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DARK HUMOR – not suitable for children or anyone who likes the small furry animals

You know what is the stupidest thing I think every single day. You won’t believe me if I tell you.

It’s when I and Scipio were talking about some things and he told me how poor I am ( and this is taken out of the context, in fact, he was saying how poorly I reason about the things in business… because I must be dumb and with no experience) and that the success is like being pregnant, everyone congratulates you but nobody knows how many times you were screwed.

And do you know what is the saddest thing?
The only thing I could think about at that moment was how nobody congratulated me for getting pregnant at all.

And I am not poor in reasoning. I am cursed. Because everything I have ever done turned to shit. And it is not because I was giving up on the things, but because I was not. I just can’t give the fuck up!

So this can’t possibly be v.1 of my life, this is the aftermath and I am in hell for some nasty shit I have done, or just because a driver of my avatar likes drama so much. I think that faggot is depressed or self-inflicted or something. How do I get into so much trouble? Why all the other folks have it all easy and served, why do I suck in everything?

And do you know how dumb is to say that getting screwed is somehow uncomfortable to a straight woman? I mean no fucking meaning at all. Why his retarded ex even left him!!?? Man, he has no clue about our meow kitty cat feminine fucked up complicated periodically bleeding and screaming womanly species at all – it is clear as a day- she could sell him anything!! That bitch is a fucking imbecile. You don’t let that walk around like a know-nothing-about-chicks tabula rasa, it is a catastrophe in development – When you get one of those, you fill that thing up with all your favorite kinks and ludicrous fantasies BEFORE SOME OTHER BITCH DOES IT!

And men are so low maintenance, they don’t complicate their own life by inducing storms and then complaining when rain showers down with the frogs, red dirt and toxic chemicals ( from the nearby chemical plants on another continent…) No, they don’t do that crazy shit.

They just want to crawl inside of some loser-ass bunghole and they are all happy in there. They are just so fucking fine, uuuuuu… this is so great, motherfucking awesome, I am in the heaven.

That’s why I have him still in my discord server.
So whenever some little sister comes in, pops the right slider menu, starts reading the names … she is like … law, admin, bot, bot, asshole bot, list of human members, very short… good, good, good, dick, good… wait for a second…
-Why the hell you have him?
-Because I like dicks.

I mean the guys will be asking why, is that for the money, he has money, right, but the girls will go straight into the LOL mode, I don’t even finish it properly… “dic…” BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

No, I don’t fucking need him for money, I have him for the decoration. I fancy exactly that kind of the travesty. Others servers have all the good stuff I know, the shit eaters, boot kissers, faggots of all kind, traitors, double dealers, multiple personalities, witches, hags, sodomites, poison sellers, backstabbers, human anal toys, and all that exotic expensive shit.
I only like to have a dick in my server. It is like a bare minimum compared.
A woman wants a dick inside of it.

Wow. A shocking surprise.

It is like when a person tried to insult me by saying go suck a dick…
What kind of insult is that? What do I suppose to say?
“Thank you, my friend, every day and best health to you too. Go munch a rag!”

And you know how hard is to flush a man out of a hole he likes!? No? Well, try. They grow fangs and stick them in and they make sure you can not un-clam them unless you wanna hurt yourself badly. And then they start that shit about love – we going to stay together forever aw my dear.

I mean, with the Discord server it is just a button, he never even talks there, probably would not even notice it, never will see this, nobody reads a thing around here – and I am constantly changing an icon in purpose so people would get confused… Still, I thought some others will not, but they did and it was

Like Andy Whaleshares. I banned him from that server like ages ago, he still remembers to drop shit comments on my Steemit posts. That must be because every now an then I unfollow one of his thousands of the fake accounts on the Twitter, so he can’t take me off his mind. And you know how pedant and frugal I am, I don’t unfollow all those fucking bot accounts at once, I spare them, like birth control, one per day. So he can’t grow some zen inside of his guts and forget it, because every time he opens that sleazy unfollow-follow app for Twitter that he uses, a bell tolls to him – ASCHATRIA JUST UNFOLLOWED YOU … AGAIN!

Jezzz, Ascha, that is so convoluted and evil…
My, my, does a pelican fly…

I am so lucky that none of my exes knows my online pen name. By the way, it is not because I had a rough relationship with my men or anything like that. I never had problems with men, because I was either there or I wasn’t. It is just something in me that doesn’t let me uncheck from the hotel without leaving a bloody mess behind.

And they all sound so logical and reasonable, walls and walls of text and reasoning, and reasoning and text. It sounds familiar yeah… I guess it depends on how you look at it. Maybe you like it.

The ugly truth is, I am such a romantic, I hate goodbyes and yes I still love them, I spy on all of them. But, that’s why when I was leaving, I never could do it in that grand dramatic way like all the other normal chicks. It was always complete chaos, grabbing my shit and running as fast as I could – before they could chain themselves on the door frame and we were always some floors too many from the ground level to use a window… I think it was a preplanned strategy to gain time.

And then they will use pity-me, I-love-you and let-talk-and-sort-it kind of the emotional blackmail techniques to divert me from my master plan ( to rule the world, fuck you mortals) and stay with them and making them happy.

It is horrible. And they CAN cry. I am telling you. YES! It happens. When it does, I feel like a war criminal, so much self-hate, I hate myself when it happens. And I don’t know why.

From the whole conversation at that point, I would hear nothing. I don’t know why you girls are complaining that you guys do not talk, because when they do.. there is pretty much nothing to stop them. And they are loud. Have you ever heard a constant grinding of a thunder one story above you? Because that’s how it sounds.

And while I am wiggling left and right figuring out how to pass them in that door frame trying not to look them in an eye, because after that it is over – they will start feeding me about all those things I am aloof about. And of course I will look up and all I will hear will be … white noise and me thinking how the hell all you fucks have such big, beautiful thick eyelashes…

After that it is over, I don’t even hear what a guy says, I am completely zoned out. By the eyelashes. Probably I have a thing for that, or a fetish, I don’t know. The rest of the male face is like it was smashed by brick and healed in a wrong way with some pussy bush slapped on it, but the eyelashes are… kind of unbelievable. How do they grow, what do they put on them?

I even told my female friends ( I am joking, I have no friends, they are all cunts…) while we were talking about guys – they were all shooting at big obvious things – and when I brought it up, it was like they were shot at the spot.
Eyelashes! Bang! Dead silence.
I just killed them. And it is true. Guys have more facial hair and usually, those things are thick. And you know what? Women are fucking envious on the eyelashes!! It is true!!
That’s why we paint those things and wear artificial ones! And they don’t get better. They just get messier.

And guys are equally envious about our shapes, but they hide it, you know a woman should dress up for herself, that’s why men hate shopping – all the questions do you like it on me, never a question what would they like …
You did notice how men always like to touch, grab, look, stare like maniacs when they like something?
And they are narcissistic.
Have you ever seen a guy dating some scroungy knob who looks like sewage didn’t want her and she ended up under his armpit by an accident? And the guy was walking around like he won Miss Universe or something like that?
You know he is not blind…
That is because… “That’s because she doesn’t nag me for every bullshit out there. And because she pets my snowflake balls/ego/complex, listens to my painful squealing after I come home from a horrible job, plays my favorite game from 1992 on an antediluvian pc and tells me how beautiful I am! I am her King! Aw, my majesty!!!”

“My God she is gorgeous! Does she has a sister/cousin/aunt as equally gross as her.”

In fact, you know what, fuck you guys – DOES SHE HAS A BROTHER!??? I need desperately a plan B!!

When you want to take your precious Gollum or Prince Charming ( depends on diopter) shopping tell him he can dress you like a Barbie. Just you and me, and I will be your doll. It doesn’t even need to be something extra, a special occasion, start small, take him somewhere you can shop cheap. Just try it!

I never had a single “no” ever in my life and those items/shoes/clothes were 300 times better than a useless shit I would choose. Trust me they put a big fucking effort when it is for them. Give them scissors and tell them to trim a chop of your hair – they will all be no, no, no, I will ruin it, I will ruin it – and if you by any chance boast the persuasion skills fit for a politician of a higher caliber and you manage to persuade them – they will pat and pamper that chop of hair for three fucking hours and still have an anxiousness attack if it looks good or not – and it is an extension.

Every guy is like this strange bipolar psychotic histrionic monster, who is all kind, nice, respectful and all about our personality inside of a house, but when he takes you out it pretty much looks like this – “LOOK WHAT A NICE THING I HAVE YOU FUCKING DICKLESS LOSERS, MY CAR BETTER THAN YOURS, BWAHAHAHAHA!”

Women get insulted with that. You should get insulted if he starts doing it at home out laud. Imagine him in his shorts shouting like a maniac those words to a neighbor across the street at 7 AM. That would be awful.

And you can abuse this. You come to him and say, you know honey your car could use some upgrades, new covers, new freshener, some gimmick accessory just for the sake of it, and you get to chose everything. Maybe he will dress you in feathers for the joke or the first try, but then his friends will start asking – look is he into poultry, should we be concerned… Because they are all the same, they don’t see you, they see what he likes and what he wants.

You can ask absolutely anything in this way, just don’t overdo with the maintenance, if you prove to be unsustainable he could get another car. Or worse, you can end up in a garage. You have no idea what is going on out there, and then paf! three months later you find him filling the trunk off some badass looking roadster.

The worst thing a guy could acquire to get over with you is a motorbike. Yes, that is an equivalent for a hooker. It is pretty much the same thing. They are unsafe, have less padding, he could get hit by anything and whatever accident happens it could end up with long-lasting repercussions health-wise. And everyone would blame you.
Same thing!
“It wastes 500 bucks per hour, but what a rush!! Bwahahaha”
Oh yeah…
“And my ass hurts, that seat is so hard…”
“Meh heh heh… are you sure that she had no dick… Just kidding.”

If a guy comes to you and says he is buying a bike, he essentially is saying to you ( unless he is a true motorcycle enthusiast and he stresses it out clean) that he is so damn unhappy and miserable being married to you, that he wants to fucking kill himself.

Just sign that paper and let him off the hook. All good honey, have a drink, it is fine.

I could never end up a relationship with men because they never wanted that. I don’t know how to break up and remain friends.
“Aw, we broke up but we are good friends now, we care about each other and help each other…”
How do you do that? How can you make a guy who so deeply cares about you to friendzone you?
You can’t, you stupid cow. The only way to do that is if he doesn’t give a fuck about you but he is polite to keep you out of his shit, talking all sort of nastiness about him in public. That’s “a good friend break up”!

I could never do that. Because they didn’t want to and I had to run away to avoid the eyelashes, of course. Those things are like bear traps. Do you know when you argue and he just shoves those things as closest as possible into your neck and face and gives you that look and start to play with them… it is incredibly cheap and low, and it works every time.
No, he doesn’t do that?
What does he do?
Smash your face with a fist? I am sure that makes you love him aw so much better…

And it is not all about the eyelashes, this other thing I am doing completely unconsciously.
My pals asked me why all of my men had a big snout.
The big snatch…
You know, a mouth???

Awwwww…. I don’t know. They just have it, I guess… and one of them said after that:
“Because in my case, I always end up with ones who have less lip than Grim Reaper…”

A nice graphic image of a romantic goth-inspired kiss flying inside of my head. And then I can’t unsee that for months.

This is true, I kind of do that, no idea why. If a guy can shove half of my face in his yaps, he is just perfect.
Come here honey, I grab on his mug, say aaaaa, let me check a tongue too… oo.
“Ummm, why…”
If things look good, I say I will show you later, if things are not so promising then I say how I like to kiss.

And my female pals were all, how do I do that, to attract attention, not necessary to take a person out or make him like me, just to get their eye on me. And I said to them, you never heard of a Mona Lisa stare?


“How, I don’t understand?”

Well, you pick something on a man that you like and just stare on it with this ambiguous, perpetual stare that resembles the one of Mona Lisa. Oh, yeah, well not that. If you stare in his dick, you just pervy. Just something else. Don’t you like anything else? Because that is the last thing I look at a man. I don’t care how big is your dick. I have a lot of orifices of various sizes on my body, here, if it is a micro I have a nostril. It will fit. It will be good. I will make you feel huge. Don’t worry about that. It is irrelevant.

And they love that stare. It is like a signal to them. Just try it, I dare you, I double dare you, triple. Hell, just do it. Do the stare and then twitch to your girl buddy like you are surprised by yourself, because it is serious, and you don’t know what happened. Now, he will not go straight for it, but he will immediately start to shuffle feet, look agitated for an unknown reason and maybe change his position to get again in your visual field. Just to check if that is a stare, or you suffer from the hypothyroidism so you look like that all the time.

If you are in the relationship a guy will instantly notice it as well – “Do you like it, do you like it, do you like what you see, aww, me, me, me!” – accompany that with only a minimal pat wherever on his body and he will be like – “Yes, yes, you look at me, you like me, you adore me because I am so pretyyyyyyy.”

Horrible! So little trouble to make him happy about you. Still, so many chicks completely cock sucks it and they don’t even have a tool.

I am so happy that my exes don’t know my online pen name, because it would not be a circus. It would be a tournament! They will not compete with each other and send insulting dick-selfies to each other and argue who has a bigger one, aw no. They would compete who will stick it harder to me. Because I am a Lucifer! And they can get away with it. Because it is the internet. I can not touch them. BWAHAHAHA!

It is not like that in reality. Aw, no, no. I am probably overreacting, but all my dudes were imaginative, so uh, a lot of things could get out from that nice skill. No, no, in reality, it is pretty much avoiding me in a huge circle or just looking from very far away. Just in case.

And I don’t even have a temper! I never hit any of them. There were no fights, I yell, yes, but did you ever heard yourself ladies yelling. It sounds like two sparrows screeching on each other and fighting for a piece of bread…

And I always had a reason for that. You know, I always said what was wrong. In my case, it was always some other third party who was abusive to my man. Either a rotten family member or some so-called friend. Or his fucked-up mother. No, seriously. There are mothers out there who torture their sons because they hate men.

For me growing up was different.

My father was asked if he slaps me and so, because we lived at that time when dinosaurs were grazing around, and he said to a man who asked if he wants that man to die gruesomely he would send him to slap me.
I was a vengeful little shit!
And my father was not an idiot, he thought me all the tricks, from the pointy knees to blunt weapons. He never told me that I can be whatever I want, no. It was obvious, I was good for nothing. He just told me you have to be brave. Like really brave!
The brave is not insane, but what a fuck…

When I was yelling I made sure I yell! I have this enormous vocal capability, so I can lower it and it sounds horrible enough to scare away the half of a building. They think it is my husband! It comes handy when my female neighbors start to yell and then suddenly zip it because there is a maniac in a building.

I was listening to this one chick going for hours, in the middle of the night. If a man did that, he would be taken away after 20 minutes. But not a bitch. Double standards. And it is the same shit man or a woman because nobody can sleep, but they let her do it because she has a pussy.
With no proof! Has anyone even saw her pussy? Are you people sure she even has one?
What equality!!?? I wanted her to shut up so bad that my inner maniac finally exploded and growled out in an unrecognizable voice – “Roll the credits ho!”

Silence. Is. Sacred.
Like a duck tape.
It should be worshiped.

And my men always had two body modes when it came to that. First, jam the door with own body. Two, go into a defensive gorilla mode with extended arms and their genitals in another room. I am sure you know those two modes.
No? What yours do? Aw, you don’t have one. Well, hmmm…

“Cuddling, cuddling, calm down, I love you so much, blink, blink.”
Me hopping in front of a mountain of muscles and screeching like it is the last thing I will ever do in my life – Why don’t you ever want to look my designs with me, why don’t you want to see that cool gif I made the other day, why don’;t you come and see what I actually have to do to transfer this funny money onto your bank account and then wait for me for 5 hours to see the bacon landing… bleeeeeee!!?? Whyyyyy!!???
“I will, I am all about your work, it is adorable, perfect, beautiful… just put down the crowbar.”
-A crowb… I need that!! A washing machine hopped on a door and I need to unjam it and use the toilet, I am this close to pissing myself all over!!!!!!!

I never had problems with guys, I don’t see how other women get in so much trouble with them.

I had problems with my family, my employers, employers’ wives, my job, career, which is non-existent at this point. Never with men. You know how easy is to get away with it when you own something to a man.

You just have to make that resentful, self-hating expression full of envy and disgust on your face and he will go around you with “oh, yeah, ok then…”

You don’t believe me? Ask one of my previous landlords. She made my husband pay twice the same utility bill and tried that shit on me. She tried to pull out the same trick for the third time. And then she added I owe her some sheets, that in fact, my mother gave to me because they were too trashy for her to put in her bedroom. They were canary yellow. Like RGB yellow with big flowers. And my mother was just next to me taking a look at some rice on a shopping shelf. I hate rice!

My mother and I don’t look alike at all.
I am this fairy gracious small thing, and my mother is a god damn army tank with an attitude of a raging rhino. You know what happened right!

Don’t dial 911, call 999 for 187 because you just got murderer bitch!

Do you know how you can get rid of some narcissistic bastard for a while? Just tell him you are suicidal, you are on your period and your mother called. No word for a week. Possibly even longer. You are looking at the unique opportunity to take that plastic and go vaycay! And he will not even ask you shit, because he will think it is one direction.

And about that case me getting pregnant – just to make sure – I made my personal life all by the book – job, husband, marriage, everything, planned as it should be.

At this point, I think that nothing of that worked. My child has a life long condition for which she blames me, and my husband hates me because one of my pals allegedly wronged his spine and he got all fucked. He is not harmed, he just blames me, because it is all my fault.

He told me I am so stupid and naive and that I don’t see how the world is awful filled with the greed and atrocious people who want to ruin you a little you have. And I fucking believed all of it. I believed that a pal of mine cares. He doesn’t. He just wanted to put him in the wheelchair and get me in trouble. That is not love, that is hate.

So, I found out that I am pregnant with my now 10-year old child.
I called my mom and I didn’t just tell her what a wonderful thing happened because the doctors told me I probably will not be able to do it because I am 75% INFERTILE…
I didn’t just tell her.
I congratulated her because she was about to become a grandmother for the first time.
Do you know what she told me?
“Tune it down idiot, your grandfather died last night, your father might have a cardiac from all the trauma.”
Do you have a bloody idea what kind of a train wreck full of rubble just fell of me at that moment?
It felt like a whole railroad just somehow bent in the space-time continuum and warped straight on my back.

But, a baby… I will have a little baby.
“We don’t know that yet.”

I always wanted a family with a happy baby my whole life. Possibly because I was so miserable with my own childhood. I was never satisfied with my own parents and sister, with my siblings, with all the schools I changed, my own schoolmates… hell I didn’t even like a neighbor’s rooster.

It is not just that. We went to visit my sister who moved into a new apartment with her now ex-husband. My parents took me in their car and smoked all the way while I was sitting at the back pregnant up to my chin. I never felt so invisible.

And it is not that I don’t abuse my relatives too. I do. Especially my sister and her reputation. When I used to drive I was rarely ever pulled aside by a cop. If I do it is because they thought it was her and they dated her 20 years ago for one night and they hope she looks this bad. No, no, I’m not her. Yeah, yeah, years passed, she looks even worse, hair falling out, eyes sinking in… They hoped it was her. And I look pretty much like me for the last hundred years.
Second, I was well prepared, so I would just let go some dude in a raging car after he would go insane by my sudden slow driving. They love to win. Guys love to race.
But guess what, I am a chick that always finishes the first.
Because there is always a cop, of course. And on the entire car, no, a space ship of that dude, there would find maybe one spot, maybe a bird shit on a windshield or something – and a cop would fucking charge it. You know what I drive/drove – a shit error on wheels. They don’t even bother, because they don’t want to touch that car by accident.

And not only that I can ingeniously avoid being tagged I am an extremely good driver. Never had an accident. Never scratched my car. Nothing like my sister. She would take pines down, knock out the entire right side, missed a gates two-line wide… Nothing! My parents would just shut up and pay.
But they would check my car all the time, for the smallest scratch – when finally my mother found it and started to lecture me as if they paid for it.
You know what happened. Brats on the parking lot where I used to work took a nail and artwork only my car. From all those hundreds of cars parked there, they picked mine and just totaled the whole side…

Even with the school, my parents were completely cold about me.
Mom, I have a bachelors degree!
Great, daughter, now get a job, pack and leave. Or pack, leave and get a job.
Or any other combination – just get out, I will send clothes later. By mail.
Because that’s how much I felt that I have.
We will buy a big bag and some … things, I guess, so that people don’t say I am kicking you out.

By the way, my parents didn’t pay for my education, I had that all covered and got it just with my brains. I am not stupid, just gruesomely out of luck. My parents paid for a bus ticket and argue how much I eat.

When my father wanted to insult me about my looks he said to me I look ugly and trashy in comparison to other girls.
And I told him other girls get money to look like that, so, how much beauty you can afford?
Do you think I got an answer to that?
Or money?

I always looked like this sad teen dragging my feet around, in fact, it was an asshole excuse to bring trouble upon myself and just beat the crap out of some idiot. I was not a sad lost teenage girl, I was this disappointed old man trapped inside of a doll, who liked to smoke, drink and bet on sports…

Hell, the best conversations I ever had were with the old farts over fifty, if I was not afraid to kill them I would probably date them and it would be gay as fuck, but very safe as long as I don’t drink too much. And I could still feel I am fifty years older than them! True! My own family told me that. Something went wrong dear because I think somebody is inside of you, and that is not what we all see… No darlings, you better don’t see. Because that thing is going to poke your pretty blue eyes out.

All the other things too.
I mean day one when I came to this world, a doctor did not come to my mom with a chubby baby and to my father with a handshake. He expressed regrets to my mom because I was born with a heart failure ( later proven that it might not be that, but we are still waiting), and handed my father a recommendation if he wishes to know how to avoid expenses for a baby funeral…

It was 41 years ago.

So, after that my parents kind of lower the expectations. For themselves.
They never came to a school play unless the neighbors were complaining about how neglectful they were, so occasionally they had to cover up.
They would let me run around unsupervised, I guess hoping for a tragic accident.
They would send me to gather our goats from the woods, that was accidentally packed with wolves, snakes and wild boars. I was 10.

I had a brother, he died. Actually, my mother had a baby just after me, and he was premature. And my parents never could get over it, how this pathetic excuse of a human fetus with heart failure has survived, and our perfect boy has not…

No, he was not perfect, he was a freak of nature and he was fucking premature because you could not wait a few months to get something better than me!

You couldn’t keep your bloody plumbings off the perimeter because I was so fucking gruesome to watch.
How can you possibly love such a horrible ugly thing that accidentally looks like a heavenly angel?
My God what a gross!!!

Good that a little boy bailed out and drop out from that hell fest while he still had a chance! Because you are terrible! I am glad he is dead! You don’t deserve a fucking son you boastful misogynist no good apes.

And my father is narcissistic fuck, he developed a conspiracy theory that somebody has stolen a child.
Yeah, that happened. He even paid somebody to search for a baby.
Who would want … that?
Ok, they never found a body… but who would want an underdeveloped semi-dead child with blue complexion. I just wonder. Would you?

It is not that I have never contemplated an idea that I might have been left by the aliens or that my real family died in a shipwreck… But, I was not one of those weirdo children with strange heads and bobby odd eyes and there was no shipwreck.

And I went to lengths. I have done some research. Done homework. A-a. No happy couple with a baby. Nothing. Nobody missing. Just me missing something that never existed. Maybe only in my dreams, but I had the nightmares as long as I can remember.

Do you know what I dreamed until this March when all of my dreams just fucking died because my daughter was diagnosed with an incurable disease? I dreamed dead, mutilated children. Over and over and over. For years.

And then it just stopped.
Maybe I just killed a devil. Who knows.
Maybe. Maybe.

No, I have the photos from the time when I was little – I was this pretty little fairy, this cute little child, a completely out of this world!
That’s because I was not growing. It has nothing with the fairy tales.
Ok, I dislike the daylight and I prefer the raw food… and from time to time I would just go about my ( or somebody else’s ) business and accidentally killed something.
And all my smiles look odd on those pictures because they were all forced. I rarely smiled like a child.
I saw no purpose for that. I was not sad. I was just… ok, why the hell not, let’s do it.
I couldn’t laugh because my parents were allergic to the tone of my voice, so I had no idea why they wanted me to smile on those photos.
Just to lie better I guess.

My parents have been constantly asked if they have stolen me, because … shit, look at you two ugly fucks, how the hell your child looks like that!!

I had a baby sister later. We look alike a little, sort of. She looks humanoid, I look humanoid too. She is a female, I am a female. When I am sober… We have nothing in common.

She played with the dolls, I played with the spiders.
She had the pet toys, I had a dead bunny.

A dead bunny?
Do you know what happened?
When I was like 4 or something I believed I could take my best friend who loved me so much inside of a house and we will be always together. He fell off the fucking bed and died from the fear.
He just died!!

I had his body stashed for months and held him like a baby while the worms were falling out of him because my mother told me that he is going to come back to me, and I was too small to know anything about the death and she didn’t know I hid the little fur carcass.

They even gave me another bunny to fool me, of course, it was a completely different animal and that one hated me. The damn thing even bit me, because I was unsure if that is a real one until I checked. No, he was still there, spread all cold and dead, and patches of fur falling off, but what a hell I still love you little bunny.

It is sad, it is so very sad, but you know what is more sad. Seeing the full adults, a pack of bigots crying on a funeral of a person they knew little about, never cared about and now they pretend it is tragic. That is sad.

A lonely girl with a dead rodent is not sad. It is a premise for a horror story.

I didn’t even cry. There were no other children around, so I didn’t know it was obligatory. I just sat there and called him…”Come on, little bunny, come back to me, I love you…” I was doing that religiously until there was nothing left but a patch of fur and some brittle bones.

Do you know how scary that shit is, for an adult to even think about it?

I had other pets too. The majority ended up like the food on our table. I just sat there with a stone-cold face looking an animal being thorned apart while everything inside of me was aging, everything disappeared. I had nothing and nobody to play with, I had only that, and apparently, I was playing with the food the whole time.

When I was eight my father and his buddies had to slay a goat. I was only eight at the time and he gave me a big knife to kill it, out of a blue. No warning.

I just asked, your favorite goat dad, didn’t even know what a hell that means.

I was so angry I just stuck that knife 3 inches deep at the back of an animal’s neck, just under the skull, it just fell. I never had a bigger feeling of a fucking accomplishment. I am not a psycho. I was only eight, and he gave me a knife so they can watch me cry. They all got drunk after that. And I believe they all thought that I am a monster.

So, I am just sitting here thinking how dumb I am, how cruel I am, how the hell life screwed me this bad and why. I mean an eight with a knife. Other kids were playing ball and dressing up dolls! And I was practicing Jason. I started to like horror movies a little too much. Every now and then I was laughing at them like haha this is not real, and then something happens in a movie and I was like – holy shit this could be me, and I am not talking me as a victim. It was like that – aw, I was just thinking about that the other day. Holy shit. What a coincidence.

And I was always getting in trouble with other children. Correction! Because of them. They were always falling, breaking bones, smashing heads, losing teeth, getting stabbed by a dozen hornets… How the hell I suppose to know that is not good and that they will end up in a hospital for weeks!

There is a hole in a ground, we just HAVE to poke it! You take this hole, I will take this one, let’s go, dig in!! Yeahhhhh!

Everything was ok while we were supervised, a moment a teacher turned her head, it was hell on the earth. Instead of playing a ball, we were playing a medieval castle being attacked and tossing rocks at each other. How the hell I could know there will be an ambulance involved!!??

Another day we were all sitting around, we can’t use rocks, how to play castle now…
We could use acornz, they no rockz. It was just an innocent suggestion!!
How the hell I could know that an idiotic moron will bat his head against the acorn, it was impossible to predict! I am innocent. I didn’t know.

Whenever somebody fell and broke a leg, it was always my fault. I couldn’t fetch, I would always get it in a face, so other kids were just trying to be helpful and hurt themselves in the process. They should give me space to practice, and grow and possibly not hurt themselves. It is their fault.

They finally had enough of this so they didn’t even want to play with me anymore. We don’t play with midgets. Boom! Like setting off a bomb.
TEACHEEEEEER rghonhsd;kfnjdbfjbsdnb hyyun sbde b … she bit his ears off.!!!!!

My father was called and the teacher said I am a demon, he just shushed me away and told me to buy fucking ice cream – THEY ARE JUST KIDS, KIDS DO THOSE THINGS.

And you suppose to defend yourself against the bullies, you can’t just go through the life and be like that bunny of mine and just die of fear.
How can you die of fear?
How can some people be afraid of the dark?
I don’t get it. The most terrible things are happening in the light. In the broad daylight, you have such horrible things happening. But you are afraid of a dark?

The dark is beautiful. Have you noticed how in the darkness the shapes become more clear, different and everything is so obvious, the nature of things and there is some strange noise-like vibration coming out from the flowers and animals? No? Weird. That’s just weird.
You don’t see that? Aw, what a loss. I wish you can see it.
But, to see it, you should get out. With me.

I used to walk around the house when I was little and my parents were terrified of that. So I just got out. I remember my first time when I got out in the peach black. It was magical!
In dark everything is silent. You can hear miles away. The sound is so profound. Like every little movement is a piece of information. Absolutely beautiful.
I know that you think how a moonlight is romantic and beautiful, but that shit is awful.
I don’t understand how that thing is up there for so long without some natural disaster sweeping it the fuck away. It is painfully bright! You really need that!?

When we moved into a populated area I kind of missed that. Once we had some lunatic walking around and scaring children, but nothing exciting. I mean they found him half dead after he was missing for a few days, he was talking nonsense about a ghost chasing him and shit, and it is not that I was playing ghost on him but I was trying to ghost him for real, but I couldn’t catch up with the filthy bastard, he was running so fast and I really shouldn’t take that big ax. I mean, the small things are so much more practical…

So back to an original statement about pregnancy being like success. Is it? I never heard a success ends up being incurably ill and you have to live with it.

Aw, it will be better. Well, fuck you, how – her illness is incurable and my life is intolerable. How will it be better!!?? Get real! There is no better. This is hell. The last thing I had going well for me is slipping through my fingers like the sand… And why? What for?

From every angle, that statement makes no sense at all. So, why does it bothers me so much? And the more I think about that, the more I am sinking in the condition I don’t want to name.

“Aw my little children of the Thoth, fear of the dark, fear of the dark, I fear of the light…”

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I am publicly anonymous networker with fat record and rotten attitude towards any form of system slavery and similar artificial means of extortion. I also like donuts and coffee. And cats. My favorite color is pink. I hate long walks and have an extreme allergic reaction to bullshit.
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