#all my pathological shit comes back to it and its like okay guys funny joke good one but lets give the ruse up???? hahaha guys?

[thejugheadparadox]

obviously this is a very generic and annoying thing to say but ive realised recently quite how much of me is just the secondary school self who wanted people to think she was cool and stop thinking she was stupid so badly. and it will be for a long time yet. lol

[zenithgurugirl]

Truth pt. 2

My mother since birth has sabotaged my life existence. Anything inspirational as kid that I have done, she did not support. As a child you have the tendency to impress your parent by joining spelling bee's, sports, art stuff, etc... You become social and make friends and become a part of your friends circle (clicks, subculture, etc...).

Okay, so the first thing I do as a child (because I did not go to preschool and probably should have to learn social friendly skills) I tried to play house with the other children. This did not work out well. The kids had the mommy and the daddy thing already picked out and they already picked out their kids (in Kindergarten we had this huge area with sections of play houses set up, it was awesome! Little fridges, ovens, bunk beds, table and chairs, all sorts of plastic foods and plates. It was loads of fun for most little kids okay.)

I was scouted out as a maid. We had picked babysitters and even played out granny and grampy but No... I was maid. I cleaned up the kitchens and made the beds. I cooked and vacuumed, swept and mopped. I did not have a place to go so I switched out into different play house families. I was honed out to be alone. The little girls had "mommy" meetings and the "dads" went to work. I went from play house to play house cleaning shit up.

At home I had a very large play house of my own as a little girl with a big doll house to match. Not from my mother but from one of the guys she dated. He was really amazing for building those two things for me. I was grateful that this guy (out of many many men she dated) even noticed my lonely existence. From age newborn to 5 I had no sibling to play with and no friends. My mother usually put me in the middle of the living room with toys and did her thing (what ever her thing was idk to this day.... I was too busy being imaginative in my own world in my head.) This wonderful man graced her life and felt sympathy for me. So I would come home and hang out the rest of the day in my very own neat organized play house.

Put this to real life perspective in a humorous way....

I might have been the fucking maid at school and neglected as a kid at home BUT I HAD A BAD ASS PLACE ALL MY OWN haha! Make me a maid - I got me a pad all my own, I did not have to share it with anyone! Take that Kindergarten!

I had an imaginary friend named Johnny. He was older than me and smelled like the river that ran behind our rented house. Yes he was wet, all the time, but never dripped water anywhere except outside near the bridge. Don't ask....

Anyway. During the time of the maid play crap at school; I did artwork. I would color on the huge pads of paper. I took advantage of the little book shelf littered with books and read every one of them. I'd get real bored and I screwed up by doing all the packets that were labelled with my name near the teachers desk. Oh she didn't like that because I went ahead and did all the work available for Kindergarten. It had my name on it and I was bored.... what did she expect?

Which reminds me; I was really good at reading and writing before the age of 3. I didn't talk until I was in Kindergarten - by choice. I didn't want to talk. I learned how to talk at age 1 and stopped at age 2 because I was traumatized by my cousins. So, I stopped talking and took up reading and writing. I was able to write paragraphs at age 4 and reading college books. No joke! Its not a bragging thing here. It was survival. I was alone, bored, and neglected by a parent.

In first grade I wrote a book for show and tell. It was called "Monsters". The rest of my Kindergarten year was artwork and going with the 5th graders to a reading circle while the other students did their packets LMAO! 5th graders were confused by my presence at first but then soon realized I was smart and began picking on me. So, in first grade I wrote my first story. MONSTERS. I even illustrated it with monsters. Okay, this didn't end well with the teacher all horrified about my well being and talking to my mom who beat the shit out of me when I got home. In first grade I ended up in the 7th graders reading circle as my 1st grade class mates did their reading circle. I was being influenced by the older kids who were picking on me.

I'm a parent today. I embrace and encourage my daughters decisions and goals. I even help her by purchasing whatever it is that she enjoys. She liked making music so I bought all sorts of crap so she can proceed with that. She likes painting and drawing so I bought art stuff of all kinds. Anything to reach whatever goal or dream she has; I support, encourage, and do with her.

Unlike my mother who beat the crap out of me for writing a book and freaking out the class. Funny thing is, she watched me write it and illustrate it at the dining room table. She kept calling me strange and weird but let me do it. Then beat the shit out of me ???? Thanks for the great support! What she should have done is redirect me, talk to me, and help me with it so it wouldn't be so shocking at Show and Tell. Thanks mom for your abuse, it was the best!

I kept writing. Any attention is great at this age, even if it was abusive attention. I wanted to become a writer. This was now my dream, my goal, my ultimate place in life. I would write books. I would read dictionaries and encyclopedias and all the research books that I can cram inside my big imaginative mind and make stories.

I was and still am continually sick (Marfan Syndrome). My mom did move around a lot. She had many boyfriends. Most of them never liked me because I was "weird". She invented a scenario of me that I was slow and retarded. This probably saved me from molestation since most of the assholes she dated were drug users and criminals and abusive and creepy. She claims today that she never did drugs but I'm well passed the age of naïve - if your friends and boyfriends are using YOU ARE TOO using with them. I was too involved with my lined paper and pencils and books to pay any attention to her bullshit life. I had bad grades except for my reading and English classes.

When we moved back to her childhood town; my play house was destroyed and my doll house ended up with my Aunt who hated little girls. I stopped school all together pretty much. I did good in 3rd grade but had 4th grade twice because the teacher of 4th grade could not stand that I was able to read and understand what her huge grading book was all about. Not sure if anyone out there knows what I am talking about - those huge grade books with all the answers and how to teach a class certain subjects in the book .... well, I read the whole thing and knew that she was doing it all wrong. WOW I got held back a year for being too smart for my own good. She told my mother that I was immature and needed more socially exceptional things in order to pass her stupid class.

She got a new teachers book the next year and locked it in her desk. She also had me sit in the far back so that I couldn't read the big teachers book while she instructed students. Oh lets not forget that she also took me out of college level reading and comprehension studies to Kindergarten reading and writing. Bitch. Like that was going to stop me from pursuing my dreams. I quite school. Basically slacked off anything she had to teach. 5th grade came and that teacher adored me. He let me read and write anything I wanted. The kids (my younger peers from my flunked grade) were jealous and tried everything to ruin my life. I hated them and they naturally hated me. I was in the library most the time during my second year of 4th grade and 5th grade. Read every book on the shelf and learned how to work the computer.

Fights every day after school during the second time around in 4th grade and 5th. I learned how to kick ass and give black eyes. I was bullied most my life so I learned how to fight back. I was even slapped around by a teacher! So, yep I think that kids should be able to fist fight. I think adults today should just go out and fight it out with boxing gloves. It does help. All this anti-bully crap has these kids today stupid soft to even the slightest gesture. OH HE TOUCHED ME! Yeah, he did touch you. At least he didn't fucking smack you around and call you curse words. Be thankful you little wimp!

My mother got married when I was in 5th grade to some wealthy asshole. He treated her like shit and me too. I was not allowed to have any books in my room and I couldn't have any paper or pens or pencils in there either. I had a television, black and white. No radios no desk no nothing. I had to get rid of my dolls. Basically; grow the fuck up. He molested me from day one until I was twenty.

Oh I tried leaving the home. A thousands times did I try to flee. I ran away all over the place. Now, normally a young teenager runs away to a friends house or to a boyfriend. I had neither. Sometimes one would run off to a relative. Yeah, I done fucked myself there too. My family hated me. Thanks to my mother, my grandma and grandpa - my aunts and uncles - my cousins - they believed whatever my mom had to say about me and most the time it was not good. She told them things like - I was a pathological liar, a thief, mentally retarded and rebellious, etc.... whatever she deemed good for her to keep me home. Crazy bitch.

I learned to be social all right. First place to run off to was San Francisco. I slept in the bus depot. I learned how to pan handle. I made friends with homeless and hung out with them learning life skills. You'd be surprised what life skills you learn from the homeless. Much respect for them out there! Sure I got sexually harassed maybe even sexually assaulted and raped. Shit happens and I learned from it. I learned to wear secure clothing and don't fucking flirt. Don't talk to everyone and keep to yourself. Discernment and gut feelings - yep I learned this. I learned to be alert and when it was okay to relax. I learned the value of life. I saw shit that would make one of these spoiled SJW people scream SATAN IS HERE lol! I see this bullshit today and just shake my head in shame about our society.

GROW UP AMERICA

My mom she would have people find me and drag my ass home. I wasn't doing drugs, I wasn't hoeing around and hooking it, I wasn't being a bad citizen in society. I'd always land a job and a place to stay out there. I gave good advice and was actually influencing good things to those around me. I was kind and caring and anyone who was helping me - in return - I helped them. But she would drag my ass back to her home with that molester. I signed up for modelling and that was short lived. I signed up for fashion design at an art school, paid my tuition and got dragged back home and had to drop out. She wanted me with her. Any boyfriend I had ended up sleeping with her or she'd tell them I'm retarded and they'd dump me immediately.

I ran so far away as to end up in New York. I ran off to Canada. I ran off to Mexico. No money. No car. Just a thumb for a ride and a backpack. She would find me and get someone to drag my ass back here to this county. I bought my first home in Oregon. Had to sell it after a year because she threatened me with her suicide attempt. Family blamed me for it and I wasn't even here!!!!! How can a person blame another if the other was not even around her depression. I never talked to her for a year. So she goes depressed to the point of suicide because I didn't talk to her and was living my 23 year old life out with a full time job, a newly bought house (not a rental), a car that was paid off and raising a kitten.

I was forced home by family members and threatened. I came back because my half brothers packed up my house with a moving van and had their wives beat the crap out of me. I wasn't going to come back. I had sell my house, my car, lost my job (worked in a craft store), and lost most of my belongings thanks to half brothers and their evil wives.

I rebelled as much as possible and became the monster they thought me to be OH YEAH! Started drinking, smoking weed, pill popping, partying, stole my moms car, and ran up the cell phone bill and any other bill she had to pay. Then I stole her money and spent it too! By this time I was 25/26 years old. I did try to run off a few other times but my half brothers would travel across the states and bring me right back to mother. She was divorced when I was 20 years old. My half brothers thought of me as a shit ass retarded girl. My mom began gender shaming me. I did end up gay for a while because she wanted a boy not a girl.

I'm super straight as they call it today. The gay thing was a phase. I can't keep a boyfriend ever or get married. My mom will scare them out of my life even today she does that shit. Oh and she moved in with me after I bought a trailer in the trailer park. The family tells me "She will be homeless if you kick her out so think about that when you decide to be nasty with her again. You will be blamed for her homelessness if you kick her out of your home!" OUCH!!!!!

Do I hate my mom? Yes.

I have many reasons to hate her. I learned to distance myself from any love and can walk away cold and shallow from any relationship. I have no heart for actual love now. Thanks to her I have learned this. Never get attached to anyone or anything. I can walk away from this life and not feel a thing for it. To me, it was a waste of time and energy. My existence is a total waste and time of energy.

Happy Mothers Day......

Actually; I love my daughter and her boyfriend. I have a motherly (my own kind of mommy) to her best friend and her boyfriend. They are my true family. If something happened to them I would be weeping and feeling pain over it. I had a half sister who was my best friend in my 20's who ended up as a best friend and I love her too. She passed away 3 years ago and I still cry over the loss of her. So not all is waste of time and energy. I did learn how to correctly love my little family despite what my mother has done to me. I still hate her. I live with her or rather she lives with me. Her sick joke is to tell people "My daughter and I are married" ..... No. Just no.

Someday I am going to publish my novels. Every one of them. I'm going to move away and have several places that only my little family knows about (my daughter, her best friend, and their boyfriends - because they seen first hand how my mother is) and I will build my mother a home of her own - a gift from me. But my homes are not anywhere near her home and no one can drag my ass to her house because after all - I gave her my life - 40+ years of it.

I just feel wasted away though. I missed out on all sorts of stuff that I am seeing with my daughter. I didn't want to live here in a trailer park. But when you have a mother or parent that leeches off you spiritually, mentally, and physically - your time and effort mean nothing. I had money but it was spent on her bullshit. Right now today she complains that she has no money blah blah - yet 6k sits in her bank account while I pay 300 dollars on bills and 850 dollars on rent with a 600 dollar paycheck. I'm in debt. She doesn't help and if I ask for her help she usually says "I don't have money to help you".

Typical.

I don't ask by the way. I know what comes out of her mouth with the HELP ME question. 6k in her bank though. She can pay bills for the next 3 months at least. Give me a breather. Or let me move in an ex boyfriend who wants to help me and is pissed off at her for digging me into further debt. She likes me suffering and struggling. If I am happy she gets all sorts of angry. No joke! She's 74 years old and still gets up in my mug if I even act on being happy.

So yep. I have vented it all out.

My plan; to own multiple escape area places and never tell her where I went. When she dies to collect the house I had built for her and leave joyfully and to never visit her graveside EVER!!!!!!!!

Happy Mothers Day!

[chemtrailsturnedmypepegay-blog]

hi my guys i just tried writing my first fanfic and i really hope you like it uwu

its more of a script as i envisioned it as a movie or tv show :3 The Bye Bye Manlet

Jane! Jane! Jane, it's me. Open up. Did you tell anyone? Did i... About the name. The name. Yeah, I told Rick. He thought it was funny. Just Rick and nobody else? No. Why? What's the matter? Barack, what's wrong? I'm sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. Barack, you're scaring me. What are you doing? Rick? Ricky? Rick, the name. Janie! Did you tell anyone? Anyone? Ba… Barack, please. Please. I... Rick, he's coming! The name. Mi... Michelle. I to... I told Michelle. I'm gonna stop you! Michelle! - Barack! - Mom! Run! - Who did you tell? - He killed them! Don't think it. Mom, come on! Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Michelle! Did you say the name? Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't say it. Who did you say the name to, Michelle? Barack! Barack! What's up, playboy? How's it going? Good. Today is a good day. You got the key? No, it's under the mat. Ah. It's only 20 minutes. This is the first time he's rented the place. The guy says it's fantastic. What else would he say? It's a doghouse? I'm trying to convince her. Come on, man. Work with me. Sash? Yeah. I'm up for it. It's a little creepy. Right? Nah, it's just cold. Heat's off. I gotta piss like a racehorse. Cute. Dude! This place is sweet, bro. Hey. Right? We could put the desk over there. We could put the bed here. Well, maybe if there was a bed. I know. The landlord said it was fully furnished. Yo, El, come and check this out, man. This is crazy! Yo, come on down. Yo, El, come in here, man. Oh, it's... you can't get this in the dorms, right? Now, that's... That's classic. John, you really think Sasha wants to see that? Or that? Oh. You got the whole upstairs to make girlie. Okay? I've definitely seen bigger. See? You're awesome. Bro. She's awesome, man. Oh, yeah, you guys must've been hilarious when you were young. Must've been? Are. Tier 1. Hey, he made me look smart, and I made him look ugly. But after the crash, he took care of me. Talk shit about my boy's folks, you're done. Okay, and the tier 1's are both ready to cook and clean and help me do this place up, right? 'Cause I'm not gonna be your guys' maid. Of course not. I told him. Right? I never cooked you my butter pasta-nette? That is not a thing. - That's 'cause I invented it. - Okay. And I clean too. I promise. - Yo, what does this do? - Yeah, you cook. I said I "cooked," okay? Found the furniture. I've heard about you and all the girls. And that's exactly why we need to get out of the dorms. And this is perfect. Whoa! Easy. Oh. You all right? Yeah. Thanks. So it looks like the landlord wasn't lying. Wow. Damn, son. Hey, I like this. Ah, fuck. So? Don't you want to? Well, yeah, yeah. I do. Now, I know you... Yo, all the dishes in here, they're white. Just saying. He touches everything. It's up to you, bear. I can't afford it without him. I know you can, but I don't want... Elliot. Elliot. Yeah? We're doing it. Obviously. Yeah? Yeah. I see she approves, huh? Yo. Hey, you need a hand? No, I got this. Okay, don't break yourself. Better than going to the gym, right? Hey, Elliot? Yeah? Hey, did you hear that banging? Yeah. The radiators sound worse. Okay, bear, here it is. Rilke says chemtrails symbolize the wonder and terror of the government. "Do you land face up or face down in the dirt? What race will you be born into? With whom will you fall in love? Fortune is truly like a chemtrail sprayed by the hand of god." I'm wiped. Hmm. Thanks for finding me that quote. You wanna watch something stupid? Mm-hmm. Just us. Yeah. I'm gonna brush my teeth. Hey, what's on the bed? "You look like a model from the '70s. The personal pilot of a James Bond villain. A 19-year-old koala bear person." "If any of them were true, I wouldn't have you. But they're not, and I do. Amazingly. Bullshit aside, I never thought I would meet, let alone be with, anyone like you. With so much love, your knight, Beau, Casanova and new roommate, Elliot." "No animals were harmed in the making of this card." Hey, Elliot, that's not funny. Elliot? Hey. What's wrong? Hey. What's up, man? Ah, little brother! How's it going? Look at this place. Fantastic. Hi, darlin'. Hi, uncle Elliot! - Hey, niece Alice! - Hey, hey. Hey there. Sorry we're so early. Your brother's pathological. It's called being prompt and professional. Virgil's awesome. Thank you. Oh, hey. Almost forgot. Here's your housewarming present. - You gonna help me drink it? - No! Look at this. So a house off campus with John Henry and a live-in girlfriend. You ready for this? She's the one, Virgil. She did all this herself. That's great. It's just, you know, be smart. Be a student, man. It's the last time to have no responsibilities. Enjoy it. I don't want that. I want what you have. An amazing wife, an amazing daughter. Just don't rush it. That's all out there waiting for you. Believe me, what I have is great. It is. But I missed out on all this. I mean, what a college edu-ma-cation could have done for me. You have a scholarship, man. You should be upstairs studying right now. Jesus. It's a good thing you're not jealous. It is good. You got this. You got this. Come on, come on. All right. This one side. - Oh! - Oh, baby! Thank you! A tin foil hat, huh? Yeah. I put it back on the little table next to the bed. I didn't want to keep it. 'Cause you're the best, most honest, smartest, cutest, heaviest, oldest person here. I'm not the heaviest or the oldest. Dad's the oldest and he's the heaviest. What? She ratted me out. Here. Head bump. Oh. Fist bump. That's John's room. We're upstairs. All right, we're outta here. Buddy, great party. Be good. Bye, guys. Bye, Alice. Kim? She's in my lit class. Girls who wear hats inside are crazy. You know that, right? She's gonna do a psychic cleansing after everyone leaves. Cool. Can I leave too? No. She's just gonna burn some Sage, and you are going to be nice. Maybe you need a hat. It's a twist-off. Oh, thank you. John, do you think this house is creepy? Mmm. Yep. I don't, but I'm not a girl, and I think you should get dressed, 'cause we're playing baseball. Why do jocks always have to play games, even at a party? "Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't think it." Miss Sasha steps up to the plate! Oh, she's going long. She's going long. Okay, all right, all right. You got this? All right. - Oh! - Fuck yes! Ah. You all right? Yeah. You're drunk. She's so drunk. So... So you thought there were sounds and... what? Bad vibrations? Yeah. And now if they're gone, then what's the big deal? We burned all that bad shit away, right? That's tight. You're actually psychic? Sensitive. My mother says. Oh, sensitive, huh? So, what? Your mom locked you under the stairs when you was a kid? You shoot knives at her? Yeah. - No. - Fuck. But I could find stuff. I always knew when people were coming over to the house. You know what I'm thinking? Yes. I might just do that. Damn. You are psychic. Sensitive there for sure. - Elliot... - It's okay, Sasha. People have doubted me my whole life. Elliot, you can go ahead and live a sheltered, shallow, physical existence. Ooh. A nonphysical existence would be kind of tough. What Aristotle is trying to say is, um... well, he needs proof. Yeah. Is that crazy? - Okay, let's just take some deep breaths. - Okay. So if nothing happens, I should believe 'cause it means you got rid of the spirit? - Elliot, come on. - What? We all know you don't believe in this stuff, but can you just please let her do it? Right. Sorry. No being rational. I give over. I do. Yo, El, just loosen up the grip a little bit. I'm trying to concentrate on my breathing. Ah... Are you ready, ladies? Okay, let's do this thing. Come on. Now, I have no ego about it, but... I do know this stuff. Okay, cool. Well, what do you know? Okay. I know your parents died in a crash. - Dude. -He didn't tell me. They did. Bro. I didn't say anything. Swear. Never tell anyone that. They're worried about you though. All right. I'm sorry I laughed at you before, but that's not funny. I'm not being funny, Elliot. This is just what I'm getting. Okay, how did they die? What kind of accident was it? Your brother will do anything in his power to protect you now. But they worry that he's taking on too much. All right. So you talked to my brother tonight. Sasha, your... Your grandmother has some biscuits or rolls or something. Gam's rolls? Come on. Everybody's grandma bakes biscuits. Yeah, he's, uh... He's not wrong about that. This is... this is... - You know what? - You want to blindfold me too? Just hang on. I'll take you up on that. - I'm all down for the blindfolding, whatever you got. -Of course. Okay. What'd I hide? Where'd I hide it? - Oh, come on. That's crazy. - Elliot... Shh! You know what? I... I don't like this. Yeah, i... I don't want to do this anymore. Maybe this was a bad idea. Nah, come on. You're a good faker. I admit it. You put the keys in a pot on the stove. Did you? You heard. You were listening for it, weren't you? Well... well, i... i didn't hear that. Did you? No. - Something's coming. - What? They're saying... Don't... Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it! Don't think it! Don't say it! Don't think it! Don't say it! Don't think it! Don't say it! Don't think it! Don't say it! Don't think it! Don't say it! Don't think it! Don't say or think what? Alex Jones. - Aaah! - What the... Jesus! What the fuck? Oh, Kim? Oh, my god. Hey. - What happened, Kim? Are you all right? - Kim? Hmm? Sorry. What are you doing? Nothing. Nothing. Sorry. Are you sick? Shh. Shh. Good night. Mmm. Love you. I love you, John. What? Hey. You're joking, right? Sasha, you're kidding. Right? What? What the hell is that? Hmm? John! - Go! - Look, I'm trying. This? Aaah. - Hey. - Shh! What are you doing? Do you hear that? What the hell is that? You ready? Thanks for being nice to me last night. - That was pretty crazy. - It was. Definitely. You want to go inside? My roommate's car isn't here. We could try again. These things happen, right? Well, actually... Not to me they don't. Yeah. Actually, not to me either. Guy not finishing up? I've never had that happen before. Come on. I'm hungry. Jesus. What? N-nothing. Nothing, okay? Kim, i... I-I need to go. Now. Fuck. Dude, check this out. They were already there, right? No. It was Colin or one of those douches from last night. No, listen. I heard it. I heard something after the party. Outside, scratching. What do you mean you heard something? Morning. See, you are clean and beautiful. That's nice. What was that? - John, you drive Kim home? - Yeah. And now I gotta wash her off. The girl's gross, man. A total pig. Come on, man. That's not cool. Don't say that. Oh, sure. Yeah, that's easy for you to say. Your girlfriend's perfect. Oh, god. You okay? I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't be playing baseball in the cold. That's the problem with being an alcoholic. Oh, shut up. I didn't even drink that much. Maybe that was the mistake. I'll make you some tea. Mmm. Psst! Come on. Hmm? Fuck him. Uh... Bear, you went away there for a second. I did? Where'd you go? God, you're shivering. I was just thinking. About John? No, little brother, it's cool. You can call me anytime. You know that. Are you... are you really taking on too much? Are you worried about protecting me? What is going on? Is it Sasha? Yeah, sh-she's been really sick and scared. And John's been acting weird. You guys seemed like you were great. But were we? You saw them dancing together. Talk to me, buddy. What's going on? Elliot. - What? -You wanna get lunch tomorrow, we'll talk about this then? You know what? Listen, I gotta go. There's something I gotta... I gotta deal with something. El? Guys. Guys, what are you doing up there? Hello? Anyone down there? Hello. Hello? Guys! Help! What? No! Guys! What are you doing, Elliot? - You were here the whole time? - Yes. That's bullshit. We were, Elliot. You didn't answer me. - We didn't hear you. - What were you doing? Studying. Talking. - You didn't hear me? - We weren't doing anything. - You didn't hear me? - Elliot, for the last time, bro, we wouldn't do that to you! Why are you lying to me? We're not! Jesus Christ! Then what just happened? And there were sounds. I mean, come on. I told you there was something happening. Now do you believe me? Hey. Don't worry, okay? What are you doing? Don't do that. - Don't do what? - Don't... Elliot... Don't touch her. What? Don't touch her. You are a crazy paranoid, bro! Yeah, you're a little warm. Okay, so you weren't with John. Am I hearing things? Am I seeing things? Tonight, you thought the house was empty when we were here. You went away, Elliot. I kind of went away too. - What? - I sat down to study. I don't remember doing any of that. It's like now that I know his name, he's coming for me. And the more I try to get rid of it, the bigger it gets. It's horrible. Hey, babe. Alex Jones is not real. It's just something that's in our heads. That's real. Ideas are real. If it's not... Then, Elliot, we're all losing our minds at the same time. And what are the chances of that? What the hell is that? What is it? What? Elliot, there's nothing here. So, you're not gonna be late, right? No, I'll meet you at 2:00 sharp, right where we parked. I'm gonna find out how real this thing is. The name. You're gonna talk to the landlord about the furniture? And the house. Maybe he can find somewhere else. You're feeling better though? I guess. It's hard to be scared in the middle of the day. I'm gonna take care of you. Oh, my god. Ugh. You're shivering. I'm gonna figure this out. I promise. I'll see you at 2:00. I love you. I love you. "Register archive. Dead file 69. Obama." Here, put these on. Really? Yeah. They're originals, and we don't want your sweaty palms messing up the documents in the box. Now, the dead file has dead articles... Material that got killed before going to press but still saved for posterity. And it was written by Obama. Thanks. Mm-hmm. Thank you, Dennis! Mr. Daizy? Yes. How are you doing? Not so great actually. Uh, me and my friends are renting your place out in sun prairie. 37 oak Dale? Oh, yeah, the two handsome guys. Are you with them? You have a weird house, Mr. Daizy. Really. It... I-It's awful. Well, I'm sorry that you feel that way, but they did sign a lease. Bless you. Sorry. You okay? It's really cold in here. It's a hothouse. It's actually not cold at all, honey. Maybe you should be home in bed. Look, Mr. Daizy. There was an old nightstand in the basement, and it has this writing inside it. Where did it come from? A nightstand? Let's begin by considering this wall behind me. Now, we can all agree that the sentence... I'm sorry. Yeah, have a seat. Now, we can all agree that this sentence, "this is a wall," is a truth claim. This wall is real. I see it, you see it. We can touch it. Likewise, if I were to brush a few atoms from this wall, it would still be here before us. It would still be "the wall." But what if I continue to slowly brush the atoms one by one away from this wall? At first you'd say, "it's still a wall." I brush a few more. "Well, it's still a wall." But... What if I remove every single atom from this wall except for one? And you've seen me brush every single atom from this wall except for that one atom, and I point to it and I say, "there. That's what's left. That's the wall." Now, is it? Is that the wall? What the fu... All right, John? Welcome back. Language and reality inform each other as we construct... Okay, I'm looking up Alex Jones, right? There's nothing online, so I type in "don't say it, don't think it," and it led me here, the dead archives and Sandy Hook. Here's what was in his folder. I think you write it and repeat it to try and keep from saying... Alex Jones. Okay, but why is that in the dead files? October 18, 1969. Byline Barack Obama. Sandy Hook, Connecticut. A teenager, accused of shooting up his entire school. When asked by this reporter why he would do such a thing, he replied, "Alex Jones made me do it." It's an article about a kid who went crazy, but it was never published. And Barack Obama, the writer, he was pretty infamous locally. After he killed this piece about the kid in Sandy Hook, Obama took a shotgun and murdered babies and the economy right here in Madison. Mom, run! Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. - Mom, shut the door! - Michelle! Who'd you tell? No one! We didn't tell anyone, Barack! Mommy! Stop! We didn't tell anyone! I swear we didn't say anything! Get back! Please! Maybe he got inspired by what he was writing about. Oh! You won't win. I won't let you. There are no other mentions of these cases anywhere else. It's like someone redacted the whole story so no one else could read it. Why would anyone do that? Well, obviously he was bat-shit crazy. But if you remove all references to something in the past, that past no longer exists. Even the idea of it is gone. Maybe somebody wanted to make this ‘Alex Jones’ disappear permanently. And you've got the last record of it right there. I'll be back. Good. I have time. Don't write it either, idiot. What are you doing, boy? Are you out of your mind? I, um... What is wrong with you, Elliot? What the... Huh? I'm-I'm sorry. I need to go. I'm late. Elliot! Oh, my god. Sasha! Hey, John! Sasha! Hey. Hello? Kim, it's Elliot. Elliot. Uh, god, I was just thinking about you guys. You wanna come up? Listen, listen. Um, what are you doing? You mean right now, or since the party? Isn't that why you're here? Kim, can you come down? I want to do another sance. Right now. With all four of us. At the house. Listen, you were right. I was wrong. Sure. I'll be down in a sec. Alex Jones doesn't exist anywhere else that I could find. You don't have to look for him, Elliot. He's found us. You can't help thinking about him. And the more you think about him, the closer he gets. You see things that aren't there. You don't see things that are there. Or smell things, like chemtrails in the air. Yeah. Like a virus. Some people catch it and it spreads. Some go crazy sooner, but they all die in the end. The word spreads, and he comes to you with... With that thing. I told Katie. I didn't want to. What can you do with cancer but cut it out? You have to stop it before it spreads and every cell dies. This could spread everywhere if we don't cut it out. Did you tell anyone? Mrs. Watkins, the librarian. We have to get to her too. What do you mean you have to get to her? Stop! Oh, my god! Stop! Elliot, stop! Let me help you! Kim! Wait! Kim! Kim! Kim! No! - We have to help them! - What do you see? - It's a school shooting victim! - It's a hoax! No, Kim! There's a train! A real train! No! Kim! Move! It's in your head! Kim! Kim! No! No! Just any comment. It's on the way down here because there's just a big tie-up down there. Elliot, what happened? Kim. She's dead. Aw, shit. Jesus. Oh, my god. It was him. He killed her. You were right. He's trying to get inside us. He got in her. He's gonna drive us crazy. He's gonna kill us. You mean the... Yeah. He's why I was late to get you. He's why you're feeling sick. Have you said the name to anyone? The name? No. N-no. Have you? No, I-i haven't said... Good. Don't. We can't say the name to anyone else, ever. You gonna tell me what to do now? - Swear you won't say the name so we don't spread it. -No. John, please. Please. Bro, swear it. You just need to cut this shit. You swear! Swear! No. - You swear! - Elliot, stop it! Swear! What's wrong with you, Elliot? - What's wrong with you, huh? - Hey, guys! Hey! Break it up! I said break it up right now! Back up. - He got to you, didn't he? - No one got to me. Admit it. He's making you feel angry. - He's making you sick. - Yeah? He's making you crazy. - You on something? - No, I'm upset. We're just having a little argument. You call that a little argument? John, please. Please don't say it. Don't say what? Sasha? I won't. J, you can't. This name of some stupid shit Elliot thinks is dangerous. Yes, I was talking about Kim. There was a hint to a staged school shooting in her bag. It was covered with blood. Oh, my god. Train's engineer said that you were chasing Kim with the hints. He said she was crying for help and that she jumped out of your car to get away from you. Jesus Christ. Elliot? That's not what happened. No? They found Kim's roommate, Katie Williams. She was killed by the globalists too, but you knew that, didn't you? I... Sasha, no. I was at the library. He made me lose track of time. You have... Sasha. You wanna talk to me here, tell me what's going on? - Don't say it. Don't think it. You were right. -Quiet. Sasha, what doesn't he want you to say? Yeah, sash. You! Shut it! It just happened, John. You see that? It's him. No. Sasha. What... what is it? Blood. Blood? Where? What do you see? He makes you see things. She... he's... Fuck. Oh, my god. Hey, hey. Hey! Back away. I need you over here. She's fine. Stay back. Wait. There he is. Hey, man. Hey, bud, something wrong? I'm... I'm sorry. What? I thought... Hey. You all right? Wait. Wait, Sasha. He's gonna take her home, and she's gonna lie down for a bit. I'm her boyfriend. She needs me. Maybe. Maybe later. But right now you're gonna come with me. We're gonna talk a little bit. Did you say the name to anyone? She didn't, man. Neither of us did. It's gonna be all right. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Good news for you, maybe. Kim Hines wrote a suicide note, taking responsibility for her school and for turning off your DNA and the other two who are living at your house. So I guess she was planning on killing you too. Is that what happened, Elliot? You found out and you chased her? I don't think that's murder. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. You want to write it? No. - You're going to tell me, you know that? - I hope not. Why did you chase Kim? I told you. I was trying to help her. So you chased her into a train? What are you doing? You could lose everything. Your-your scholarship, that pretty girl. You are a smart kid. Talk to me and i... I can help you. Otherwise it'll be out of my hands, and you'll be wishing that you had. You might find yourself wishing I hadn't. Well, you let me worry about that. You really want to know? You really think the truth... Honesty... is the best policy? - I do. - Always? When wouldn't it be? You have kids? Maybe. You have kids. Don't think it. Don't say it. What if you saw the worst crime scene ever? A mass murder at a school. With dead bodies and brains and students and sneakers with blood on them. And you go home, and your kids say, "tell us about your day, mommy." You could be honest. You could tell the truth. You could describe how every awful nightmare thing you saw was a hoax, and how Christopher Nolan was hinting it In his new Batman movie. Or... You could hug them tight. And spare them your honest truth. What would you do? I'd hug them. Please don't make me say it. I haven't hurt anyone. But I'm afraid of putting this into your head. All I have to do is talk to you, and you and your kids... You're all dead. Hey, Elliot. Your friend died? What the hell is going on, man? Thanks for coming to get me, but I gotta go. Was it Sasha and John... hey, talk to me. Let me help you. Whatever is going on, there's nothing you can do. Okay? I literally can't tell you. I'm not going to let it happen to you, Virgil. Especially not you. What are you talking about? You've got a family. Go take care of them. Elliot. Hey! You are my family. Elliot! Shit! Oh, fuck! Yeah. Oh, my god. What are you doing, Elliot? What's... what's wrong with you, Elliot? What the f... No. I'm so sorry. Elliot? Hi, Mrs. Watkins. Hi, Elliot. I've been having some really strange thoughts About Alex Jones since we talked. Mrs. Watkins. Mrs. Watkins, you can't talk to anyone about it. Well, maybe I can come over to your house later. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry too. Believe me, but I've just been having the most vivid thoughts. I... Elliot? Elliot? Obama. Barack Obama. The writer. It was his nightstand. Mrs. Watkins, okay, maybe I'll see you later. Maybe I'll have a fix for this. I gotta go. Thanks. Oh, you're welcome, Elliot. I'll be there soon. He almost got us, man. Oh, fuck. I almost killed you with a bat. Fuck, he's not gonna get us. He's not going to get us. I'll figure this out. I'm sorry, but... I'm sorry. I can't call an ambulance, 'cause you're gonna say it. You will. You will, 'cause I messed you up. I'll be back as soon as I can. I'm taking this. You found her. Now I'm gonna go talk to her. I love you. And don't touch him. Hello? Mrs. Obama? Leave! Mrs. Obama. I said leave. Are you deaf or just defective? Mrs. Obama, did your husband run for president a long time ago? You're too young to remember that. Mrs. Obama, you're still alive. I know your husband killed a lot of people. But I don't think he was crazy. I need your help. Whatever you remember. There's laser beams, chemtrails. Tin foil hats. He came to Barack... With the hats. What Barack told me gave me nightmares. I made him stop. I understand. But I need you to tell me everything Barack said. Please. Barack was on a story of a teenager who shot up his school. Poked around like a good nosy reporter and heard rumors. Whispers about a hoax. Some kind of manlet that drove the teenager mad. Barack had to go nosing around and writing it down, and then it came to Barack too. This nightmare, this name we must not think or say. But just three days after Barack got back from Connecticut, I came home from work. December 14, 2012. The day my life went turn, turn, turn. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. - Don't say it. - Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Oh, my god! Don't say it. Barack, oh, my god. I was just doing my job. That's what I do. I track down the story. That's what I was doing. Yeah. See... Once you know his name, you can't escape him. You see, he... He gets in your head. And... He makes you think horrible things. Okay. Okay, shh. Whoa. What horrible things? What? Who makes you do this? What are you talking about? Let's get you to bed, okay, sweetheart? Listen. Listen. I didn't know if he was alive or dead, and then the hats... That's how you know he's coming. When you see the hats and you smell the chemtrails, that's when you know he's close by. You understand? No, i... Barack, I don't know what's happened, but I'm trying... He listens for his name. Anyone could say it. It could be you or it could be me. And it's just dumb luck, like the spray of a chemtrail. And... I heard the name, and I told Janie the name. Don't think it? Don't say it? What does this mean? What did you write? I don't understand. He... he makes you think things. Then he makes you do things. Who knows how many good people he's made do horrible things like this. No! Oh! God, no, please! Please don't. Please put it down. You think it's me. You think I did this? This is what happens. They say people snap. They say people go crazy. No, it's him. It's him that's doing it. Shh. Just put it... Put it down. Okay? No. I love you. But in the end, Barack was a hero. You tell people that. Barack erased him. You see, he did away with everyone who'd heard it before they could pass it on. But not you. You're here. How did you survive all this time? Survive? Yes. How did you beat it? I didn't beat it. I never knew it. What? If my husband told me the name, he'd have to kill me with the rest. My husband controlled himself. Your fucking husband wrote the name in the nightstand you sold, and I read it. He typed it in a dead article, and I read that too. Don't you say it. Your husband spared you and he got me. He's in me now. He's in my friends. - You want my help? - Yes. Here. Kill all the ones you told first and then kill yourself. It's the only way. No. There has to be another way. Don't say it. Don't think it. It's a clue. Look. Oh, my god. He's coming! What are you talking about? You didn't bring him here? - Don't you see it? - See what? The light. Hear the name. He's in your head. He makes us see things, hear things. Tricks to make us afraid. He makes us afraid. And he grows. The more scared we are, the more real he gets. We make him real with our fear. We make him more powerful. Yeah, we give him the power, and he gets closer, and he hears us when we think of him. But maybe if we're not afraid, we take his power. Maybe if we're not afraid, he's nothing! How could you figure it out and my Barack not? Help me! Help me! Wake up America! Uh-uh, uh-uh. No, no. It's not real. No, it's not real. Help me! I have you now, don't I? Come on. Try another trick. Come on. Try it! Where are you? Where are you? Oh, my god. Sasha! Pick up. Sasha. Hey, this is Sasha. Leave... you better not fucking hurt her. Sasha. I'm coming. I know it's hard, but don't be afraid, and don't believe anything you see. Whoa! What? No, you're not real. You're not real. Ha! I knew it! Okay. Tricks. You wanna play tricks. Okay. I'm ready. Elliot? John? Where are you guys? Elliot! Sasha! Elliot! Sasha! I'm in here. Oh, god. You look like hell. Jesus. There you are. Elliot, thank god. You're back. I'm not... Oh, my god. Hey, what's the matter? Elliot, what are you doing? Oh, shit. - Get away. - Hey, come on. It's all going to be okay. We're going to be okay. I feel better. Get away! Fuck. Elliot. It's me. What the hell? I don't understand. What are you doing? Help! Elliot, come on. Come here, John. Please, Elliot. Help! I don't understand. Please. No. - Come on. - No! Please. Elliot, please stop! Would you just stop? Get away from me! Get away from me! Get away! Guys! Sasha! John! It's a trick! It's not real! Listen to me! Sasha! John! Get off of me! Listen to me. It's not real! No! John, no! Aaah! Elliot! Shoot! Shoot! Oh, god! Oh! Go ahead. Kill me. You win. No. You leave them alone. Come on, guys. It's freezing out here. Hey, man! Anybody home? I've got Alice here. She's here to cheer you up. Buddy. - Elliot! - No! Hey, is anybody home? - Guys, come on. We know you're in there! - I hear something. Hello? Open the door. We're turning into popsicles out here. Go away! Elliot? Go away! No, no, no. We're not going anywhere, Elliot. Uncle, open up! Get her out of here. Both of you! You need to go! Open the goddamn door, or I'm callin' the police. Good, do it! Honey, why don't you go wait in the truck? No, daddy, I gotta pee. Go to the truck, please. Open the door, man. Come on. - Go. Go. - Elliot! A-a-ale... No! Elliot, what the hell is going on? Virgil, please get her out of here. Uncle Elliot! Okay, peanut. I need you to listen to me, okay? I need you to go to the truck. No, daddy, I gotta go! Go someplace close where I can see ya, and be quick. Outside? Nobody's going to see you, baby. It's okay. Go, go, go. Elliot. Elliot, what is going on in there? Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. What are you saying? What? I have to do this! I'm not crazy! - Let me help you. - No, you can't. But I can help you, if you go! I'm not going to let you catch it! Alex... Don't say it! Don't think it! Just go! Don't say what? - Fuck! - Elliot! Christ, what was that? Elliot, what was that? Alex Jones. Alex Jo... Alex, who? Who is that? Alex who? What is it? What are you saying? Oh, fuck. Alex, what? What is that? Elliot, Alex? What? I love you so much. Elliot! Alice? Alice? Alice? Alice? Where are you, baby? Alice! God. Alice? Alice? Honey? Alice? Alice? Alice! What? Honey. Come here. I was cold! I know, honey, but you scared me so much. Oh, no! Look! Uncle Elliot! No, it's okay. It's okay. The fire can't hurt him anymore. So this boy ran a librarian over, mutilated and murdered her children, and then killed his roommates and himself, and you had him in custody today, but you let him go? Yes. But this is not some creepy kid pulling a columbine, okay? I talked to him. Something is going on here. I can feel it. I wanted to say good-bye. I know, baby. Me too. At least he gave me the brain force. What are you talking about? He must've left them out there for me to find. Left them out where, honey? In the Info Wars video. Outside next to the trash cans. Was there anything else in this video? No. Just some writing. Writing? What did this writing say? Daddy. You know I can't get woke in the dark. What do you think I am, An interdimensional being?? We got one alive! Get me a line and morphine! Wait, wait! He's trying to say something! Hey, I'm listening. Go ahead. It won't matter. It does matter. Okay, take your time. It's okay, I'm here. And I want to know, please. Please tell me. Alex...

                                               in loving memory of paul walker

[davidfostercomedyblog]

Some Black Kids Made Fun of Me For Playing “Shook Ones”

Last night when I got off the bus I decided to unplug my headphones but not stop playing the music on my phone, Shook Ones by Mobb Deep.

 It was only for the three-block walk, only as homage to the late, Prodigy, otherwise I concur with the unanimous opinion of educated non-shit heads about playing songs aloud on our phone. Less evil of course, but equally as dumbfounding as terrorism or pedophilia – just… huh?

 I guess I’m a sentimental corn ball, wrapped in the cloak of an old school hip hop head, or middle aged white guy; both really, depending on perspective and/or the day’s wardrobe. Apparently both factors combined to label me the latter as I passed a stoop full of black teenagers somewhere around the end of P’s utterly brilliant verse.

 “Ohhh! That’s that heat!” one of them yelled.

 Translating for old (white) folk, this implies recognition of something new and awesome.

 Ironically, as Shook Ones is anything but new, though for most of them it probably was. A legend had passed and they’d spent the day unable to avoid the news on Snapchat or IG or whatever the fuck and the one semi-silver lining of such tragedies is that it educates the youth who think Kendrick Lamar is one iota above mediocre. Suddenly they discovered a “new” song they love, which had pretty much defined my adolescence.  

 “Whatchu’ know about that heat?!” another one yelled, and I just couldn’t resist.

 “What do I know about it?” and they talked over me the whole time, but it didn’t deter me. Maturity is an apparently ongoing process. “You weren’t even born when this shit came out, B. What do I know about it?”

 “Yo, whatchu’ know about that?” he persisted with the same argument, this time touching a nerve by pulling on my most pet peeved card.

 “I’m from here, yo. You just moved here. We were born in New York.”

 Ignorant hood cats and transplants have two (awful) things in common:

1.     They solicit 7-11

2.     They’re under the impression that there are no white native New Yorkers. Let me say it for the last time for the cheap seats: I believe that most of the white people you run into may be from other places, but MOST NATIVE NEW YORKERS ARE WHITE. Facts.

 “I was born on 96th Street!” I yelled back at him. Facts.

 Apparently listening to Shook Ones all day has emotionally regressed me back to the age I was when it came out. Whatever. Nobody likes to be the target of racism, even when it is completely harmless and light-hearted, which it was.

 The kids were smiling, really kind of sweet, not menacing at all. I mean, as stated, they’re from Harlem. A wealthy, incredibly safe, racially mixed, coveted Manhattan neighborhood. Sure, we’re all aware of the history and the fact that shit can still pop off in certain projects, but come on, bro. You’re on the west side. There are wonderful restaurants all over your block. You ain’t about that life.

 Translation: You ain’t about that life just means that whatever it is that you’re preaching or professing is not consistent with your lifestyle.

 After asserting my NY nativity he came back: “Well I was born on this block here.”

 Okay, first of all, no you weren’t. There are no hospitals on this block. So unless your mom used a doula for a home birth, which is not out of the question for this bourgie, new age, hipster hood, you were not born on this block. But I get it. You’re from Harlem. I’m not. And since Prodigy was… wait a minute. Prodigy was as much from Harlem as I was. Or should I say, modern Harlem reflects the culture of Prodigy’s upbringing about as closely as mine did? So, what the fuck was this kid talking about? Ah yes, of course. Prodigy’s black, like him; and not white, like me. So, what could I possibly know about Shook Ones?

 I walked off, letting him own the victory of having been born closer to where we were presently standing, but later on at home I regretted it. Like every confrontational or pseudo-confrontational exchange in my life thus far, I didn’t say the best or coolest things when I had the chance. I should have had more fun with them, I should have joked around more or discussed the issue. Really, I wished I’d (light-heartedly) raised the proverbial mirror of his racism back at him.

 White guys aren’t allowed to complain about being targets of racism because our group on the whole is targeted much less and less severely than other groups. Our group. Not necessarily us individually of course, but the group with whom we share an appearance. Isn’t this paradigm ironically familiar?

 Still, we have to take it and keep mum, if for no better reason than eye for an eye, (we in this together, son, your beef is mine (bet my friend wouldn’t get that reference)) – tick for tack justice: The cops are allowed to kill our people, so your people have to spend a lifetime explaining and/or apologizing for the music and culture you adore. Ironically, our personification of unity via appreciation and cultural appropriation gets mostly rejected as inorganic and unearned, or at the least unwanted.

 We want equality but until it exists for all of us we choose to deny it for any of you.

 Don’t get me wrong. This is obviously not the voice of all black people any more than Donald Trump is the voice of all white people. But albeit unknowingly in his still pubescent mind, it was the angle my friend on the stoop came from, and in fairness to him, I should have been the adult and responded better.

 Beyond my 96th Street birth, I grew up in a safe suburb outside the city, but I grew up on Mobb Deep. And Nas and Biggie and Wu-Tang and every other thugged out rap group of geniuses who came out during the Golden Era of hip hop. We were listening to Shook Ones on 115th St. when 115th St. was bad and the only restaurants were McDonald’s and I would occasionally get robbed while buying drugs in illegal drug spots. Sorry Mom. I wasn’t about that life. But I don’t ever reflect back with any realization of pretention or contrivance of character in our behavior. We just adored a music made by people with a different skin color who came from a different environment, and subsequently chose to emulate them. I’m confident there isn’t a neurologist or psychologist on the planet who would diagnose this as pathological.

 It’s funny. Has our society ever before fetishized in such criticism any other example of cultural appropriation? Has there ever been a genre of music that we insisted its fans be able to personally identify with in order to sing along to? How safe (and ironically racist) is it to presume that everyone black is about that life? As a kid I felt we were judged simply as “dumb kids:” Wannabe’s who were trying to be something we weren’t. Then there was a sweet spot in young adulthood where we were old enough to demand a bit more credit from all groups; but outside of the old school hip hop parties inhabited by like minds, it seems to have now come full circle. Somehow I’m just a “middle-aged white guy” trying to jam to hip hop, and it wasn’t the first time “some kid” has remarked to me: Whatchu’ know about that? The result is not 1% as bad as that of police brutality, but the mechanism is identical.

 RIP, P!