yooo
I think you guys might want to read this.(I'm making another entry! I guess I'll just do it when I feel like it instead of using it as an actual journal.) Heh. It's a story I wrote and it's really short. Go ahead, you know you want to. And please don't print it out,send it to anyone,or use it, just read it. Thanks homies.
MR.BLUE HAT
I look at all these people and wonder what percentage of fake they are. Twenty percent? Fourty? Seventy-two? I've met another guy who's percentage must have been at least eighty. His voice was so ear-piercing I would have been more satisfied standing next to a deaf two year old violently scratching their nails on a chalkboard. Or maybe even getting run over by a massive, decomposing garbage truck, and have the driver realize he left one trash can full at the last house, drive backwards and run over my already torn knee caps, then put me in that same trash can they had abandoned. That would be much nicer.
He had teeth that made me wonder if he had ripped all his original teeth out of his mouth, and replaced each one with a chicklet, using tacky glue to hold it in the mold of his overly-large gums. When he smiled I felt the need to shield myself from the pain-causing light that shone in my face. He was a misplaced, over-paid angel that deserved to be locked in a glass box only big enough for him to breathe so people like me can moon them at lunchtime. And they get no lunch.
I met him at my job. He was a customer. He sucked at being a customer. And I suck at life. I work at the deli, the only deli that exists within a fourty mile radius. So I get all the jackasses and the freaks and people who belong in the circus riding smelly elephants who wish to go back to Africa and leave the hell hole they were put in, surrounded by people who can balance and wear bright colors and too many stripes. But I don't really mind them. I mind the fake people. The people who put on a fake smile, and a fake laugh, and a fake kindness, and fake everything. They might as well run around town with a huge-lettered sticker on their back (or front, I don't give a crap) that says "This isn't the real me, so don't give me any attention."
His name is Bob. I hate the name Bob.
I don't like the human race. I haven't liked them since my little brother got run over by a truck. The driver didn't even stop to get out of the car. I was ten, he was five. He's still alive but he can't walk. I hate his wheelchair. Every time I see the wheelchair my mind does this weird thing that I can't describe...and I hear the screaming...whatever. I don't want to talk about it.
You know those red flowers everyone loves? Roses? Those pretty little things people give to others to make them feel good? I think they should die. All of them. If I had the chance I would exterminate all roses till there wasn't a single seed left. Flowers. Who ever thought of flowers as being a decoration? They are so incredibly boring and the least bit complicated. Ohhh look at me I'm a flower, I have five petals and as long as I have sunlight and water you can watch me be pretty. I hate beauty. There is no use for it at all. It only makes things that aren't beautiful seem inferior to things that are.
I met my match today. A person who made me look at something twice. No one on earth has ever made me look or think about anything twice. I've got a real hard head. I was in the deli, cause that's what I do, and a little boy came into the store alone. He looked like seven or something. He had a blue hat on backwards and shoes that squeaked and it kinda pissed me off. He came in with his chest out like he was superman. Maybe he liked comics. He came over to me and said, "Excuse me, how old are you?"
And I said, "I'm thirty two, why?"
And he said, "Because I was wondering if you're old enough to answer my question."
I didn't know what the hell he was talking about so I said, "What question?"
The little kid said, "Well I wanted to know why people die."
"Because that's what happens. Now go away if you're not gonna buy anything."
"Well I might buy something. It depends on the answer."
I was about to tell him to go find some other tired person to bother or else I'm gonna shove my foot in your mouth, but then he talked again. Freaken little kid.
"Can you please tell me why people die?"
"They die because they have nothing else to live for."
"What happens when they die and they still wanna live a lot?"
"Then they got screwed over. Their life is over and it sucks for them."
"So they don't get another chance?"
"No." This kid was really way too close. He kept walking closer to my counter.
"Oh. Okay. Thanks sir."
"So you gonna buy anything?"
"Well I was going to get a heart. But I don't think you sell them here. And you said there are no second chances." He walked towards the door but then I felt bad.
"I don't get you, kid. Listen, people don't sell hearts, okay? I've got a lollipop if you want one."
"Okay, thanks sir. I like the orange ones."
"I got a blue. Here, catch." I threw the lollipop to the kid and he took off his blue hat and held it out to catch it. He didn't have any hair. He got the lollipop and put it back on.
"Thanks. My best friend loves blue ones." He left and something clicked in my head. He was bald. He wanted a new heart. The heart was for him. He was sick. And I pretty much told him that he wouldn't live. I'm the best. I am. I hate myself. Why didn't he take his hat off earlier? Why.
I went to visit my brother at the end of the day. He was sitting in his wheelchair and smiling. He was playing catch with my mom. I looked at his wheelchair and I wasn't mad. I needed a heart to give to the annoying kid. I liked him. I think if I die too early I want my heart to go to him. I'm not even sure if a heart is what he needs, but if that's what he wants, I'd like to give him one.
MR.BLUE HAT
I look at all these people and wonder what percentage of fake they are. Twenty percent? Fourty? Seventy-two? I've met another guy who's percentage must have been at least eighty. His voice was so ear-piercing I would have been more satisfied standing next to a deaf two year old violently scratching their nails on a chalkboard. Or maybe even getting run over by a massive, decomposing garbage truck, and have the driver realize he left one trash can full at the last house, drive backwards and run over my already torn knee caps, then put me in that same trash can they had abandoned. That would be much nicer.
He had teeth that made me wonder if he had ripped all his original teeth out of his mouth, and replaced each one with a chicklet, using tacky glue to hold it in the mold of his overly-large gums. When he smiled I felt the need to shield myself from the pain-causing light that shone in my face. He was a misplaced, over-paid angel that deserved to be locked in a glass box only big enough for him to breathe so people like me can moon them at lunchtime. And they get no lunch.
I met him at my job. He was a customer. He sucked at being a customer. And I suck at life. I work at the deli, the only deli that exists within a fourty mile radius. So I get all the jackasses and the freaks and people who belong in the circus riding smelly elephants who wish to go back to Africa and leave the hell hole they were put in, surrounded by people who can balance and wear bright colors and too many stripes. But I don't really mind them. I mind the fake people. The people who put on a fake smile, and a fake laugh, and a fake kindness, and fake everything. They might as well run around town with a huge-lettered sticker on their back (or front, I don't give a crap) that says "This isn't the real me, so don't give me any attention."
His name is Bob. I hate the name Bob.
I don't like the human race. I haven't liked them since my little brother got run over by a truck. The driver didn't even stop to get out of the car. I was ten, he was five. He's still alive but he can't walk. I hate his wheelchair. Every time I see the wheelchair my mind does this weird thing that I can't describe...and I hear the screaming...whatever. I don't want to talk about it.
You know those red flowers everyone loves? Roses? Those pretty little things people give to others to make them feel good? I think they should die. All of them. If I had the chance I would exterminate all roses till there wasn't a single seed left. Flowers. Who ever thought of flowers as being a decoration? They are so incredibly boring and the least bit complicated. Ohhh look at me I'm a flower, I have five petals and as long as I have sunlight and water you can watch me be pretty. I hate beauty. There is no use for it at all. It only makes things that aren't beautiful seem inferior to things that are.
I met my match today. A person who made me look at something twice. No one on earth has ever made me look or think about anything twice. I've got a real hard head. I was in the deli, cause that's what I do, and a little boy came into the store alone. He looked like seven or something. He had a blue hat on backwards and shoes that squeaked and it kinda pissed me off. He came in with his chest out like he was superman. Maybe he liked comics. He came over to me and said, "Excuse me, how old are you?"
And I said, "I'm thirty two, why?"
And he said, "Because I was wondering if you're old enough to answer my question."
I didn't know what the hell he was talking about so I said, "What question?"
The little kid said, "Well I wanted to know why people die."
"Because that's what happens. Now go away if you're not gonna buy anything."
"Well I might buy something. It depends on the answer."
I was about to tell him to go find some other tired person to bother or else I'm gonna shove my foot in your mouth, but then he talked again. Freaken little kid.
"Can you please tell me why people die?"
"They die because they have nothing else to live for."
"What happens when they die and they still wanna live a lot?"
"Then they got screwed over. Their life is over and it sucks for them."
"So they don't get another chance?"
"No." This kid was really way too close. He kept walking closer to my counter.
"Oh. Okay. Thanks sir."
"So you gonna buy anything?"
"Well I was going to get a heart. But I don't think you sell them here. And you said there are no second chances." He walked towards the door but then I felt bad.
"I don't get you, kid. Listen, people don't sell hearts, okay? I've got a lollipop if you want one."
"Okay, thanks sir. I like the orange ones."
"I got a blue. Here, catch." I threw the lollipop to the kid and he took off his blue hat and held it out to catch it. He didn't have any hair. He got the lollipop and put it back on.
"Thanks. My best friend loves blue ones." He left and something clicked in my head. He was bald. He wanted a new heart. The heart was for him. He was sick. And I pretty much told him that he wouldn't live. I'm the best. I am. I hate myself. Why didn't he take his hat off earlier? Why.
I went to visit my brother at the end of the day. He was sitting in his wheelchair and smiling. He was playing catch with my mom. I looked at his wheelchair and I wasn't mad. I needed a heart to give to the annoying kid. I liked him. I think if I die too early I want my heart to go to him. I'm not even sure if a heart is what he needs, but if that's what he wants, I'd like to give him one.