Work used to be my life. I would live it, breath it and wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world. All this changed though with a simple transfer to a place that had way more to offer than a job that I was using as a catalyst for the life I thought I wanted.
Colorado was a hidden sanctuary, contrary to popular belief. It’s as warm as California and the people are way nice and not fake. The state with the leading number of deaths due to lightening strikes was my kind of town, but now Chicago is. I work for one of the leading taxidermy corporations in the world and I love it. I work in the Rough field in my office where I get to go crazy with any idea for an animal that could pop into my mind. After stuffing enough black bears you gain a lot of respect which is how I got to the position I did.

Apparently this windy city doesn’t feign as much interest as I would have hoped to the art of animal stuffing. In an attempt to sway the commonly stubborn Chicagoan I made a Griffin, but that only seemed to make them mad. How the hell do these people live? They care that animals should be kept alive and in their natural environments but then they kick pigeons in the streets. Honestly, the respect for human life here seems way lower than it is for animals which is shocking since there is an abundance of people and a complete lack of wildlife running around. Maybe it’s a common condition when they’re surrounded by each other they no longer care for the existence of one another but care for what they don’t know, that being animals in nature.

To cheer myself up from this seemingly soulless town I made myself a “silly” goose from a corpse I found while walking in the park. I didn’t have all the materials I would need to finish it though, the next day there would have to be an excursion to the costume store to see if I could find a Viking hat and some nerd glasses.

JJ was extremely helpful in finding a goose sized Viking hat for my project and seemed to be the first person to find my work fascinating here. He offered his opinion on the Chicago attitude towards taxidermy, I guess they have a greater appreciation for what they don’t know much about and can’t experience on a regular basis. He offered to show me their style of taxidermy at the Body Works exhibit this weekend. Of course I had to agree to go since it involves not only my profession but also the first person to be even remotely nice to me since the move.

On the way home that night I walked past a bum who was hiding his face from the people he was trying to panhandle. This begged the question as to whether or not he was a new bum and still had a sense of shame or if bums really never lost their own sense of integrity but rather just altered it. In any case, the people walked by and so did I, with a growing apathy for animals and a shrinking care for people.

When we went to the Body Works exhibit I was completely floored. JJ had been there several times before and said that it made him feel more distant from the human race than ever, and it was hard not to agree with him. We decided to go for ice cream after the museum and talked for a few hours about taxidermy and people and just everything we could. There was a real connection between us that made everything seem wonderful.

I no longer wondered about the bum or the pigeon kicking in the streets, but about what sort of people would allow themselves to be stuffed, so to speak. I then started to think about my own work. I forge together animals that would are completely mythical and call it art. Regular taxidermists call their standard stuffing art too, and the people who put together the Body Works exhibit no doubt feel the same, but I can’t see something plain as being art.

What kinds of people were mythical? Goat people, mermaids? That was it! The breakthrough that would make my place in Chicago revered by all for its use of people and not animals. There was a special on the news about a girl who was born with joined legs making her appear as a mermaid. I looked it up and found that in all but three cases these people die within a year. This was my big break, I just had to find the people who could help me put it in action.

The parents felt that their child was a little miracle. They knew that the survival rate for children like her was very low and wanted to appreciate her and love her for as long as they could. I asked them what they thought of being able to keep her forever and they looked at me like I was crazy. I told them that I’m a rough taxidermist by profession and was interested in making their daughter a figure that could remain present in their lives forever. I told them that it would be preferred if they didn’t give any surgeries to Jade, their daughter, as it would damage the hide. Surprisingly they agreed, but my company didn’t. I proposed this idea since I would need materials and possibly funding to find a specialist in human skin (a dermatologist perhaps) to work with. They went through the roof with this idea and fired me nearly instantly.

I told my idea to JJ and he was supportive of me. I was so relieved that he didn’t think I was a freak. He asked me how long it would be until the kid kicked the bucket and this creation could go into effect? The child was having trouble surviving as it was and so I assumed that it would be less than a week, and I was right. I had enough money saved to make my creation, and I put it into effect before the child was even cold.

To celebrate my finished work, JJ and I went out for hotdogs at Harold’s Chicken Shack. Interesting how a chicken shack can also be a hotdog place with Chicago’s high regard for hotdog quality and style. JJ was so supportive of me and was genuinely interested in all that I had done as a taxidermist. I thought he would be around for a long while until it happened. I broke the cardinal rule of Chicago which was to never ever put ketchup on a hotdog. JJ looked at me like I was a freak which I’m surprised didn’t happen sooner. He said we should see other people and left me right then and there.

Completely distraught I threw myself into my finding another job. The first thing to be done was to have some portraits taken of the mermaid girl and sell them so that my rent could be paid this month. But of course no one would have it. Everyone claimed it was unethical and that they never wanted to hear of such an atrocity again.

Completely lost, defeated and hopeless, I lost my apartment and had no money, no friends, and no prospects for the future. I felt like the bum with shame. In Colorado there were beautiful storms with the most fascinating lightening patterns. I began to think about how many people were lost in Colorado a year due to lightening compared to here in Chicago. Laying under a tree in Rogers Park it started to rain. The clouds seemed menacing and ominous. I closed my eyes and thought about home, and then was struck.

It was the first death in Chicago due to lightening in over fifty years and the body was donated to science and is now a feature in the Body Works exhibit.

Everyday is about the same. Sleep, eat, go to work, deal with retarded people looking for a pirate costume that will make them look just like Johnny Depp, play my mellotron in my downtime, go home or out, eat, and go right back to sleep. A zombie could run my life and there would be no difference. I work in a costume store for Christ’s sake, and I’m 31! To top it all off I’ve been alone for a while.
Nothing really interesting and no one really different has come into my life yet that is interesting enough to hold my attention for more than 10 minutes. Plus, I’m a complete personification of a Chicagoan. I’m a Cubs fan, anyone who puts ketchup on a hotdog is dead to me, I elongate my vowels, and I use time to specify distance. So yea, it’s really hard to find a woman whose willing to put up with me for very long.

I was in the costume store, playing me mellotron bored out of my mind, when she walked in. Not particularly the most attractive girl, but definitely has potential. She’s from Colorado and is a taxidermist, which is definitely different. She was looking for a viking hat for a “silly” goose she’s working on. Pretty out there but interesting. She’s having some trouble figuring out the Chicago state-of-mind. Seems like she found the expert.

Growing up in Chicago you don’t really see many animals running around; more like a lot of people in a huge rat maze. So of course we’re going to appreciate animals way more than people and their rights. I had a time telling her about this and she seemed really interested in what I had to say, a nice ego-trip. And so I asked her if she’d like to see our Chicago style of taxidermy with people at the Body Works exhibit and maybe something to eat afterwards. She agreed of course and so we went the next day.

I had to do my pre-date prep before I could see this girl, Madaline tonight. This was my first date in a while and so I went for the full service job so she doesn’t think I’m a schmuck, or at least to get her to think of me at all. So yea, thorough shower, clip the nails, shave, trim the nose hair, and put on the best cologne to match my shirt. Ready and set to go, I headed over to her apartment and away we went to the museum.

I had been here a few times before and while I find it fascinating to see the circulatory system and whatnot, I also feel like I care a little less about people and their value. Madaline seems to like it though. She’s hanging on everything I say, she must be hard-up or something. In any case she’s different, not ugly, available, and probably somewhat manipulable. I guess in taxidermy you don’t deal too much with the insides of animals or whatever except for the stuffing. I would have figured she’d seen this stuff before but in different forms, although it makes sense that she hasn’t I guess.

Nothing is better than ice cream after seeing a bunch of dead bodies on display. Especially rocky road. Makes you think about the divinity in life itself and the little bumps you face along the paths we take everyday. Madaline got orange sherbet. Who the hell gets orange sherbet? It’s not refreshing in the least and is watery and has no properties a good ice cream should. In any case, I digress. At the very least we’ll just never go out for ice cream again… if this lasts for some time.

I haven’t talked to her in a while now: about two days which is the standard. I’ll call her tonight I guess, if I have time after work and eating before I fall asleep. In the mean time I’m sorting over sized adult diapers and pins… nothing could be more degrading.

So when I get home my phone rings within like ten minutes and I was in a really full of it mood. Of course it was Madaline and she was going on and on about her career again and how she thought that since the people of Chicago weren’t interested in stuffed animals that she would find a real mermaid, or something time that and stuff it. I thought the entire idea was ridiculous and how excited she was about it was just embarrassing. I told her that it was a great idea and that she should get to work on it right away and that we’d go out for hotdogs to celebrate when she’s done. I toyed with her a little longer being a complete yes-man until I got tired. I did my nightly shot and slept like a baby.

I’ll tell ya, she must have been really psyched up to get that mermaid or whatever done ’cause she called me like a week later and was so happy that she finished it and that she got fired for ethical reasons or something like that. Somehow she expected to make some decent money off this stuffed freak, I have no idea how though. So I told her something I knew she’d like; some crap about how she’s gonna make it big in this town and whatnot. I was getting really sick of her and her issues. She’s really needy and clingy as hell too. I guess that’s what happens when you grow up in Colorado.

So we went out for her little celebration of hotdogs. We went to the chicken shack since I’m a little low on funds and they’re alright. This was completely screwed up though, I put up with all her needy, clingy crap and told her about the ways of Chicago and how I can’t stand when people don’t follow these ways when they know better. Holy crap though, she put ketchup on her hotdog. What the hell do you need that for with the tomatoes right on it! That was it. I couldn’t stand this broad anymore. I told her right then and there that we shouldn’t each other anymore and walked away, wiener in hand.

I fumed about it for a while and walked around downtown. They were doing construction again, littering the streets with scaffolding’s. I hate those things and so I just walk in the street. They aren’t that crowded if you go down the right ones, like Ohio. A brick fell from one of the surrounding buildings and hit me in the head. It hurt a lot but didn’t keep me from walking on. The second one, on the other hand knocked me out. I didn’t wake up after that.

It was a busy day at the Art Institute of Chicago. People were crowding around all of the Picasso and Monet paintings; drawing sketches of their favorite piece of art, walking around taking ridiculous pictures of the Ancient Roman Sculptures.
The majority of the visitors were peering into the mini rooms in the Miniatures or at the Museum gift shop trying to find a postcard of a picture they were familiar with, and there wasn’t one soul in the contemporary art room. What turned out to be a pretty normal day quickly became a very odd. A curly haired man took velvet ropes and chained each doorway to keep anybody from escaping. Most people were confused and running in panic but others were clapping with smiles on their faces thinking that it was some kind of weird exhibit as the lights started to flicker until they turned off. They were in complete darkness. All you could see were lights from cell phones waving around. You could hear screams of panic from the 1st floor to the 2nd floor. Fortunately the lights turned back on, shortly after the velvet roped feel to the floor. Everybody couldn’t help but notice that everybody was in their underwear; some weren’t even wearing any. Everyone stood there awkwardly trying not to look at anyone straight in the eye; they all walked towards the only exit open at the Art Institute of Chicago and left in complete silence. But to everybody’s surprise a tall man, with dark brown hair and eyes with a camera took a picture of them walking out of the museum for a piece of art he is working on.

It has been widely stated that animals (cats and dogs) bring comfort to the uncomfortable such as the sick or elderly. In recent news though, in a small Norwegian nursing community in Florida, a certain cat had been making invalids very nervous.
“Well, we used to see Oscar winder from room to room and never thought anything more than that he was going to cheer someone up or something until we noticed the pattern,” said Ester Holmes, a resident of the Sunny Side Up nursing home. The pattern of death surrounding this cat is that after going into a resident’s room and lingering for about 2 hours, the occupant was found dead when the cat left.

This cat has been predicting the death of these people (or causing it) quite accurately and has them spooked. Some elderly believe that it is in fact the cat, Oscar that is killing these people with some bewitching power he has. Others have become afraid of not only this cat, but nearly every small animal they come in contact with.

Unfortunately, due to the elderly having unlimited free time, this is not an isolated occurrence. After word got around about this “killer” cat, elderly all around America are having panic attacks. Animals that once gave comfort to all are now feared and held in a “Godlike” position.

The death toll for Oscar the cat is now 9 and counting. No one could have predicted such a fuss being made over this cat. In response to this, Oscar had only this to say, “Meow”… Terrifying.

My family won’t give me one minute of their time. Every time I walk in the room my mom tells me she’s going to legally disown me. I even tried to do kind gesture like make them dinner, and they still ignore me.
Mr. John Tayler,

Let me just tell you how sorry I am to hear this. I have quite a few ways to terminate this problem. First things first, take your mom and tie her up with a very sturdy rope and only give her the choice of eating dead moths or starving. If she is still alive after a great deal of time, tie a bag full of bricks to her ankle and throw her into the middle of the Red Sea and watch her drown. Then take Ricky and punch him in the face and take his shoe lace and tie them together, and then kick him continuously in between his legs. As for the rest of the family, make Macaroni and Cheese with bacon for dinner one day and poison their food, or give them some sleeping pills that they will never wake up from. If you buy my special sleeping pills, Sleep & Die, ($9.99 + shipping and handling) all you have to do is just drop it in there mouth while they sleep, and they won’t even notice swallowing it.

I hope it all works out,
Tom

You know what really grinds my gears?

Squirrels, yeah, those over-sized rats with long flexible and bushy tails that live in trees and eat nuts.

I can’t take a walk through my neighborhood without seeing innocent children – even young adults! – stooping down to squirrel level attempting to appease the creature with kernels and morsels of nuts. For God’s sake, someone should start nailing signs beseeching “Please do not feed the squirrels”, signs so bold and bright that not even the most oblivious could pass it up. Of course it would take a complete moron to not go through the thought process to stop this moral crime.

What about out on the street? Haven’t you heard the screech of your aged brakes halting at the presence of a squirrel? You know what this is, right? A conspiracy! What a life, a squirrel’s life. I’m sure many of you have seen the Geico car insurance commercial. When two squirrels run in the way of a speeding car making it swerve off-road and crash. How many people now have Geico car insurance, hm? It’s this miniature gecko. Evidence points to him and his fake Australian accent as a possible suspect of all squirrel-related crimes. But wait.

Those PSP commercials had a suspicious feel to them. Oh yeah, the whack squirrels on crack: another fake accent (poor enunciation, really) and two more spies.

Most squirrels travel in pairs. Occasionally you’ll see a threesome of them chasing each other up and down the trunk of a tree.

On the other hand, we have the infamous Foamy the squirrel. His cartoons are hi-la-rious! He, for one, travels alone: a heroic solo squirrel! No voice inflection bears his being, what a soul! He has the looks, attitude, and fits our description very well. What description, you wonder? The greatest cheek-stuffing, tail-waving, color-changing, look-swapping, tree-climbing and hole-digging squirrel preparing to take over the world, ever!

But he does grind my gears, indeed.

A California man recently broke the world record for hot dog eating by consuming 59 dogs in 12 minutes. “I finally feel that I’ve served my purpose in life. I’m finally full!” said Archey Miller at the contest’s end. Many people believed that there was a limit to the human stomach as well as to a persons will power to eat that many hot dogs, but now we know differently.
In related news, later that evening while planning to celebrate his victory with his wife, Archey Miller took a Viagra which had adverse effects due to the overload of nitrates from the hot dogs in his system. “He’s lucky to be alive right now. Many people don’t know that when you mix certain types of nitrates with Viagra it can stop your heart. Normally there would be no effects from a couple hot dogs and the little blue pill, but 59 just put him over the edge,” said Dr. Sloan of Sacred Heart. Mr. Miller is now in the heart trauma ward of the hospital recovering from a sever heart attack and vasocongestion (blue balls). He is expected to be discharged by the end of the week.

Japanese competitor, Nerusaku Ping, grinned when hearing of the accident claiming that it served him right for joining in a game that he obviously couldn’t handle. “Stomach-centric sports are not for the weak or for the horny. You must be focused and work hard to defend honor and not disgrace self in life or in front of wife,” says Ping. Harsh words from a serious competitor, but at least this incident will serve a purpose to let others know of the dangers of mixing hot dogs and Viagra, the newer, deadlier version of pop-rocks and coke.

Gloria, Gala Galore!

Gaudy Gloria grabbed a gigantic group of gipsy grindings and gobbled it up by the gallons with granola bars and gulped Green Tea with ginseng. Grievously, the graceless Gloria gave in to gravity and gushed some gurgled goulash onto the girly grape grater that galled the gusty ghouls until they regurgitated all the ghastly gudgeon that were governed to give up their ghost for the gain of the game. Guided by guilt, she gathered a gang of goblins to guarantee a growing game of Go Fish.
For fun, flabby, frowning forks fixed the festivity in favor of which they feverishly fancied. Luckily, the force found their feet flapping from behind the furnished futon and furiously fastened them in the finest freezer until their fingers fell to the floor. Finally free of frisking in the futile flimflam, the fools frolicked in the forest finding fruit flavored fractious ferns that fulfilled their most feral fantasies, for sure.

Soon the suspense of the sequencing scenes solemnly sunk psychiatrists’ syndicate that sustained the service of supporting sad souls such as those of the scapegoat’s assigned sentences of sinister sovereign who gave sanction for these scandalous shticks to compensate for the punishments of sterile sportsmen of the solitary sport made of superficial sheets of paper.

The point of these puzzling paragraphs is to prevent any plans of playing prolonged trials of prosaic card games for any period of time. Ultimately your preference will pay off into undesirable precipitate such as the path of destruction portrayed in this parable.

2007-05-01 11:16:39
The Journal Part II, by Nicole Szontagh
Well I must say this guy Sam is one tricky fish to hook in my rhombus of love I tried wearing the short skanky skirt. I must go seek another way to find him to love me. Had to think of something good, oh I know what I can do! I know who his locker partner is I will threaten his friend and tell him that if he does not help me and if he tells Sam what we are doing that I will kiss him. When I said that, everything just seemed to work out just fine. His friend helped me out.
It worked now I just have to wait for him to come to his locker to get what he needs for his next class then jump out on him and try to scare him into loving me. The only problem there was that Sam came to the locker to get his coat was on the side of me and it smelled really good. I could not help it I grabbed his jacket and put it close to my nose and closed my eyes opened my nostrils and sucked it all up into my nose where my nasty boogers got all over it. As he got closer to the locker I heard him talking with his friend. So I prepared for him and I put my lips out soon as I did I pounced on him .From under me I heard him cry and beg for air. So I got off his chest and he stared

“Oh my God where the hell did you come from?” he asked me to get off of him but I stood my ground while he went on his little rant of his telling me that I should not hide in other peoples lockers with out them knowing which I told him that I thought that was really stupid because you cannot surprise someone if you know that they are going to be waiting for them by there locker.

I stared at him and giggled like a freaky monkey and said oh I was going to put a picture of me on your locker and your locker partner pushed me and I fell in and he shut the locker door on me. He asked me to get off of him nicely and I did and as I walked away he yelled to me “If I were to wear those short skirts to start wearing underwear” I just looked at him smiled and waved goodbye to him.

Bibliophobiais the fear of books. Unfortunately this is one thing I suffer from. Most people find this funny and wonder how the hell this is possible. Well, they never lived with my parents, who are obsessed with books. You might think that I’m exaggerating but I’m really not. To be honest our house has the best insulation in the world because instead of a painted wall we have a multitude of books that have taken the place of the walls of our house.
When I was a much younger my parents had already begun rebuilding the inside of my room with towers of books. Being their son, I too was obsessed with books and anything book related. I was still a small child and I didn’t have a full grasp on cause and effect at this point. So while my parents were in another room in the house I wanted to read to myself. So I began my search for the book, Curious George and the Deep Dark Well, which was at the bottom of one of the numerous piles that my parents already accrued for my room.

Well I pulled out the book with reckless abandon, turned my back and sat down. As I opened my book I began to hear swaying and creaking and turned around to see what behind me was making such a noise. Just as I swung around an avalanche of books came tumbling down. At first I thought I would have been okay considering the fact that I was only pinned down and my face wasn’t covered or at least that’s what I thought until the tremor of the fallen books had caused the others to follow suit. I wound up getting hit in the face by a huge leather bound copy of some ancient dictionary. Hours later when I regained consciousness… I began to call out for my parents. This of course was a waste of energy and time for when my parents read, which the only thing they ever do, they shut them selves out of the world; they don’t eat and they often forget to bathe.

I spent twenty minutes calling out to them, to no avail. I managed to shift myself around enough that I could move roll over. Slowly I began to work my way out of my cage of books. Slowly I worked on the wall hoping that I would find some sort of egress but the small cave I had made collapsed, pinning me down and leaving staring down the spine of another dictionary, except this one had large print. The word epitaph… my enemy and my captor were right in my eye.

My mom woke from her trance after she peed herself and went up to check on me and found me buried in the books. She helped me out and I’ve been terrified of her and books ever since.

AmIcrazyobia- Fear of insanity.

One day as I was walking home, I thought to myself, what if I am crazy.

The End

Cleanobia- Fear of washing or bathing.
Stingobia- Fear of itching or of the insects that cause itching.

Insects crawl on me when I don’t shower…
Bockbockobia- Fear of chickens.

Aaaaaaaaaaaa! KFC!

Exerciseobia- Fear of walking.

I’m crippled anyways…-_-

Menobia- Fear of men. Pyrobia- Fear of fire.

Fear of firemen.

Canaphobia- Fear of ugliness.

Don’t go to Canada.

Undressobia- Fear of undressing in front of someone.

There goes free money.

Schoolobia- Fear of knowledge.

What dropouts have.

Sissyobia- Fear of women.

Don’t be such a girl.

Many people of all sorts are paranoid and come up with crazy crack pot theories in which the government is trying to kill them/get in their heads, aliens are trying to take over the world, or major conglomerates are trying to brainwash people. What most people don’t notice though is that the people, who are usually saying these things, ranting in the street and so forth, are slowly fading away. Government officials have been sweeping the streets clean of these ranting people because someone struck a nerve.
“The man stole my baby’s daddy’s spirit. Now all he does is mope around and I can’t make no sense of nothing he says since they’ve been done with him,” said a frightened and angry witness to the changes happening all around us.

Eye-witnesses have claimed that they’ve seen people being taken away in unmarked white vans. This can mean only one thing, people are being stuffed away in institutions until evaluations and massive amounts of Prozac fry their brains and they believe whatever the government wants them to. What harm could come from a bit of ranting unless at least some of it have to be true? Someone’s hiding something and some conspiracy out there lurking on the streets and in the soap box squares must have been true and drawing a bit of attention to incur this much damage-control. “Something’s got them scared. Why else would they be after me, and you, and everyone else for that matter? They’ve got a troubled little monkey on their back and its wrath is coming to us,” said Charles Lipsfeild of Indiana. Lipsfeild is a professor of Ethics at Purdue and has been noticing these changes happening slowly but surely as his once quite inquisitive students seem to have had their brains turned into mush and the once brilliant and deliberate thought process that went behind theorizing has been lost.
Now what are we left with? The incoherent babble of a Prozac nation rather than the rants, ideas, and theories that might actually be valid and inform people to what is really going on that “the man” doesn’t want us to know about? Come on people! We’re not that blind! Get off the Prozac! Break out of the institutions! And get back out there informing people to what really matters in the world and for Christ’s sake don’t get caught this time! Last thing we need is for some big corporate figure head to get the idea that they have actual power and control over us.
They’re coming after me next and I know it. They know that I know they know I know and it’s not going to end pretty. Don’t let your voices be stiffled, I may be a goner but that still leaves you. Be careful cause they’re on their toes. Find the truth about 9/11, about flu shots being used for mind control, who killed JFK, and why oh why “the man” keeps using white unmarked vans to do their dirty work in.

One day Alex and Grace decided to take an opportunity to go out and complete their “word of the week” assignment. This week’s work is: Molestation.
To molest:
mo•lest ( m?-lest’)
tr.v. , -lest•ed, -lest•ing, -lests.
1. To disturb, interfere with, or annoy.
2. To be subject to unwanted or improper sexual activity.

[Huh...] In attempts of capturing interruption, Grace climbs a tree and photographs Alex trying to get to the other side of a fence.

When efforts fail, Grace kindly asks Alex what he likes.
“Bushes,” he said eyeing one as they past by “lots and lots of bushes.”

A few moments later Grace caught Alex in action, “stuck in a bush”, and took many pictures.
“This is great!” she cried.
Then all of a sudden the bush owners leaped out and demanded an explanation.
“I was just molesting your bush…” said Alex, who knew that no one would understand.
The sun slowly fell while Alex was chased down dark, winding alley ways by carnivorous dogs. News reports titled the article: “What goes around comes around.” And, well, it did.

The moral of this story: don’t go around molesting other people’s bushes, especially those who own savages for pets.

The Aftermath: Alex was hospitalized for eight weeks with severe skin rupture. He is forever traumatized and has difficulty sleeping at night. When he does sleep, his dreams portray being engulfed in total darkness then exposed by brief, blinding snaps and shots that, in end, leave him standing at the center of an intersection slowly gaining consciousness while bunnies chew at his feet.

So donate your Bibles today and you, too, can help the many helpless children who suffer from Ifellvictimtoabush disorder just as Alex has. And remember:

PLEASE DO NOT MOLEST BUSHES*

*Bushes include any for of shrubbery, undergrowth, greenery, scrub, underbrush, plant, or any innate and growing form of nature.

Hi, my name is Sam. Ever since I was young, I’ve had consecotaleophobia (con-se-co-tal-eo-pho-bi-a), but I didn’t know what it was. I remember living in the New York when I was young. One day when I came home my mom told me that we were moving.
I didn’t care and told her, “It’s okay. I hate my school anyways. They have these two annoying rulers in the front entrance and it freaks me out whenever I have to pass them. And those annoying twin towers freak me out too. I don’t know why, they just do. I wish they were gone.”

My mom said, “Good, because we’re moving to Japan.”

I thought to myself, “Hmm, this might be interesting.”

I had a horrible experience when we had finally arrived to Japan. The first thing I saw as I exited the plan was men eating noodles at a stand. I FREAKED OUT! I yelled to the top of my lungs and clung on to my mom.

My mom exclaimed “What’s wrong Sam?”

I yelled, “I don’t know mom! Those guys eating over there! It’s just not right!”

She looked over at the men who were eating and saw nothing. By now the people were staring at us and my mom was embarrassed.

She told me, “Quiet down! People are staring!”

I closed my eyes as we passed by the men. In fact, I remember spending most of the day there avoiding people who ate because it scared me. The strange thing is that I don’t remember ever being scared of people. That night my mom decided that we were going to eat at a restaurant. I was terrified at the thought. I tried everything I could think of to try to avoid eating outside, but my mom said that we didn’t have any food at home. When we entered a restaurant, I was intimidated already. I clung onto my mom like I did earlier on in the day. My mother could already tell that something was wrong, but the chose to ignore it. She always told me that the best way to get over any fear was to face it head on. I already knew that I was on my own and that my mother wouldn’t pamper me. I tried one last time to get away from the place by saying that I had a stomach ache, but she said that I was probably just hungry form not eating anything the whole day.

When they sat us down, I said to myself, “Okay, take this one step at a time.”

Everything was fine, until I noticed a skinny rectangular bag with something inside of it. When I opened and saw what was inside, I yelled to the top of my lungs.
My mom said, “Oh no, not again. What’s wrong?”

I said, “Look at it!”

She picked it up and said, “What? It’s only a pair of chopsticks.”

I told her, “EWW! How could you touch that?”

My mom then knew that something was wrong with me and decided to take me to a doctor. When we arrived there, we found out that most of them couldn’t speak English, so my mom decided that we should return to New York to see a doctor that could understand English. When we arrived there, the doctor said that I had consecotaleophobia, which was the fear of chopsticks. Then I remembered why I was so afraid of chopsticks. When I was young, my dad used to spank me with chopsticks.

After everything was over, my mom said, “It’s a good thing we found out about that, I was planning to move to China….”

Tuesday, March, 2007
Oh my god! I saw Sam today! I can’t believe how fine he is, I can’t get him out of my head. His has chiseled cheek bones and defined pecks and the most beautiful blue eyes. Oh my god, what I would give to catch a glimpse of his naked ass, damn I bet he could crush full cans of coke between his cheeks. If he did, I hope the cans would spray all over me.
I hope he doesn’t think I’m an idiot, because every time I looked at him today I couldn’t help but stare and start to daydream. He made a face when he caught me staring at him for like the tenth time, but I think it was really just a wink and his secret way of telling me he loves me too. Or that might be my imagination. The first time I met him was at the high school play, Bye Bye Birdie. I was trying to impress him by walking all fine and I bought the shortest skirt you could possibly find and while I was walking I did not notice all the wires on the floor and when I turned to see if he was looking at me I tripped and fell over. He looked at me but he laughed and turned his head. I was playing Mrs. MacAfee and the director, Mr. Mirek, said while I was down on the floor, covered in wirses, that I didn’t have the legs for that skirt, which I thought was inappropriate. He said he meant that it didn’t fit the character, but I know what he meant and so did Sam who giggled into his hand. Mr. Mirek told Sam to help me up and when he did, our eyes caught and I tried to kiss him. He pushed me back into the wires.
Well, today did not work out too well so now I have to think of something else to catch his attention.

Dear Fredrick,

For some reason my wife has stopped talking to me. I don’t believe I have done anything to upset her, but she won’t pay attention to me long enough for me to apologize to her for the things I have not even done. When I confront her about her ignoring me, she just continues to ignore me and walks with her hands out and bumps into things. At night, I hear her muttering about wanting a new addition to our house and when I try telling her I will build it for her, she still ignores me.
Any advice you could give me to get my wife to start talking to me again would be greatly appreciated.

Brian Manhandle
Brian,
Thanks for the intriguing letter. I have many theories that may be able to help you. Of course the first thing I suggest you do is to go to your kitchen and take a knife and stab her in her face. Then yell, “Ha!” over and over again and spend your day smashing away at what’s left of her body till you feel better.
Of course if you don’t feel like going to jail then I guess you could go and show her how frustrated you are with how she’s treating you. Tell her you want to build an addition to your house. For this to work the addition should have no windows and must have a heavily locked door. Then sedate your wife, or catch her while she’s not paying attention, and lock her in the spare room that you have built. After a week or two I’m sure that she will understand exactly how you feel.
If your wife doesn’t appreciate all the trouble you went through and that you visit her every day, starve her. Stop going to work, get fired, and tell her that you want her to get a job, but she can’t leave the room. See what she has to say then.

Hope this helped,
Fredrick

Oh my god, I like constantly end up going for the guy that doesn’t like me for who I am. Like there’s always gotta be something wrong with me that makes these guys not fall head over Manolos right away, I need to get married already so I don’t have to worry about things like this anymore. I’ve already gotten like two boob jobs, a tummy tuck, eye lift, and oh my god, weekly collagen injections with that pokey needle.
But anyways, Evan wasn’t interested in anything like that. He was like, a total ass-man and I wanted him. In any case, I have, or had rather, a totally petite bottom and I never thought that anything was wrong with it until he came along. It’s always the guys that make me change how I look. I just can’t help but make myself what they want, but like it’s not a problem though, I can totally afford it.

But anyways, like everyday when we would pass each other in the hall of our apartment building he would like look me over and I’d give him a nod, but I totally knew what he was looking for, the booty. It’s like the tummy tuck and boob job didn’t even exist to him! Well, some time passed by and he would bring girls to his room, all with apple-bottoms (like he would ever want to marry any of them!), and he would still just look me up and down and move on, I mean, what the hell! Looking back on it now I don’t even know why I liked him, probably because he seemed so aloof and out of it just like the others, I wanted to please him, or at least I think I did, one can’t even really know the inner workings of the heart. In any case, we would go on with the same charade like everyday and I would go on thinking about what I thought could never be as I looked in my full-length mirror at my less than ample ass with disdain as I wondered what if.

Of course I tried to think of how I could totally get him to notice me pretty fast. I figured that I could at least try stuffing to see if he would notice the difference and like if something could actually happen between us rather than totally waste my time. So yea, I stuffed. Oh my god it was so uncomfortable! Like seriously, it was so like gag me with a spoon uncomfortable. It took a while to get the stuffing to look real and not all lumpy too, lord knows how unattractive that could have been oh my god, and I don’t even want to think about it. And then the moment came in the hall when we saw each other, and he did his usual look up and down and like, he actually talked to me. “Hi” he said while he fumbled with his keys. Lord only knows just how smitten I was with him; I named all of our future children in my head at that moment when he said “Hi”. Later on we bumped into each other in the elevator, it was tripendicular. He was totally mine for those 2 minutes, all mine, all I had to do was keep his attention away from my altered exterior and like everything would be totally peachy. And of course it would be easy to keep his attention, cause like I mean, look at me, I’m frigging gorgeous with my lusciously plump lips, tight skin and wide eyes (I like totally got them done again). We did the idle chit chat thing and like then he started to say goodbye when we got to our floor and that was just totally unacceptable. How could he possibly find out that he’s supposed to marry me if I don’t show him that? So like, I couldn’t just let him leave me like that, not after how far I had totally gone for him already, but I couldn’t invite him in either since I like couldn’t sit down. “Here,” I said as I jutted out a slip of paper with my number on it, “if I’m ever like, getting broken into sometime or like if you just get lonely and want to get some like coffee or something give me a call.” He feigned a smile and walked away. A smile! Like oh my god he’s so dreamy.

The next day I sat by the phone like all day waiting for the call that totally never came. I kept wondering why he hadn’t called, and then I like landed on the decision that it was because the ass stuffing wasn’t good enough and he totally could probably tell that it wasn’t real. Later that night I was checking my e-mail. All the usual junky crap and spam, but then like there was something that like caught my eye, the subject was, “Are you happy with your body?” I thought that I totally was, but then again he I guess totally wasn’t, so then I thought that maybe I like wasn’t. I was about to totally give up on the idea, thinking that the e-mail was like from a friend who had noticed my totally stuffed ass today, but then I was like oh my god cause it turned out to be legit and struck a whole new intrigue in me. Upon opening it, there were options to modify your breasts (been there), thighs (once the cellulite starts to come up I’ll totally be getting that done), tummy (done that), and buttocks (eureka!). I can’t believe that like I hadn’t had that idea totally sooner. So then who was like the best butt man?

The next day I like totally did the same thing with my like ass creation and then like, I totally ran into Evan by the elevator, but today it was a bit different. I could totally see him look me over like as usual, but oh my god, today he had a glimmer in his eyes that like totally wasn’t there before, something that said that something could work between us. Little did he know that it would only work between us if I got some implants in my nether regions or if he would get over his fetish.

Vanity thy name is like totally man, I thought as we like went our separate ways and I felt him graze my fluffed up left cheek. He turned and gave like a rather curious look; little did he know what lay like beneath that denim pocket. In any case he called me later that evening, tubular! I was so shocked that I almost choked on an olive when I heard his voice. It was like a heavenly choir of angels coming to like take me away, but then I came back to reality. We talked and all that and like realized that we really had like totally a lot in common, like our musical interests, tastes in art, career goals, and like even our upbringing. While he was going on about like the puppy he had when he was a boy or whatever my mind began to wonder back to that e-mail. Would it be worth it? After about 20 minutes more of talking to him and thinking about what our kids would look like, I decided that it would be.

The next day I went to a plastic surgeon’s office with my checkbook and a totally happy thought of eternity with Evan. The doctor took a look at me, I had like never been to this guy before, but he came highly recommended as like the best butt guy in the city. Surprisingly he tried to talk me out of it though, saying something about my having a problem with self-image, but I like totally didn’t care what he had to say, I was totally going to get it done anyways. And so I left and went to like another surgeon only to get the same answer. I visited like 10 different surgeons that day until like I finally got to one that would take me on as a patient. Sure he wasn’t like very highly recommended, but it would be worth it. I mean, ever since Evan thought my butt was big he like hadn’t had any of his like usual apple-bottoms over… it was totally worth. So like I had the surgery and went home like the same, though I like couldn’t sit on it or anything for a while or it would like rip the stitches and turn totally misshapen, so I just like laid around, talking on the phone with Evan and thinking of the future we would have together. A few days had passed and the stitches were totally still in. The doctor said that like it should be totally safe for me to sit without like totally ripping then now though, all I had to do was be careful, and so I totally was.

We went out on like our first date four days after my surgery and everything went totally fine. We went to a nice restaurant and totally had an awesome dinner and then we went out for some drinks afterwards. We probably had totally more than our fill and were like getting totally tipsy and we kept slurring our words and laughing at the most outrageous things. When we got back to our neck of the woods though, things got totally spirited. Evan like got totally frisky and I totally didn’t want him to stop. The trouble with that though is that like he is an ass man. So like we were standing on the steps like in front of our building and he had his arms totally wrapped around me. And like oh my god he moved his hands down from my shoulders to the small of my back and landed them like totally right on my ass. I was pretty well in the bag at this time so I wasn’t really like feeling much of like anything but fantastic. I was totally in my own little euphoria as the breeze swirled leaves around my legs, exposed as I was wearing like my favorite lacy skirt. But then it all came like crashing down as I heard a shriek and felt like a warmth totally flowing down my leg. In all his eagerness, Evan had torn out one of the implants. And so like there I stood, with blood from like the broken stitches and whatnot streaming down my leg and like the man I could have loved standing in front of me, totally mortified, with a piece of my silicone ass in his hand.

I stood there and like stared at my dream man as he like totally freaked out, threw the gooey cheek at me and like ran down the street screaming obscenities. I like don’t even know how much blood I lost at this point, but it kept flowing. I felt totally light headed and like passed out. When I came too I was like in the hospital mental ward, apparently when I was out I was screaming about my lost love and apple-bottom. I don’t know whatever happened to Evan, and I don’t think that like I ever will, I lost him and like a little part of myself too when he totally gripped that poorly stitched butt-cheek.