2014-07-14 09:10:44 ET

"There's only two ways this can end," he said. "But, first, take that flashlight out of your asshole."

"But I'm enlightened!"

C'est la vie
2014-07-14 08:50:53 ET

Life is the world's number one disease.

As it stands, 100% of people who are currently infected with the life condition will die.

There is no cure.

And the worst part?

The longer you live, the greater your chances of dying.

So remember, kids...

LIFE KILLS!

Dear Diary
2014-06-22 08:40:53 ET

January 10, 2015

In an effort to become more productive I have decided to start a diary. This was actually one of my New Year resolutions but, as you can see, it took me over a week to actually pick up a pen and write anything. And I don't know what to write. So...

Dear Diary,

Hey. Fuck you.


January 17, 2015

I think the whole "Dear Diary" thing is really stupid. Why am I talking to an inanimate object? And, it's not all that dear to me anyway. Last time I wrote in it was a week ago. Fuck it.

To whom it may concern,

Not much happened during the week. I've been working. Sleeping. Working. Masturbating. Sleeping. Masturbating. Working. I tried playing some video games last night but there were these weird power outages. The lights would dim or flicker and then come back on. I went back to looking at porn. It's a good thing I have a laptop. If the power goes out I still have access to my porn. Some people collect stamps. I collect porn.

January 19, 2015

To whom it may concern,

The power just went out fifteen minutes ago. I was jackin' it to the oldies when my laptop screen dimmed a bit. I fiddled around with the power cable but that didn't do anything. I checked the wall outlet. Fine. Everything was fine. I decided to turn on the lights in the room just to check if the power was on. It wasn't. I checked the circuit breaker but that looked ok to me. Hopefully it won't be out for too long. My laptop battery tends to die really fast.

January 20, 2015

The power is still out. I'm getting worried. I've been charging my laptop at work and jacking off in the bathroom. I think I may be a porn addict. I'm not sure though. Is there a guideline for this sort of stuff? I was going to look it up but got sidetracked trying to bypass the firewall and download some new porn.

Oh and right before lunch we heard a weird sound almost like a jet plane flying slowly right above us. But there was nothing. Some people looked out the window and everything seemed ok. Weird.

January 23, 2015

Still no power. And no work tomorrow either. I'm getting worried.

Also, there have been lights seen in the sky. UFOs and stuff. I think. I never actually saw anything because I was trying to jack off at home. I almost got caught at work so I've moved my jack off sessions back home. I've also been experimenting with using different hands. So far it's been like playing ping pong with my dick so nothing conclusive yet.

Fuck. I think my neighbor is knocking on my door. Maybe the porn was too loud? Should I close the porn window or just pause it? Fuck it.


March 3, 2015

It has been over a month since the invasion. Since the aliens landed I had no desire to write in my diary or jack off.

I mean I did jack off that one time but that was for the experiments. THEY made me and then they told me that it was THEIR fault and that THEY screwed up. I told them THEY did. THEY asked if there was a way to make it up to me. I told them about Brazzers and asked if THEY could set me up with a free account. THEY said OK so I beat up my penis and choked it until it sperm-puked into one of THEIR collection buckets.

The account didn't work. I broke out.

This was yesterday.

Today I am wandering the streets. There is no one here but ash. And everything smells like ash. I would walk, sniff the air, and complain about how everything smells like ash.

There is no one around to appreciate my jokes.

I miss my porn.
5 comments

2014-06-22 08:15:24 ET

listen
once
once there was this kid
he
we knew him, right?
from school
he had an accident
it was pretty bad
a car hit him and
he was in the hospital for a month
couldn't come to school
missed out on a bunch of classwork
it sucked
he did come back finally
but he looked different
he had dark hair before but now it was bright white
he looked like a 12 year old Billy Idol
so we asked him what happened
he said it was from when the car had smashed so hard
mmm mmm mmm mmm
true story that
this took place in Winnipeg
you know
in Manitoba

2014-06-22 06:52:36 ET

Haven't been on here in a while. Just noticed the login page doesn't support TLS. Whathehell?
2 comments

Story in progress...
2012-01-27 06:53:37 ET

His parents named him Ernest because they wanted him to be honest so, when he grew up to be a fiction writer, they ended up disowning him. He moved out and, with the little savings he had, ended up living illegally in a rent controlled apartment that was actually occupied by an octogenarian named Arthur. Unfortunately, Arthur ended up dying of a heart attack the day after Ernest moved in. That same night Ernest dragged Arthur’s body outside and stuffed it into a nearby dumpster and, afterwards, told everyone that Arthur had become increasingly reclusive and antisocial and that Ernest himself would “deliver Arthur’s rent checks from now on”. So, yeah, it got a little complicated.

His love life was no better. Everything he’d ever known about dating he ended up reading about in an old paperback called “How To Pick Up Strippers”. This ensured that all his trysts ended up involving either exotic dancers or acrobats. Though one time he did pick up a school teacher but he later found out that she did a bit of stripping on the side so it didn’t really differentiate her from the rest. The relationship (if you could call it that) was short and ended on a sour note when she had confided in him that she had fallen in love with one of her students who was named Joanne. Joanne was twelve years old. It was sort of awkward talking to her after that. Her name was Sharona, by the way, and Ernest always felt a little awkward calling her that. My Sharona. After she broke the news he went down to a bar and downed six shots of whiskey, threw up, and got into a fight. He lost and went home sulking and went straight to bed. When he woke up the next morning he stumbled out of the bed naked and dragged himself to take a piss and look in the mirror. That’s when he found himself the proud owner of a brand new shiny black eye which hung on his face like a misplaced areola. He smiled and said “Hello, nipple face.” Then he went back to his room, sat naked on a chair in front of an old and beat up typewriter and started to write.

He thought he was writing a short novel about a fictional 19th century anthropologist (who just happened to be a dwarf) and was living with a tribe of cannibals somewhere in the Amazon. The tribe, having eaten all the females in their culture, were having trouble finding ways of reproducing and thus took to stealing jaguar cubs and attempting to teach them the ways of their culture. The working title was called “A Dwarf Amidst A Gang of Jaguar Man Eaters” but the novel was shit and ended up going sideways. So sideways, in fact, that Ernest found that by Chapter 13 the anthropologist (who is never named but is called “Igg” by the tribe) finds out that what he thought of as the jungle is actually a large nature “preserve” inside of an underground Martian zoo. Igg and the all-male cannibal tribe are the only human occupants and some of the jaguars are actually aliens. By Chapter 15 he had vowed to burn the damned book. By Chapter 20 he decided to change the working title to “An Exercise in Futility” and by Chapter 21 he gave up and went to sleep.

That night he dreamt he was flying high above unknown cities amidst towering skyscrapers and bridges of copper and gold and massive highways on which strange and wonderful and futuristic cars moved silently and efficiently and fast towards strange vistas somewhere beyond. And Ernest, in the form of a giant, iridescent bird, did not take a shit on any of those cars because he was a good and polite bird and was not at all like those asshole birds in real life that will shit on your head just because they feel like it. “Fucking pigeons” thought Ernest and decided that, in his newfound aerial freedom, he should dive down like a swan into the blue depths of a vast ocean that lay beyond the shore of the wonderful dream city. He dove in and woke up, sweating, only to find himself swimming unconsciously in a mattress soaked with his piss. “Goddammit” thought Ernest. This was the third bed-wetting incident this week. “I’ve got to do something about these piss-dreams” he said to himself.

Unfinished. Possibly crap.
2010-07-15 16:34:11 ET

There's something in my mind struggling to get out. I've tried imprisoning it with walls of thought and reason and, finally, fear. Still I can feel it moving inside. Growing.

I cannot sleep anymore. I wander the dark alleys at night following the echo of my own footsteps. The streets are always deserted and, always, there is a slight rain that is my only companion.

It hasn't always been like this. But what has ever been the same throughout the ages? Still, it's something altogether... different. I can feel it. Gnawing. Away. At. What. I. Am.

I thought it was a tumour at first. I thought about getting it out. Sat there at my wooden desk with a mirror, a battery powered drill, and a bottle of cheap whiskey. Home workshop trepanation. I'd go to a doctor, of course, but that's the thing. There are no more people. Everybody is gone.

That's how I knew something was wrong at first. Walking down the street, everyone I saw suddenly turned hazy. Like the picture on a television with bad reception. I thought I was going insane. I ran back to my room and slept. Hoping to dream it off. But when I woke up everyone was gone. And when I'd look out the window all I would see is their shadows co mingling with each other. Their shadows going about their lives. But those shadows were not attached to anything.

After a while even the shadows went away.

A day later I felt it. A dull throb in the back of my mind. Only not in the back. Inside. A throb that turned into a pounding. Constant, rhythmic. A beat. Almost like music. Constant. Overpowering.

That night I dreamed. For the first time in years. I dreamt I was falling. And, when I woke up, I found myself under the bed. Cowering. But from what?

I tried thinking it away. It seemed to work. For a bit. I thought how insane this all was. I told myself there is nothing in my head. Nothing in my mind. That I fell asleep and simply never woke up. And the beating in my head seemed to stop. And for a while there I sat there in the room thinking about what to do. And feeling sorry for myself. And after a while my eyes closed and I fell asleep. And I dreamed again.

I dreamed of being human again. I dreamt of who I was and what I had. I dreamt of people. So everyday and commonplace and yet so very alien. Familiar yet foreign. Still, I felt relief. And comfort. And then. I was falling again.

I woke up to find the throbbing back. I ran. Ran out of the room. Outside. Ran aimlessly. I barely noticed that it had started to rain. I simply ran and ran and ran and then, when I couldn't run anymore, I fell and cried. And then I became very afraid.

I suddenly felt I was becoming somebody else.
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