Don't Play Dead, Ester
I don't remember if I spoke about my last stalker or not. Basically, his story is stalk...stalk...stalk...stalk...roses at work...stalk...stalk...I'm driving three hours to get you, Preston...stalk...stalk...14 emails from him a day...stalk...stalk...
blah blah blah.
Well, the new one is basically the same story only with fewer emails and no roses at work. Instead, he sent them directly to my mom's house. As I was not there to get them, they took them back to the flower shop. I am to pick them up on Wednesday, my first off day.
This guy started out as a normal, nice guy. We have alot in common other than he is a psychopath. He went crazy when I didn't talk to him for two days. I mean REALLY crazy. He sent threatening letters, emails, and voicemails to me. Well, after a week or two, I emailed him and told him that I'd been hospitalized. This was to make him feel bad about not leaving me alone and going all crazy. It also gave me a good legit reason to be pissed at him for overreacting and snapping on me. Reason enough to no longer talk to him. I guess I am an evil person, but so is Paula Poundstone. Anyway, now he sent me what is apparently a rather large arrangement according to the florist chick. I should probably feel bad. As long as he does not show up at my front door with my name carved into his chest with beaver teeth, I am fine with him doing it. How the hell else am I going to get flowers? They better not be roses. I hate fucking roses.
Goddammit, I am getting fat again. My stomach is like that of a starved African villager. Ya know, the ones where they are starving but still have a potbelly. I think that it is due to disease or something. And I am really not making fun of them. It is just a good comparison. My body, moving from head to toe, is: head, skinny, skinny, skinny, gut, skinny, skinny, skinny, toe. I am on a new diet I invented. It is my "Everything Fiber" diet plan. It is as fun as it sounds. Triscuits, multivitamins, oatmeal, Ritz, popcorn, and water. WOOHOO! Fun. Oh yea. Oh and of course the metabolism boosters. Ripped Fuel is awesome if you don't stop taking it. When you stop taking it, your body realizes that you haven't had anything to eat in four months. It tries to then consume all of the missed food in a matter of hours. I have got to lose like twenty pounds. Guapo keeps telling me that if I get fat, he is going to break up with me. He says he is "just kidding," but he also says that 50% of what a person says when she or he is "just kidding" is true. I am not losing weight/ wanting to lose weight because of him. I just don't want to be a fat fuck again. I was miserable then. I need to be skinny and shit. (Not using the word 'shit' in the literal "Everything Fiber" sense of the word.) I don't know. Maybe I am vain. I say maybe like there is a question about my vanity. I am not totally vain, but I would like to look my best. I feel guilty about wanting to look good. Not guilty I guess. It is more shame than guilt. One should be humble and meek and not worry about outward appearance. I mean, when I am in the dating pool, I look for someone with inner beauty as corn nutty as that sounds. It is true. NN will tell ya that. Well she may not as you may not know who NN is and, therefore, would not be speaking to her. Besides if you do know her, I doubt your conversations with her revolve around my dating practices and what kind of person I am into. Nevermind. At any rate, I just hate that I am so superficial and judgemental about my own personal appearance, but I am not that way with other people. Not that I want to start judging others as harshly as I judge myself. I don't know what the hell I am talking about. Forget it. I mean I am extremely judgemental of other people, but not people I want to have sex with. I like people with inner beauty. Even though it is the outer that I am actually screwing. Shutting up now.
Moving on, I want to buy an animal. Well, by animal, I mean a living thing. Not necessarily an animal in the conventional sense. I mean, I could have a pet child or a pet little person or a pet old lady and I'd be just as happy as having a pet dog named Skip. I want an old lady for a pet. I'd name her Ester. Ester, my pet old woman. I'd walk her thru the park on a leash. I'd teach her to roll over and actually get back up. Teach her to catch a frisbee in her Fixodented dentures. If her nose is wet, it means she is happy. I wouldn't let her lick my face though. That's just sick. Rub her nose in her "business" when she has an accident. I would teach her to fetch my slippers and newspaper every morning. I wouldn't teach her every morning. I would teach her to fetch my slippers and newspaper. She'd do this every morning. Fetch them I mean. I could enter her in an Old Woman Show. Give her new teeth, mothball treats, and dye her hair lavender. I'm sure Ester will win 'Best in Show.' Her name is Ester, but I'd call her Ole Lavender. I'd teach her to be an attack/watch old woman. If someone breaks into my house, she'll start screaming, "Johnny, why did you leave me here?! I miss you. Is that you Johnny? Where's my Metamucil? When was your last BM? I love you. Oops, I crapped my pants." If this does not scare off a potential burglar, she will attack with her walker and start gumming his legs. It'll be great. The only trick I wouldn't teach her is to play dead. Chances are, if she is playing dead, it is time to go and buy a new old lady.
Later Consuela.
Rest in peace sweet, sweet Ester.
I don't remember if I spoke about my last stalker or not. Basically, his story is stalk...stalk...stalk...stalk...roses at work...stalk...stalk...I'm driving three hours to get you, Preston...stalk...stalk...14 emails from him a day...stalk...stalk...
blah blah blah.
Well, the new one is basically the same story only with fewer emails and no roses at work. Instead, he sent them directly to my mom's house. As I was not there to get them, they took them back to the flower shop. I am to pick them up on Wednesday, my first off day.
This guy started out as a normal, nice guy. We have alot in common other than he is a psychopath. He went crazy when I didn't talk to him for two days. I mean REALLY crazy. He sent threatening letters, emails, and voicemails to me. Well, after a week or two, I emailed him and told him that I'd been hospitalized. This was to make him feel bad about not leaving me alone and going all crazy. It also gave me a good legit reason to be pissed at him for overreacting and snapping on me. Reason enough to no longer talk to him. I guess I am an evil person, but so is Paula Poundstone. Anyway, now he sent me what is apparently a rather large arrangement according to the florist chick. I should probably feel bad. As long as he does not show up at my front door with my name carved into his chest with beaver teeth, I am fine with him doing it. How the hell else am I going to get flowers? They better not be roses. I hate fucking roses.
Goddammit, I am getting fat again. My stomach is like that of a starved African villager. Ya know, the ones where they are starving but still have a potbelly. I think that it is due to disease or something. And I am really not making fun of them. It is just a good comparison. My body, moving from head to toe, is: head, skinny, skinny, skinny, gut, skinny, skinny, skinny, toe. I am on a new diet I invented. It is my "Everything Fiber" diet plan. It is as fun as it sounds. Triscuits, multivitamins, oatmeal, Ritz, popcorn, and water. WOOHOO! Fun. Oh yea. Oh and of course the metabolism boosters. Ripped Fuel is awesome if you don't stop taking it. When you stop taking it, your body realizes that you haven't had anything to eat in four months. It tries to then consume all of the missed food in a matter of hours. I have got to lose like twenty pounds. Guapo keeps telling me that if I get fat, he is going to break up with me. He says he is "just kidding," but he also says that 50% of what a person says when she or he is "just kidding" is true. I am not losing weight/ wanting to lose weight because of him. I just don't want to be a fat fuck again. I was miserable then. I need to be skinny and shit. (Not using the word 'shit' in the literal "Everything Fiber" sense of the word.) I don't know. Maybe I am vain. I say maybe like there is a question about my vanity. I am not totally vain, but I would like to look my best. I feel guilty about wanting to look good. Not guilty I guess. It is more shame than guilt. One should be humble and meek and not worry about outward appearance. I mean, when I am in the dating pool, I look for someone with inner beauty as corn nutty as that sounds. It is true. NN will tell ya that. Well she may not as you may not know who NN is and, therefore, would not be speaking to her. Besides if you do know her, I doubt your conversations with her revolve around my dating practices and what kind of person I am into. Nevermind. At any rate, I just hate that I am so superficial and judgemental about my own personal appearance, but I am not that way with other people. Not that I want to start judging others as harshly as I judge myself. I don't know what the hell I am talking about. Forget it. I mean I am extremely judgemental of other people, but not people I want to have sex with. I like people with inner beauty. Even though it is the outer that I am actually screwing. Shutting up now.
Moving on, I want to buy an animal. Well, by animal, I mean a living thing. Not necessarily an animal in the conventional sense. I mean, I could have a pet child or a pet little person or a pet old lady and I'd be just as happy as having a pet dog named Skip. I want an old lady for a pet. I'd name her Ester. Ester, my pet old woman. I'd walk her thru the park on a leash. I'd teach her to roll over and actually get back up. Teach her to catch a frisbee in her Fixodented dentures. If her nose is wet, it means she is happy. I wouldn't let her lick my face though. That's just sick. Rub her nose in her "business" when she has an accident. I would teach her to fetch my slippers and newspaper every morning. I wouldn't teach her every morning. I would teach her to fetch my slippers and newspaper. She'd do this every morning. Fetch them I mean. I could enter her in an Old Woman Show. Give her new teeth, mothball treats, and dye her hair lavender. I'm sure Ester will win 'Best in Show.' Her name is Ester, but I'd call her Ole Lavender. I'd teach her to be an attack/watch old woman. If someone breaks into my house, she'll start screaming, "Johnny, why did you leave me here?! I miss you. Is that you Johnny? Where's my Metamucil? When was your last BM? I love you. Oops, I crapped my pants." If this does not scare off a potential burglar, she will attack with her walker and start gumming his legs. It'll be great. The only trick I wouldn't teach her is to play dead. Chances are, if she is playing dead, it is time to go and buy a new old lady.
Later Consuela.
Rest in peace sweet, sweet Ester.
posted by Preston at 2:26 PM
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