lunch box ends up getting destroyed.
i want to glue my head to the carpet. wait, check that. i want somebody to glue my head to the carpet while i’m asleep so that when i wake up i’ll say, “goddamn, my head’s glued to the carpet.” it might not be that much of a surprise, seeing as i’m asking for it, but at least now i’ll have an excuse for waking up on the floor.
as for that whole sleep thing, i’m not sure if i trust it anymore. if i have that dream about the toothpaste-hyenas again i don’t know what i’m going to do.
crap crap crap crap hell damn fart.
well then, now that i got that out of my system, i guess we can do some real writing. if i was going to make a movie, i think i’d put nicloe kidman in it because she’s really hot. i’m not going to give you nay crap about how i like her as an actress as well. nope. the only reason she’d be in the movie would be to stand there and look hot. i’m not even sure i’d write her any lines. yeah i would, she’d just say “i’m hot” a lot.
speaking of making movies, sean walsh and i still have yet to write dinosaurs on spaceships. we have the intro and know at least half and hour of the movie is going to be people arguing about whether the dinosaurs on ‘on’ or ‘on meaning in’ the spaceships. i can say more or i’d give away the plot and some hollywood asshole would steal the idea and not credit us.
speaking of hot chicks, a good friend of mine once uttered this phrase it should be shared: “besides the fact that they’re hot, i really don’t like girls that much.”
there was a hole in the ground outside my house nestled in the pines of canada. there was a hole in the ground and a mountie was standing next to it weeping. i looked at the hole and quickly realized what had happened. i turned and said, “calm down, buddy. it was just a tree.” “it’s never just a tree,” he replied. he looked as though he was going to finish, but stopped and simply looked down again. i understood. i looked down too and then it hit me. i shouted, “hey wait a minute, somebody stole my damn tree!”
and she strode over to the stream bed for nothing more than to look at her reflection in the moonlight. she took it all in: her features, the night sky above her face. like an idiot i walked up behind her, peering over her shoulder. as soon as she saw me in the water she turned away. “you ruin everything,” she said, getting up and walking away. i felt like shit. i had only wanted to look at it with her and i told her so. she looked at me sympathetically and sighed, “some things aren’t meant to be shared.”
if you could believe that. i’m not even sure i do anymore. so many things i thought to be true, but i was so very wrong. it’s ok though, you’ll understand i’m sure. take heart, not pity. listen well.
to have a friend for so long and than nothing? i don’t care about the other stuff, don’t care one bit. i want my friend back.
i should do something outrageous or stupid. or a combination of both. ahhh, but drastic doesn’t work. haven’t we learned anything? actually some would say i haven’t learned a thing.
i think they are right.
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