Allow me to introduce myself….
Prelude: (Unless you really give a shit, I’d advise you to skip this and go straight to “The Real Shit.”)
I’m not going to lie to you. I enjoy creating chaos. Not in some “wannabe-Heath-Ledger-Joker-kind-of-way,” I just like making people believe things that aren’t true (Kind of like Glenn Beck or a celebrity Scientologist.) For example, every time I’ve given a presentation for class, I’ve always chosen something completely ridiculous and/or under researched, altered the little supporting evidence I’ve gathered by manipulating the context it was written in, and fabricated massive amounts of plausible but unproven information. Ever since I acquired this academic tactic, I have yet to make less than a B on any research paper I’ve ever done. Keep in mind, I’ve never done this for a class that really mattered or interested me and I don’t intend to deceive anyone on this “blog.” My acquired love for deception is really nothing more than a personal coping mechanism for surviving the inane monotony of higher education. My more challenging/interesting classes haven’t required me to entertain myself in such ways and I’d much rather speak honestly when expressing myself.
Now that I’ve most likely bored the fuck out of you. Let me give you an autobiography.
The Real Shit
A few years ago on a cold Christmas night in Houston, I, like most other children, was rescued from the most traumatizing environment any normal human could possibly endure… The inside of my mother’s vagina.
As you could expect, the experience was psychologically devastating. Too this day, I can’t remember a single thing about the seven months I spent incarcerated within my mother’s genital prison. In fact, the dissociative amnesia that followed this tempestuous period of my life was so traumatizing, that I can barely remember the five years that followed. Of course, if you were to know the bone chilling events I experienced in those years, I imagine you’d understand.
After I was rescued from the personal hell that is the depths of my mother’s vagina, I’ve been told that I suffered from a disorder that left me incapable of breathing on my own. Of course, this was clearly a severe case of circulatory shock, a common reaction to high amounts of psychological/physical stress. Understandably, the terror I had just experienced could easily induce such a reaction. Especially since the first thing I experienced once extracted from my mother’s body was a painful slap to my cold, frail, and naked ass. Of course, the terror and abuse didn’t end at the hospital.
Once I was deemed healthy enough to be released from the hospital, I was brought my mother and some obnoxious man to a small town home by the astrodome. The torment I would endure there, still plagues me to this day.
Everyday, I was treated as if I were “less than human.” My mother and her male counterpart would lock me in a wooden cage that was elevated dangerously high above the ground. They would rattle obnoxious dolls inches from my face, shaking them violently, refusing to address me in any other way than speaking insultingly puerile and often incorrect english. Often, I would start crying in solitude, merely attempting to remove some weight from the heavy shoulders of my tormented soul, only to be rudely interrupted by my mother’s constricting grip and involuntarily pressed against her nude breasts, still disoriented by the nauseating sway of her rocking arm motions. It wasn’t until l first gained the courage to speak out against her tyranny, that she realized she would no longer be able to prey on me as she had been…
I’m sorry, I’m going to have to stop here for now. I’m emotionally exhausted, and I think I’ve provided you with enough information today. i promise I’ll pick back up on this later.
