Oh, fine. Ninety percent. But no, I don't know him on a personal level. Talked to him a few times on his fucking epic hobo entry and, now, here, but otherwise am not terribly acquainted.
I wouldn't call it journal "stalking," because then that means that I'd have to be a stalker too. And fuck if I don't give that much of a shit.
Sure sure, but it goes both ways. I could've just left it, but instead I egged him on, and shit if it's not funny. If he starts calling me up and talking about how I'm running a fucking brothel or coming to the shop with his dick on the fucking window, though? Then I'll be worried.
And when he does, I know where my Killing Jay heels are.
Oh, I'm sure there's a few others that are hiding in these pages; we just don't know it yet. Besides, I'm hardly the type of person to attract creepers, Paddy. Don't have nearly right amount of charisma to count.
I might. It depends on whether I can get the heel through the kidney or not. If it's the latter, I have you on speed-dial under "MAN KILLER."
Okay, okay. I'll tell you if he sends me anything, if it'll make you sleep at night or something. I mean, me being a cause of insomnia? I shudder the thought.
Dude, that shit's messed up. But I guess if it's any consolation or whatever, I never really had any dreams. I'd...
[...] I'd just be sitting in class, bored as fuck, and I'd let my mind wander and that's when I'd find out shit. Weird as hell, too. Just. Shit, sorry. I hated it when that happened, so it's not cool.
Well, I've got pretty damn clear memories of all my lives but one, so that's not it exactly. It's like, instead of remembering shit, I'm [...] reliving it. It's fucked up.
He seems a bit of a cunt, sure, but isn't everybody in this fucking city?
[...] Besides, I'm hard-pressed to find people to exchange midget bukkake jokes with, and you know how those are my favorite.
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Everybody? Nah.
Guess it's a coping mechanism from being named Schlomo. Fuck knows that would give me a complex.
So I take it you don't actually know the loser?
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Oh, fine. Ninety percent. But no, I don't know him on a personal level. Talked to him a few times on his fucking epic hobo entry and, now, here, but otherwise am not terribly acquainted.
[...] Any reason as to why you're asking there?
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He journal salking you now?
I ask because it's cool if you pull that kind of shit with someone you know. Not so cool if it's someone you don't know.
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Sure sure, but it goes both ways. I could've just left it, but instead I egged him on, and shit if it's not funny. If he starts calling me up and talking about how I'm running a fucking brothel or coming to the shop with his dick on the fucking window, though? Then I'll be worried.
And when he does, I know where my Killing Jay heels are.
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Just didn't see him commenting on any other strangers' journals, was all.
When he does, you call me.
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Oh, I'm sure there's a few others that are hiding in these pages; we just don't know it yet. Besides, I'm hardly the type of person to attract creepers, Paddy. Don't have nearly right amount of charisma to count.
I might. It depends on whether I can get the heel through the kidney or not. If it's the latter, I have you on speed-dial under "MAN KILLER."
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After the Jack the Ripper shit? You can fucking count on it.
Feel kind of responsible for that, actually. Rose can be a cunt, but that shit's fucked up.
You have me on speed dial? Aw, I'm touched.
I may cry.
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[...] True, true. But this guy's more benign; he'd be more likely to send me a box of Summer's Eve douche and a dildo than a body part. I think.
Of course, sweetpea. Before, it was just Paddy, but I thought that drastic times called for drastic measures.
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Yeah, well you get anything from him, sweetheart and I may have to pay chuckles up there a visit.
Haven't killed anybody. Yet.
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Okay, okay. I'll tell you if he sends me anything, if it'll make you sleep at night or something. I mean, me being a cause of insomnia? I shudder the thought.
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Yeah, don't need any more reasons for insomnia right now.
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Dude, is this... Tale shit, or do I even want to know.
Sorry, though. I mean, fuck, you know I'm not just saying it, either.
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Yeah, well I've never had a shortage of reasons for losing sleep, but no, this time it's Tale shit.
Fucking flashbacks lately. Started in my dreams, but are happening at other times too.
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Dude, that shit's messed up. But I guess if it's any consolation or whatever, I never really had any dreams. I'd...
[...] I'd just be sitting in class, bored as fuck, and I'd let my mind wander and that's when I'd find out shit. Weird as hell, too. Just. Shit, sorry. I hated it when that happened, so it's not cool.
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Well, I've got pretty damn clear memories of all my lives but one, so that's not it exactly. It's like, instead of remembering shit, I'm [...] reliving it. It's fucked up.
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