Greetings
again, ‘tis I The B here with another installment of The B’s Hive. This
one’s called Don’t Worry B Happy? A lot of strange things have been
happening here around the Honeycomb Hideout. I flew out of my hive the other day
and realized just how messed up your human world has become. The Queen agrees
with me and she has given me full approval to carry out my wishes, as she has
given me a Luckblade (DMG pg. 165 ) to do so. I hate you people, which ones, all
of you. You whom would over populate the Earth- you suck. If you have a wife or
whatever, you should have a maximum of 2, count ‘em, two children. Any one
with 3 or more children should be forced to live in a shoe. You’re a bunch of
irresponsible fucks. This goddamn planet is too fuckin’ crowded right now and
you want to make more people? Go die! Every unwanted newborn should be airmailed
to Vatican City (where the ass is teen, and the girls aren’t pretty). So
remember that when I send out my bee minions (little onions) to demolish your
houses and erect giant shoes in their place. Resistance to this is futile (Star
Trek reference), and will result in your immediate relocation to the giant shoe
shaped penitentiary known as the Thom Mc can. Also, I hate accordion music. My
mom was born in Germany and played that infernal device when I was a kid. It
sucks! Stop it now. Unless you’re Weird Al Yankovic, playing the accordion
will result in severe death. This includes playing recorded accordion music. I
hate it; it hurts my B ears. If you like it then you will eventually be sent to
the Hell of Lawrence Welk (Chinese have a lot of Hells (Big Trouble In little
China), but the Hell of being Bruce Cheng is the worst one. I hate seafood. The
sea is where I send my poo to mingle with other people’s poo. I don’t want
to shit where I eat so I don’t eat seafood. And don’t try that oh well then
I guess you don’t eat pussy bullshit. Of course I do, I’m not Black or
Latino after all, but if you’re saying that shit tastes like tuna or some shit
then I suggest that you tell whomever’s pussy it is you’re sampling that
they should invest in some Massengil or some such shit. Fish is for filthy
Limeys, and they alone will incur Cthulhu’s wrath when he awakens. Anyway, I
went to Scotland Yard the other week. The bar not the police station in England,
but the bar is probably just as gay as the police station it’s named after.
They are both infested with pigs just not the same kind. The pigs at the police
station are just that police a.k.a. pigs. The pigs at the bar Scotland Yard are
the worthless, hopeless, masses of beer swilling, coked out, phony British
accent having (you know who you are) west valley shitbags we all know too well.
Anyway, I went to this bar after barbequing and drinking beer all day at my
friend Juan’s house. I wasn’t really planning on going there, but my friends
Will and Tony “Nutsack” were going so I figured that they needed a 3rd
asshole to round out the group. When we got there, they told me that they wanted
to go to Casey’s first. Casey’s is the bar right next to Scotland Yard, and
it’s gay as well. They play Jazz and you can’t swear in the bar or Uncle
Jessie will throw you out. I walked up to the door saying: fuck, fuck, fuck,
fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, then I told the doorman that I think that I
got all of my swearing out of myself. He said, “That’s great, but you
can’t come in.” I said, “ how come- you guys don’t let Jews in ?” I
think that shocked him and he quickly said “ No one wearing sleeveless shirts
is allowed in after 6 p.m.” I said fuck once again and proceeded over to the
Cobalt Café where my friends Mark (Shotgun Mike) and Gil work. I let Mark know
about my plight and he gave me a girl’s black velvet jacket. It almost fit so
I wore it. The label said Karen Scott, so whenever I got comments, mostly
compliments, I let people know that I was wearing Karen Scott. It was like those
douchebags at the Oscars who tell you who designed their clothes. Who cares? It
‘s not like it’s impressive to wear a certain designer’s clothes. Well
it’s not interesting to anyone whose asshole hasn’t been probed by a vein
laden meat pipe. You want to impress me with a designer’s name then that name
better be Toughskins. Anyway, I spent the entire night trying to rip the coat by
doing fat guy in little coat and Hulk Hogan to it, but this fucking coat was
stronger than a Jewess’ grip on a day old loaf of rye. I spied some hot girls
in this place so I made conversation with some of them when I went up to get my
drinks. I told them that they could borrow my Karen Scott coat if they played
their cards right. I couldn’t help it, I am a B after all and when I buzz I
fly around from flower to flower and sip the finest nectar. This got boring
quick, so I went over to Scotland Yard and left Will and Nutsack with their
ladies at Casey’s. When I get bored, it gets dangerous. I start to make
initiative rolls and attack. I can’t help it I’m a B damn it! I have to keep
moving and occupied or I start to sting people. I went over to The “Yard”
and saw that Big Dan (a.k.a. The Loan Ranger) was spinning Ruben and The Jets or
some such shit, and there was nobody for me to talk to, so again I got bored. I
went to the bar and tried to order a big bottle Newcastle, but the phony bitch
behind the bar was ignoring me. I stood up on the barstool and did my King Kong
impression, mimicking that I was knocking imaginary planes out of the air. I
still didn’t get a beer. So I yelled at the bar whore, “ Oi wench, if I
wanted to be ignored, I’d get married.” She said, “Don’t worry, you
don’t have to get married for that to happen.” This antagonized me so I
picked up the stack of coasters on the bar and started throwing them at the bar
rag, and other people as well. I plinked her in the head, and nailed some other
people too. I had decided about 10 minutes prior to this incident that I was
drunk, tired, and wanted to go home and go to sleep. I remembered that I was
able to annoy my friend Jack within’ 4 seconds of seeing him once, and so I
wanted to see how long it would take me to get thrown out of this place so I
could go home and go to sleep. It took about 5 minutes from the time I entered.
My friend Nathan is banned for life from Scotland Yard, and he said, it was the
best thing to ever happen to him. So fuck that place, I guess. I mean, I’ll
probably wander back in there eventually. I won’t lie, I have certain friends
who like going there for some reason, and I’ll probably find myself back in
there again someday. But come on, I got thrown out of there in only 5 minutes.
That’s a new personal best, if I do say so myself. I guess Paul’s right when
he says bars are gay. Bars are expensive doucheterias full of pretentious
assholes and in this case a garden variety asshole (me) too. Until the next
time, keep the Jack Daniels away from me and no one gets hurt- B
What’s
up dickfaces, Its me, your fellow droog and purveyor of American
freedom...Shotgun Mike. Lets get down to it. First of all, let's raise the roof
for Kimveer Gill- the self-proclaimed "angel of death" from Montreal
(eh?) . The black trench coat wearing, rifle brandishing, web surfing mad
man....and YOU thought the Goths weren't hardcore. Sorry "hardcore
kids", looks like the "associate" of "vampire freaks .
com" is a bit more "hardcore" than you. Come to think of it, most
of you are just posers anyway.. If this makes you upset and you start to cry,
relax, it just means you are Emo....So back to my main point (if there actually
is one..)_-- The thing that pisses me off the most is why don’t these
"columbine style" killers plan better and carry out a much higher
deathtoll? Albeit, yes, he was
Canadian, but come on, one dead and nineteen injured? I wanna see 9-11 style
body counts!!! Fuck man, Couldn't he have taken a gun course thru DeVry (don’t
they offer that one?). I wish the first guy he took out was that dilrod tapping
on the cheese grater in their lamo commercial...SO it seems to me, that Kimveer
was on a suicide mission. He should have been able to watch enough CNN, to
devise a better plan of attack. ( or he should have launched the attack on 666).
Either way, I want to see , 1- higher death tolls, 2 an attack against a police
station.....and within these rules of logic, against either 1- west valley
division or 2- southwest division. NOW PRAY WITH ME...Dear Lord, please help me
and send me a suicide bomber from Heaven to assassinate the morons in the LAPD,
if you do this for me, I will do whatever you want me to do Lord, I love you,
please help me out, thank you Lord, AMEN.......Why west valley division???,
simply, they are total fuckhedz with nothing better to do than write me a
"drinking in a vehicle" ticket. Little piggy rides up on his bicycle
with bike shorts and clear glasses and shines his light in my van. Now, I
generally despise cops, because 90% of them are total pussies, and // are
bullies who got beat up throughout high school. SO the pigmalions tell me to
step out of my ride and shakes me down. While one swine writes me up a ticket,
the other asks if he can "search" my van. I tell him (and this is word
for word)--my lawyer advised me to never let any police officer search my
vehicle at any time due to my fourth amendment rights////to all you ignorant
fucks ((most of you reading this article)) it protects you against illegal
search and seizure. ---->Now the pig tells me that " that sounds kinda
suspicious", and I tell him, "What’s that supposed to
mean"?.....he just looks at me. I know deep inside that I have outsmarted
him (ooh big accomplishment)...but I realize that most cops are not only
pussies, but they are also stupid and ignorant of the law.......oh yeah , by the
way, I fought my ticket because, you ARE allowed to drink in a
"camper" or "van conversion"/RV..... haha. sucka chucka
mutha fucka.............Next is Southwest division and Sgt Brown....haha fuck
you bitch!!!!..(long story short) ....as you all might know a am a REPO
MAN......Pork rind Brown tried to make me give back a car I had repoed, cuz some
bitch LIED and told a sob story....had the company lawyer go over his head
(within an hour) and then HIS commander called him and told him to let me go (as
I had to laugh)....thanks dick.....I got "Napoleon" (animal farm) to
look stupid in front of all his piglets!! That’s a reward within itself!!! If
you want to call him up and tell him he's a dick, here's his lapd phone
number.....(213-485-2582).feel free to post it on gay blogsites or craigslist
under "free stuff" or on a myspace bulletin...........So in any
event....whenever you see COPS on t.v, shut that bullshit off, or learn from
it...that’s right LEARN....see how most of these people TELL ON THEMSELVES and
TALK THEMSELVES into jail...fuck that shit, cuz I aint the one for some punk
motherfucker with a badge and a gun to get beaten on and thrown in jail, we can
go toe to toe in the middle of the cell.....(thanks NWA)........which leads me
to my final point of wisdom.....TELEVISION.......I know its "trendy"
to say...."I don’t watch tv" ...or "its all lies and
bullshit" and "I don’t own a t.v."/////.......yes, you lovable
cusses......it IS all bullshit...but I say.....isn't EVERYTHING.....????? A lot
of these people are the same ones who spend 12 hours a day on the Internet or
playing video games.......I had I a professor at Pierce college tell me people
are all wound up in the BS of television and that its all fairy tales and talk
of characters that don’t even exist .,,,,,,,WELL I MUST SAY......what is
reading? ,,,say Shakespeare? or Plato’s tales of Socrates...or Harry
potter.?....in short...my point is...that wasting time is ...well ,,,,wasting
time....the only redeeming factor is that ONE..is able to distinguish between
reality and fantasy and to be able to apply it to REAL life............ya know?
Don’t waste all your time reading fictitious books or watching
television.....you can learn from both as long as your bullshit meter is on
threat level RED Till next time, remember, the REAL reason people become cops is
because they are too stupid to work at McDonalds…Solidarity.
"Peace"
Did you bring your own cheese to the party? If not you’ll get none of mine. I
must tell you true believers that all is not well in the land of Gouda. The
Cheese Wizard grows weary. I am constantly beleaguered by viziers, seers,
mystics, and advisors. It doth seem that now that I have moved on up and I
finally have a piece of the pie that all wish to possess what the Cheese Wizard
ownith. I see that in your world `tis also the same. There is no peace from
those that want what you do have. "Gimmie gimmie this, Gimmie gimmie
that", sung the burnt out punk rocker on stage before he puked on the
audience. Hey! Darby `o Gill (I couldn’t help it. I love little people)
don’t you think you’ve had enough? Apparently not if you were jumping off
the Santa Monica Pier on heroine (yes kids that pier used to exist and comic
books were once 15 cents). I recently asked a friend how much money would be
enough to make you happy? The answer: $500 to $750 million. Huh? Really? I have
never had over $1,000 dollars in my pocket ever. The one time that I did I felt
like I was Big Papa Chulo. I was The king of the 99 cent store and I finally
could go on a Toys-R-Us shopping spree (a dream since I was a kid. I never got
it though, damn that Geoffrey straight to hell). But $500 million? If I can
get a video game and a double cheese from Tommys it’s been a good
day. $500 million? Well god bless capitalism (e-pluribus greedy). America,
the land of opportunity and minimum wage. Maybe I’m wrong in thinking
$500 million is too much. Do you think so? How much would make you happy? What
do you want? A piece of the action? Pieces of eight? Piece of mind (Iron Maiden
metal), Peace in the mid east? A piece of ass? Reese`s pieces? Gramolopho-bits?
Personally I think the real reason ET phoned home was to call his outta space
homies to rob Spielberg for all the money he made off of ET’s monkey ass.
Peace. What? You want the Indian to stop crying over garbage? Do you want to
prevent forest fires? No, you’d probably shoot a grizzly bear wearing a ranger
hat. He’d probably want your pik-a-nik basket anyway. Let’s face it,
nowadays we would all just laugh at a balding man from India wearing a diaper
who was fasting. Thank you...come again. Peace. Nice concept but there’s no
money in it. War is more profitable (ask General Motors). "Like oh-my-god
Hillary. I like only wear make up that is not like totally tested on
animals...as if", diplomatically stated the teen mall rat with multiple
plastic shopping bags in hand heading towards Hot Topic. Hmm...I wonder where
some of the other things this girl has bought comes from? Did no one suffer for
your shopping spree? Here’s a reality check: Pepsi and Mickie D`s are proud
sponsors of apartheid in Africa, Tobacco companies are selling candy cigarettes
to children to prepare them for adult lung cancer, and Walt Disney has been
thawed out and is now the Grand Wizard of the KKK, Orange County Chapter. All of
the post hippie dreams of "One Love" have been sold to big
corporations with profit margins and everyone wants their piece of the pie
chart. In the end you have Latino grandmas living the American dream, cleaning
white people’s houses in Agoura Hills and subversively teaching their white
children spanglish (don’t worry the bus will ship them back to Van Nuys by
5pm). Black people, well they don’t actually work, just dream from what
they’ve been sold to be a basketball player or a rapper while claiming dirty
city streets as their territory. "...And white people rule the world
at least until the Illuminati begins a de-segregation program", joked the
big shot business man: fat and sweating not two days from his
next stroke. Maybe Greedy Smurf had the right idea. Maybe the one with the
biggest piece of cake is the winner. Besides, who wouldn’t want to live in a
mushroom house with a hot babe like Smurfette next door. Just be happy with what
you’ve got or rob a bank already because you’re not holding the winning
lottery ticket but don’t think of touching my midget girlfriend...hands off
she’s mine. Learn to treasure the little things in life. Peace out from the
Wizard.
“Cell
phones and pagers, that’s what robots carry.” –Kool Keith. Yes people,
robots, or meatbots as I like to say. We now live in the age of communication,
or the age of communicative mediums. We have so many ways to communicate with
each other now. The phone, the pager, the fax machine, the cell phone, the
Internet, e-mail, not to mention letters, television, movies etc. So much, so
many ways to say things and yet I get the feeling that we’ve lost the ability
to communicate in the morass of technology that is ram-rodded down our throat on
a daily basis. I’ve done lengthy diatribes on the evils of phone technology
(issue 16 bitches) these other forms have not yet received my wrath, so here we
go. The Pager, now pretty much made obsolete by its obnoxious younger brother,
the cell phone. Pagers laid the groundwork for the ultimate tool of the devil,
the cell phone. I won’t delve into that here as it’s been done, but one
thing comes to mind I have not yet addressed: leaving messages. Now, everyone
has an answering machine at home or a cell phone that takes messages. Everyone
has the ability to receive messages and yet no one will leave them. I recall
recently on my day off my phone rang at least 6 times and no one left a message.
Each time I was unable to hear the phone in time to pick it up. I think of all
the time is wasted doing NFL, do one for the Gipper dives for the phone just so
some fucker can hang up when the machine picks it up. Everyone has a message
service, no one leaves messages. So what is point of having this technology if
no one uses it? I really hate my answering machine, my mom gave it to me, when
it breaks it will not be replaced. I’ve in frustration of lame callers, turned
it off for days at a time. These times are less stressful; I feel freed from the
constraints of useless technology. Besides, the only people that call me are
solicitors and crazy x-girlfriends, I’m not missing much. The fax machine is
mainly a business tool, and yet people want to have an excuse to fax things to
you. I own a business, people try and fax me things all the time. They just
assume that I have a fax machine. “Let me fax this to you.” They say, just
mail it or tell me. I’m on the phone (yuck) with you right now and you won’t
tell me what I need to know, you want to play with your techno-gadget. Please
quit wasting my time. On the other hand, I really enjoy writing and receiving
letters. I hold on to this antiquated communication technology as one of the
last bastions of thoughtful, purposeful ideas and their execution. It’s easy
to fire off an angry e-mail, but a letter takes time. By the time you get to the
end you may have second thoughts about what you wrote in the beginning. Letters
take time to think out and compose (unlike this zine) and putting pen to paper
is a very personal touch. Sometimes I’ll type out what I’d like to say if I
need to cram a lot of stuff in, but it’s still on that personal level that our
modern would seems to be ever shying away from. And it’s cheap. 39 cents to
send a letter anywhere in the USA, that is what I call a bargain my friend.
Consider the number of really important e-mails you’ll send divided into the
cost of your computer and I’d say the math favors the old school method. Not
to mention it gets delivered right to your door! Now that is what I call
service. Movies and television are so worthless and of such poor quality, they
hardly register anymore. They have both been around for less than a 100 years
and they are already caught in a loop of poor quality retreading of ideas and
remakes. I’ve sworn off movies
for some time now and have not had TV for around 10 years now and I must say
it’s the key to getting things done. Not that by not watching TV puts me on
some higher moral plateau; I could be spending all of this extra time collecting
severed heads in my fridge. These mediums are the ultimate time vampires (mm1,
pg 99), more than relationships, kids, pets, cancer etc. get it? I’d say TV
and movies only exist to take your eye off the prize, there is so much real life
experience out there that never finds its way on the screen. To me they say
nothing; sitting in front of some box for hours on end is tantamount to death.
Now the Internet, it’s like TV on a weeklong PCP binge. I’ve lost more
friends to the internet than car accidents, suicide, overdoses, cancer, and wars
combined. I mean lost in that they no longer interact with the outside world. I
have not seen some of these people in years; they may as well be dead. I can
only stand to be on the internet for a few minutes before I get the feeling that
death is imminent. And there is so much of it, so much “virtual” space that
it’s like standing in a huge room at the loudest party you ever been to trying
to have a conversation with a person with the most quiet mousy voice. There is
so much crap on the internet, its worse than an open mic session at the local
hippy coffee house. The internet gives everyone a voice, but is that good? Most
people should not be allowed to speak, or breed, or live for that matter. Now we
have this thing that gives everyone a platform to say what they want? How
horrible. You can’t normally get people to shut the hell up, now with the
internet they won’t shut up. “Here’s my website. Here is me in my
polyester pants suit next to my garden, and my dog, Truffles.” Do I need to
see this crap? What purpose does it serve? It feels like everyone is shouting
and no one is listening. Now the problem is people can manufacture any persona
they want on the internet, and this is exactly what people do. I have a friend;
his name is Charles G. Way (why protect his identity, he did this shit), Charlie
dated what I like to call Cyber Sluts. Charlie would meet these women on the
internet and then bring them home, my home. These people were without exception,
crazy. The phone would ring at 4 in the morning, someone looking for Charlie.
Where’s Charlie? Why the fuck are people calling me at 4 in the morning? I
don’t know where Charlie is; he’s most likely hiding from you. Why are you
even up at 4 in the morning? Why do I have to deal with this bullshit? I did not
go looking for Cyber Sluts, and yet it was my problem. Only the internet could
make this kind of insanity possible. I guess he met them on some internet dating
service. What they don’t put into their profiles is that they are totally
crazy. It’s not like there is a box you can check if you’re insane, well
there should be. This leads me to the most odious offender of phony philandering
websites: Myspace. Never has something been made that enables every phony ass
faker to network and make “friends” with each other. These “profiles”
(totally fake) read more like my Advanced Dungeons & Dragons characters
sheets when I was in the 7th grade then a real person (I still have
them by the way.). This is your chance to make yourself into this dynamic,
interesting, witty, funny, articulate person that you’re not. You suck, you
smell, if you didn’t you could go out and make friends like a human fucking
being. You list your interests, but you’re not interesting, you’re just
filling out a form because you had to put something there. You list the things
you do, but you’re too busy dicking around on Myspace to actually do anything.
Phony. Then all the dumb things people put as “bullitens” DO YOU THINK I
REALLY NEED TO KNOW WHAT 10 RECORDS YOU’D TAKE ON AN ISLAND!? IT’S A FUCKING
ISLAND YOU MORONS! I’D BE TOO BUSY TRING TO LIVE OFF YOUR JERKED FLESH THAN
WORRING IF I DIDN’T HAVE A SLAYER RECORD!!! Why do people need to waste my
time with this shit? You fucking Zombie (MM I, pg 103) shitheads! Die already!
Do I need to know what music you’re listening to? No! You’re taste in music
sucks my balls. You suck at life and you’re trying to suck the life out of me.
Fuck that, I made my saving throw, natural 20 bitches! (You had no idea what I
was talking about did you?) And the Blog (what?) help me, the emo kids have
taken over, they’re whining and bitching about everything! Do I want to hear
you bitch that your job sucks? No. Do I want to hear you cry when your pet
goldfish dies? No. Do I want to hear about how your love life sucks? No. All
your little web opinions, your feelings etc. they mean nothing you fucking turd
monkey. Die, I hate you. Did you think the internet was invented so you could
catalog your life as a heroin addict? Blog. Bloring! Go eat some worms and shut
the fuck up already, you don’t know! The pictures are the best. “Here is me
before I became a fat pig and completely went to shit.” “Here is a picture
of me with lots of light so all the pock marks on my face from doing speed
aren’t visible.” “Here’s a picture of a 54 Chevy that I tell people I
own when I really drive a Honda.” “I tell people my tattoos are 10 years
old, but I only got them last month.” And none of these pictures are the first
take mind you, they are all contrived to build one up to be something they are
not. Space People, Space People (made with a high pitched wavy voice,
accompanied with up and down hand motion with twilling fingers.) What happens
when the power goes out Space People? You’ve lost all your friends! And what
kinds of “friends” are these people anyway? Will they take you home when
you’re too drunk to drive? Or help you do the brakes on your car? No, they
won’t because they only exist as a two dimensional entity. This coming from a
grown man who still plays Dungeons & Dragons, saying it’s too much of a
departure from reality. As a gamer, I approve of fantasy (or any other gaming
genre for that matter), but a double life is not good (Lawful Good, Neutral
Good, or Chaotic Good). What a turn off. I had some lady asked me if I was on
Myspace, to talk to her on Myspace even though I was right there. She had lost
the ability to communicate. Myspace had sucked the intelligence out of her like
an Intellect Devourer (MM I, pg 54) leaving her a zombified (MM I pg 103)
version of her former self. It makes lying, duplicity, chicanery, and all around
scumyness all the more easy. Think of every job interview and resume you’ve
had and how you had to polish yourself up as best you could, now multiply that
lameness by 10, there you have the average Myspace profile. I’ll take the real
world, warts and all over that shit any day. Nuff’ Said.
Stalked
by a fat girl. Have you ever been stalked? I get stalked all the time. It
happens at least once a year for me. I meet someone, usually at school and they
either want to date me or be my friend. I don't really have any interest and
they don't seem to take a hint. By nature I tend to be really friendly when I
first meet people, this easily gets taken the wrong way by people. Let me share
an amazing story that always gets a laugh. So about a year and a half ago I was
taking a broadcasting class at the local community college. There was this
really fat girl that was black and Mexican. When I say fat, we're talking easily
two and a half bills. I started being really friendly to her because she seemed
nice. She started talking to me in class a lot and I was really polite to her.
So the class ends and I sign up for this Political Science class. To my
surprise, she's in it too. Coincidence? She starts sitting next to me and I
don't think anything of it. I just keep being nice to her. I figure since I
don't know anyone else in the class, maybe she might want to study with me.
MISTAKE. So I invite her to study with me at my place. Whenever girls see my
place, they all want to date me. I live alone in an amazing two bedroom
apartment that's decorated early 60's modern, with a four car garage, a large
patio, a fifteen minute walk to the beach and a mild ocean view. In fact,
everybody wants to live with me. You wouldn't think that I live in a place this
nice, if you met me on the street. I carry myself like dog shit. I'm usually
sporting a five o'clock shadow and a cig in my mouth. I always drive crappy cars
and I wear ugly polyester clothing. So of course she sees my place and she gets
all excited. So we study and I don't think anything of it. When six o'clock
rolls around, she needs to get home. She asks if she can get a ride and I say no
problem. I ask her where she lives, she says South Central. Western and
Manchester to be specific. I know the area pretty well, so I say it's cool. At
the time, I had Camryzoid III. For you guys that don't know, Camryzoid III was
probably one of the ugliest cars I've ever owned. It was a cream colored 87'
Camry that had Hawaiin seat covers from Costco. The front bumper was smashed in
and the front left turn signal was broken. I really needed a four cylinder car
at the time because I was driving a lot and gas was over three dollars a gallon.
I bought this heap for $600 off of Craigslist to use as a beater. So we hop into
this heap of shit and I drive her home. When I get home, my phone rings. It's
her. She wanted to see if I got home safe. I figured she was just being nice. I
was still oblivious. That day I get a friend request on myspace. It's from her,
how did she find me? Oh well, I'll accept. She seems like a nice person. So over
the next couple of weeks, I start to realize that she's leaving me tons of
comments on myspace. She commenting on my pictures, my blogs, leaving comments
on my page. Then she tells to me to have a "chillax weekend." I wanted
to vomit. Don't ever say chillax to me, or I'll punch you in the face. By this
point I was hip. It was obvious she liked me. We had one test left in the class
and I didn't know how to handle this. I really wasn't interested and I didn't
want to have anymore contact with her. I decided the best way to deal with it
was to invite her to study with me again, so her feelings wouldn't be hurt, but
invite other people from the class and refuse to drive her home. Around this
time, this is when "the gifts" started. She started giving me presents
of all sorts. I tried to refuse, but there was no stopping her. So the day
before the last test came. I had this dude from class come over to study with
us. She showed up with more gifts, which I politely refused. She insisted I take
them. Mistake. So by the time we're done studying, she asks if I can give her a
ride home. Brandon offers to because he lives in South Bay, which is on the way
to South Central. All she has to do is take the Metro bus up Manchester and
she's home in fifteen minutes. She begs me for a ride. I finally give in after a
few minutes of her pressuring me. BIG MISTAKE!!! I'm just too nice sometimes.
Brandon leaves and her and I pile back into that piece of shit Camryzoid. We
make it about five blocks, then that's when the questions start. "So, what
type of girls do you like to date?" I didn't know what to say. Then I
decided I would start with the bullshit. Fuck it. "Well, the types of girls
I like, are ones that know how to fix my car for me." Bullshit. I would
never let anyone touch any of my cars, let alone some dumb girl that doesn't
know anything about how a car works. "I know how to fix cars." "I
like a girl that will wait on me hand and foot. No matter what the time of night
is, I can call her at 3am and she'll bring me a pastrami sandwich." "I
love to wait on people!" What a coincidence, she seems to be everything I
like. Hmmm. Let's get more ridiculous. "I like a girl that can reach out
and really touch a moment. Can you reach out and touch a moment?" "I
reach out and touch every moment, you're so profound." I was trying so hard
not to laugh at this point. "I like a woman that can get down with a
toothbrush and clean the tile in my bathroom. Can you do that?" "I
love cleaning bathrooms." So I change the subject. About ten minutes later
she starts back up. "You're a guy and I was wondering if I could get your
opinion on something." "Okay. "Time for the bomb. "I have
this friend and she really likes this guy. But she doesn't know if he likes her
or not. What should she do?" "Hmmm, would her name happen to be ___
and her friend's name happen to be Jack?" PAUSE. She puts her face in her
hands. "Oh my god! How did you know?!" Gee, let me think. duh duh.
"Look, you're a really nice person, but I'm not really interested. I date a
lot of girls and I need someone that has more experience or something."
"But I do have experience." "I also need someone that lives
closer." More lies, the last girl I was dating lived 160 miles from me. So
I drop her off and give her a hug to be nice. I'm polite to her the last day of
class. The class ends and that's when the trouble starts. First the phone calls.
Then the myspace notes. I just ignore her and figure I will be polite. About a
month passes and I run into a mutual friend. This mutual friend tells me about
"the book." What is this book? The book basically consists of a
journal that the girl put together. Inside are pictures of me that she printed
off of my myspace page and poems she wrote about me. Jesus, I'm being stalked. I
told my friend to convey the message to this girl to never call me again or try
to contact me. I went home and deleted her off of my myspace friends list. I
called the phone company and had her number blocked from calling my house. You
think the story is over yet? It gets better. So one day I'm at school. I'm
talking to this guy Jason and I realize somebody is walking towards me. I look
over only to see, it's her! She couldn't take "NO" for an answer! I
look right at her. She looks at me. I yell as loud as I can.
"DITCH!!!"I take off running and run all the way across campus to the
library! I dive into the rock garden and hide behind a bush. I hid there for a
good ten minutes and thank god I never saw or heard from her again. Last I heard
she was planning on transferring to the current school I attend. Will it ever be
over? The answer is no. I saw her at my new school and yes, I ran again. I'm not
interested in being some elephant's tasty treat. I have tons of these stories
and my fan-base continually grows. What can I say?
For
five years now we’ve asked you to hate this man for no good reason. We’re
asking you to give us another five years of hate. Thanks.
Hate
Him.
