When I was ten or eleven, I had what those bleeding-heart quack brain-doctor types would call “anger issues”. My Dad was an overgrown teenager, my Mom was a stressed-out single parent, and I spent a few years feeling as if nothing was stable and permanent and everything in the world was about to fall down around my ears. School sucked, too. It was boring, and I had trouble making friends because I couldn’t relate to my peers. The attempts I made at relating were so botched and contrarian that my teachers were convinced that I was willfully alienating other people out of malice, which is a pretty stupid motive to attribute to a fifth grader, but maybe that’s just a testament to how much I baffled them.
Then, I got stuck taking German classes after school. I hated them. The women teaching the class were mean and nobody liked me any better in those classes than in my regular ones. One day, it all came to a head. I saw a cherubic girl with light blonde hair and biiiiig blue eyes. I said something that was probably horrible and terrifying to her by way of breaking the ice, and when I didn’t like her answer, I pushed her into a bunch of chairs.
This began an epic friendship, a tearjerking, long, and loyal friendship that recalled Gilgamesh and Enkidu. Name a fictional friendship and we played it out at some point. She would “be my deputy” anytime. After being glued together through High School, I moved away and she embarked on getting her fill of book learning and edu-ma-cation. I would visit her whenever I went back to my hometown, but other than that, we didn’t talk much.
Yesterday, she sent me this delightful e-mail.
Isn’t that funny about the death ray thing? She’s not even a Doper, I swear.
Anyway, in conclusion: she didn’t have my e-mail address before apparently. Now she does. And oh, the wicked ends to which this knowledge has been put.
I can’t decide which is funnier, her casual aside about being a cyborg, or characterizing herself as a “sexy menace” (all the best people are, don’tcha know).
At restaurants, she will pull out a pen and write the URL for websites she thinks everyone should visit, like Homestar Runner, on sugar packets. Then she puts them back.
Cute - in a stalker-kind-of-way…keeping in the spirit of things, I think the eventual restraining order should be printed on pink paper and folded into an intricate origami when the nice Marshall delivers it to her.
You do know she’s perfectly serious about this. She’s just been biding her time since the
incident. All these years she’s been pumping up her cyborg side and whittling away her
side. Be very afraid!!
On a more cheerful note, when she succeeds with her nefarious plan (and we know it’s nefarious because she spelled it out in great detail in advance like all evil cyborglords do), rest assured that we will have a pity party for you right here at the dope and reminisce mournfully about your demise. Lots of crocodile tears, chocolate and of course pie. Followed by lots of posts blaming you, the victim, for not taking steps to prevent it in the first place, after all she did warn you, ya know. :dubious:
The party will probably start in MPSIMS but quickly devolve into a Pitting of you, Peachy Pits, and half the original thread participants, as well as commentary by all the other usual suspects who turn up in the pit. I’m guestimating 7 pages at least.
OMG. Can I pleaaaaase have permission to reprint? When you talk to her, I mean? I’ve got people to use this on if I can. Pleaaaase?
What? I have no creativity of my own! I’ve learned to live vicariously, and if that doesn’t work, through outright theft!
if you don’t marry this girl I’ll kill you for letting such an awesome female get away from you. And then push her in to a bunch of chairs and hope I get similar results as you.
