Thursday, December 31, 2009

Bring in the New Year Drunk.... Damn!

Well, it looks like I'll be bringing in this new year drunk. I haven't done that in quite some time. Anyway not this drunk. At least I'm at home, so the worst that can happen is I puke on the keyboard. yuck! ... tasted a little party throwing up in my mouth when I thought about that. Puke is such a nasty thing.

Hope everyone has a happy and safe new year!

Be always at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and in the new year find you have become a better person.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Worst Christmas Ever?

For the past thirty minutes I’ve been reading about some of the odd, horrible, what were they thinking kind of gifts that people receive at Christmas time. Though I did read a few really bad stories, like the guy who gave his wife 5 quarts of motor oil and an oil filter so she could change the oil on her car, I think some of my previous gifts have been a little worse. Still, there were several funny ones, like the lady who received the turbo tax program from her husband, so she could file their tax return. There was also the young couple who recently moved into a new house, and received wrapped toilet paper, paper towels, and bottles of cleaning supplies as a gift because the Aunt thought they could use the stuff for their new place. The funniest, and yet sad, was a lady who received a giant bag of used left over bath products.

I’ve been known to give previous owned presents, like the year I gave a friend a rose candle that I had sitting around my house for a couple years and never used. Problems was I had forgotten at the time that she had given me the candle a few years earlier. Ooopps. I will also give gifts that I have picked up at a discount, or second hand resale shop, and even items from garages sales, if they are what I consider nice. It’s not that I’m cheap, but when you have a large family, it starts quickly adding up to a lot of money.

I think I do a better job than some of my family. They are horrible giftters, but I take the gift with a smile and a big thank you regardless. I just still haven’t decided what to do with the 100 plus small packages of condiments, from various drive-thru restaurants, that I received from one member of my family last year. If you’re not working I understand, but don’t decided to horde condiment packages to give as a gift, just go ahead and keep those for yourself.

One of my other gifts last year include a really ugly sleigh with a woman driving. It was filled with peppermint candy, which was a nice thought, if it hadn’t been chewed on by a mouse. On top you could clearly see where a mouse had sat and chewed on several pieces of the candy. When I pointed out that she must have a mouse, she looked at me and seriously said, “It’ll be okay. Just take the candy on top off, the rest is still good.” The whole thing was placed securely into the trash the second I got home.

Previous years weren’t much better, so when we got together at Thanksgiving, I convinced everyone to make up just one basket of items, priced from 10 to 20 dollars. Then when we get together on Christmas eve, we would draw a number, or whatever, and that would be the basket you received. My odds of receiving a nice gift this year feel a little better. At least I won’t be carrying home 20 pounds of previously frozen deer meat that needs to be cooked up quickly so it doesn’t go to waste...the day before Christmas.

The dreadful day draws near... Lol. I’m just waiting to hear about all the latest drama. My sister-in-law called me earlier tonight and briefed me on a few details of the next Jerry Springer Actually I think the craziness that goes on out there, might be a little to far out even for Jerry.

Brief run down. My half-sister J, who is really by blood my cousin, is living with a guy named C. C used to be married to my younger sister S, and had a boy J and a girl C. Now J, my nephew, calls my half-sister J, Auntiemom.

After my younger sister S broke up with C for sleeping with J, she married another guy that was almost 25 years older than her and who had 6 other kids. They all moved in together, but he was a alcoholic with a former war history, which exposed my niece and nephew to some crazy months. She divorced him and married another guy, and divorced him within a year. My niece C, freaked out about the whole thing and started cutting herself to relive the stress. She then quit school at 14 years old, and started smoking. My nephew J also dropped out of school at age 13, and began drinking and smoking.

Four years have now passed and my younger sister S is now living with a guy T who is half her age. He has two children, 7 and 9 years old. And together S and T had 2 boys, one now 2 ½ and the other is 1½ years old. The new guy T doesn’t work, and neither does my sister, so the fighting is ‘normal’. The relationship has to fail soon.

Now in the other corner, we have my sister-in-law A that called today. She recently lost custody of her daughter to another family member who felt A wasn’t taking care of her daughter in the way she thought it should be done. Mostly it was because A doesn’t work, and she is married to my brother F, who doesn’t work either, so they are living in my brothers old burnt out trailer house that sits on the property next to my sisters house. That’s just not a safe environment to raise a child.

Recently the two parties came in contact with each other and a fight quickly ensued to who was the worst parent. A gets pissed off enough that she goes back to her tailor house and grabs a gun. She threatens to shoot S and proceeds to shoot the tires on her truck.

My family lives way out in the country, so there isn’t anyone else around her several miles, but the echoing sound of the gun firing bought everyone out of the house. My brother F sees what A is doing and runs after her, tackling her to the ground and begins fighting her for the weapon. Eventually he takes the gun away from her and they all go back inside. They should be thankful they live where they do, because if they were around here, someone would have went to jail.

That’s where my half-sister J comes back into the picture. J used to be in law enforcement, but couldn’t handle the ‘bullshit’, as she has said many times. The next day, she threatens to have A arrested, and says she knows people. C then jumps into the picture and tells, J she needs to mind her own business. To which S then tells C he needs to mind his own business. Fighting then starts between C and T. Everyone threatens to kill one another and bury the body out back where no one would find them. Things finally calm down when my two young nephews start crying.

Well, that’s the run down on my family until Christmas eve. I just hope someone doesn’t decide to go on a killing spree while I’m out there and make this year the worst Christmas ever.

Hope you have a wonderful Christmas! Stay Safe! Stay Warm!

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Running Through Life Sideways

Well...the ride is slowing down...just as long as it doesn't come to a complete stop.. I'll be alright.

Wednesday, December 09, 2009

Playing Tag with Satan

Today I fucking love being bi-polar!

All the flowers are gone, so I won't be going out at 3am to pick some strangers flowers, it's too damn cold outside. I'm going to stay in my house and drive myself nuts obsessing over making sure everything is just right for Christmas... Thank you Santa for giving me what I ask for.

Let's put some music on and get some shit done!
Give a new meaning to ho ho ho!
List me as naughty twice.

Sunday, December 06, 2009

Final Ending

She sat alone in front of the computer, trying to talk herself out of the latest thoughts that were consuming her mind. But she realized there was no hope. No matter where else she tried to take her mind, it ultimately led her back to the only option she felt remained. She would have to die for what she did.

She silently scanned through all the family photos, stopping occasionally to recall fond memories of past Christmas get-togethers. Tears rolled down her pale face as she revisited her favorite photos from the past 20 years. To calm herself, she reached for the bottle of Tequila and poured the last shot into her glass. With one swift motion, she threw the liquid down the back of her throat and swallowed the last of the intoxicating brew.

She wiped away one last tear as she stood up to throw the bottle away. Immediately she felt the effects of the alcohol as dizziness overtook her mind. She tried to shake off the feeling, but she knew death was lurking around, waiting to lead her off into the afterworld where she would finally find peace. In the back of her mind a tiny little voice began talking in rhyme.

No one will see
When the last breath leaves me.

She stood silently listening to the voice, swaying back and forth on unsteady legs. It was almost midnight, and she had already cleaned everything, put things into their proper place; it was now just a waiting game. On the computer she had already written her last words.

To Whom Every Reads This

I won’t be alive when you read this because I’ve set this blog to not post until 2am, and by that time my life will be over. I just wanted to post this so I could say goodbye to everyone, and to tell a few last secrets before I go.

First of all I must confess that my father’s death was not due to a medical condition. I tainted his medication in a way that it caused his death. I’m fairly sure I got away with doing what I did, but there are still days when I feel like I’m still running away from what did so many years ago.

Committing murder is scary even after years have passed, you always wonder if the police are going to discover the real truth. Still, I know I did the right thing. He deserved what he got. He was not a good man, and he couldn’t be allowed to continue doing to others, what he had done to me.

To Trooper Mike
You finished smashing any remaining hope I had. You took that last spark I had, and once that was gone, there was no more fire inside me. I felt dead. If I could go back in time, I would burn your flesh until it turned to ash. Instead, I turned the anger inward on myself, inflicting open wounds on my body. I can’t do this any more.

Now, this must end,
There are no more undamaged areas on my skin.

I can no longer take what all this, and more, has done to my mind. I’m tried of trying to make the voices in my head stop arguing. I just want quiet. People say I’ll go to hell for what I’ve done, and what I’m about to do, but I believe I’ve already been living there for years.

To Law Enforcement
First, I’m sorry for all the trouble I’m about to cause you, but it couldn’t be helped. What I did had to be done. I won’t go into the long explanations of why I did what I did, but just to say I had my reasons. Next, in the backyard there are several graves with bodies of those around me that I killed. I buried my family and those damn fucking dogs that they loved so much. I also killed my neighbor and her dog, mostly because they just got on my nerves. After that you need to go to my sisters, brothers, and my mom’s house. I didn’t bury their bodies, so you might want to get to them before they start making a bad smell.

There’s no one left to grieve over my death, I didn’t want anyone to worry about feeling like they were being left behind. I killed anyone who might have cared.

At 1am tonight, I shall die like all the others. Maybe we will reunited in the afterlife and discuss the option I took. See you all in hell.


She looked at the last few words, “See you all in hell.” Anger consumed her body, and out of frustration, she began repeatedly hitting the wall. She began screaming and picked up the empty bottle of Tequila and threw it against the wall. Pieces of glass shattered everywhere, some bounced back and cut her face and hands. More landed at her bare feet, and when she stepped forward, shards of glass penetrated the soft flesh of her foot.

She picked up another half empty bottle of liquor and began pouring the liquid down her throat. It burned like gasoline going down her windpipe, but she didn’t stop until the bottle was empty. She stumbled as she threw it against the wall, shattering it into a hundred pieces.

The voices returned and began shouting that it was time to leave. She slowly made her way to the front door and unlocked it, so that it would be easier for law enforcement or medical personal to get inside, then she drunkenly staggered back in front of her computer.

The time was 12:34, leaving her less than thirty minutes before the time she had chosen for her death. She smiled as she looked around the room. It was spotless, other than the trail of bloody footprints and broken glass. One of her many voices wanted to clean the mess up right way, but there was no time left.

She picked up a lighter and lit a candle, then a joint. As the smoked rolled passed her nose, she watched the flickering flame of the candle dance in the darkened room. The alcohol, the full bottle of pain medication, and now the joint, sent her mind into another place, and she just laughed at the thought of finally having power over those who have only cause her pain throughout her life.

This was it. She put on her favorite late night slow music, and waited for the darkness to surround her body and take her to another world. As the police drove past her window one last time, she smiled and closed her eyes knowing she would no longer have to deal with psycho thoughts.

December 21, 2012

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Psycho Thoughts

Am I wrong for thinking about wanting to kill with my bare hands? Or enjoying the sensation of squeezing the life from what disgust me the most?

I’ve been thinking about this for a long time now, but I never wanted to say anything mostly because it involves a good friend. Several years ago this person gave my son a puppy, and I agreed to let him keep it, even though inside one of my many voices loath dogs. Over time I was able to build a privacy fence and put him in the backyard so he could run freely, and stay out from under my feet.

My son thought our dog was lonely being outside all day, so about a year later, we got another dog. This time a female. Within a year, I had puppies to deal with. My good friend/neighbor fell in love with one of the puppies and took a beautiful brown female to her house next door.

A couple years passed, and my dogs do what most outside dogs do... They try to escape. I began a daily ritual of inspecting the fence for new holes that my dog, or my good friends dog would make in our connecting fence. Still, no matter how hard I tried they somehow managed to occasionally escape.

It became really bad when her dog came in heat, and she would leave her dog in the backyard all day. The dogs destroyed the fence trying to get to each other. It didn’t bother them at all that he was her father. That’s just what dogs do.

Sixty one days later, her dog was having the incest puppies outside on the ground. I came over to help my neighbor out, since neither her or her dog knew what to do. I had to pick up the puppies, still enclosed in the birth sack, break it open, clear the fluids from their noses, and then stimulate them until they began to breath on their own.

I helped out my neighbor because she’s my friend, but in the back of my mind a part of me wanted to do what my father did to unwanted puppies.... Smash them all in the head. Out of six puppies, four lived... the two were stillborn.

The puppies are now almost 6 weeks old, and all though they are cute and healthy, I can’t get past the fact that the mom and the puppies have the same father. It makes me want to vomit every time I see them. I don’t know how to get past this other than just not seeing them and hope my friend quickly gets rid of them.

I’ve read that most women serial killers, kill by using poisons. I’ll admit that I have used this method to dispose of a few unwanted things in my life, but so far no people. (One of my voices giggled when I wrote that and whispered... "I’m not going to tell you what those things are because I’m not fucking going to jail"). For me, I think If I were to kill someone, it would probably be a pedophile or someone who commits incest, and then I wouldn‘t poison them. Instead, I would inflict painful injuries to their body until they slowly bled to death or died from trauma to the head and genitals.

I struggle with thoughts like this, sometimes for days at a time. Different people that I have talked to over the years, tell me I need to move on with my life and stop thinking so much about the things that occurred in my past. That’s not easy, when good friends have friends that are registered pedophiles, they live on your block, shop in the same stores, you hear on TV or online about the horrible crimes they committed against children or their own children, you see them with other children, and I know in the back of mind what is going on. It breaks my heart, and sends me flying back in time.

The same thing happens every time I see my friends puppies. It’s like a sharp slap to my face, telling me no matter what I do, I can’t stop it from happening. That’s what hurts the most, knowing I can’t do a damn thing. It gives me that helpless feeling, and that in turn makes me angry.

I beginning to think that maybe poisoning something’s in life might not be a bad idea, if it were to give me back some of that helpless feeling that was taking away from me. The only thing that keeps me from doing anything psycho, is one of those voices in the back of my head, that is floating down a river on a inner tube, doesn’t want to come out the water, and that is the one who that carries out all my insanely psycho thoughts.


I’m thinking about going on a violent killing spree,
Taking out those who have caused me only misery.

But maybe I’ll just shoot them in the knee,
Leaving an open weeping wound for all to see.

Let them go on struggling to forget every day,
Only to have the haunting memory never fade away.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Just Breathe

The other night I sat alone at one of the parks and watched the local pd as I debated on laying open my flesh. As I held the blade tightly between my fingers, I flashed back to what it was like the last time a had to have stitches in my arm. I have cut since then, but only small rips at my skin that needed little or no attention. These wounds are minor compared to the normal 7 stitches that it takes to close one of my usual ‘accidents’.

I knew the officers that were on duty, and of course they all know me, so I really didn’t want to get caught doing something that is believed to only occur in teenagers, not to women over 40. After all these years of cutting, I still sometimes can not stop myself from inflicting pain to my body, but if I put myself in the right position, I will write instead. That was what I decided to do this time, write about what it was like the last time I cut myself deep.

This story mixes a little reality, with a bit of fiction.


I’m standing outside a heavy steel metal door, with only a small thick glass window that looks into a tiny five foot by twelve foot room. I focus in on a dimly lit image standing towards the back of the room near a metal toilet with a sink attached on the back. I press my face closer and open my eyes wide trying to make the image more defined. I can tell that it is a person, and I think I recognize them, but I can’t seem to remember.

She is tall and a rather large woman with dirty blonde hair, and she is wearing a blue tee-shirt. She has her back to me, but I can make out that she is doing something with her arm.

I wipe a tear from my eye, blinking several times until I’m able to focus more clearly.

The woman is standing near the toilet with her arm leaning over a metal sink. She holds something shiny in her right hand. Something sharp. I wonder what she is doing? As she turns partly sideways I can see her left arm covered in fresh red blood. It is dropping steadily into the sink, splashing the sides until the blood flows down like spilled paint. Blood covers the razor sharp cutting edge of the blade that she holds tightly in her shaking right hand.

As the blood slows, she makes another slice deeper into the wound, filling it with fresh blood. It begins to drain down her arm, making a big mess, splattering onto the floor. She uses toilet paper from the back of the sink to wipe up the large droplets of blood from the floor. She uses more to slow the heavy flow of blood dripping down to her elbow.

I stand there, mesmerized by her actions, when without warning an almost familiar force grabs me around my throat and like a tornado, it sucks my dead mind through the tiny window. I now stand side by side the woman with the blood soaked arm, watching her lean over the sink to avoid making a mess for others to clean. In her eyes, I see the shame and disgust at what she has done.

I reach out to grab her arm, to let her know she doesn’t have to continue cutting. The wound is deep enough. As our eyes meet, I see the deep pain, I understand, but now we have to get help. Our hands touch and slowly mix together, until we become one.

I am now her. I am in control. I look down at the bloody blade that she held so tightly in her right hand, and my eyes open wide as I look at the open oozing new wound. My eyes stare widely at the steadily dripping blood, and I realize it is my arm that is bleeding heavily into the cold steel metal sink.

“Oh shit!” my voice trembles and my right hand shakes with the bloody blade. My whole body flushes with a surge of adrenaline and I begin to awaken. “Fuck! Who cut my damn arm? Why? Why do you do this?”

A voice from far away whispers, ‘She did it. She’s always the one who cuts.’ I hear the voice of the others arguing, fighting. They are the voices that feel like they don’t belong to me.

I cautiously sit the sharp blade on the back of the sink as a rush of sadness consumes my brain, squeezing it until tears swell from my eyes. It blurs my vision until I squeeze my eyes tightly and let the tears cascade down my cheeks. I quickly wipe them away, and then use the remaining toilet paper to wipe up the blood that has once again dripped onto the floor.

I think maybe I can hide the wound, but it won’t stop bleeding. I need more tissue. The weeping voice inside me is hurt. The others fight about who’s fault it really is, and why one of them doesn’t step forward before she cuts.

With a sudden tear-jerking jolting shock, I realize where I am, and that I’ve got to stop the bleeding. I turn on the water and wash the blood from the open wound, letting the water stain a light rose color. The bleeding only becomes worse as the cool water stings the open wound. I carefully inspect the laceration that shows the fatty tissue underneath. There is no pain, just a slight stinging sensation, but the blood continues to pour from the wound.

I realize I will have to go to the emergency room, but I hate going to the ER. It’s always embarrassing trying to explain that I ‘accidentally’ cut myself, but this time others will be with me. I can not use that excuse. Along with all the stares, there is always at least one person who will make me feel even less of a human than I already do. They know what happened, but they don’t want to do all the paperwork that comes with committing someone for cutting themselves, so they won't say anything.
Maybe I should just cut a little deeper, and then lay down and go to sleep. A part of me struggles with what to do.

“Fuck!” I shout loud enough to vibrate off the walls. Nobody has this many accidents on their arm. Nobody. My arm is a battlefield, and each scar tells a separate story, many of which I would rather forget. Worse my mind questions, how do I explain this to those closest around me? How am I once again going to hide the wound?

Blood drains down my arm to the floor. A voice inside me is urging with me to get someone’s attention. ‘You need help’ a tiny voice whispers from somewhere far away. I shake my head in shame, and ponder how does one ask for help when they are locked up alone behind a solid steel door? Sadness gathers deep in my chest and I try to swallow.

I hear heavy footsteps coming. A voice steps forward, she’s the one who always has to have everything neat and tidy. She just wants more tissue so there won’t be a mess. A young man looks though the small thick glass window and sees what she has done.

I sit down on the small cot and take a deep breath. I know within only a few moments others will come. Later I will feel the familiar calmness that overtakes my entire body after I cut. It is that calmness that we seek. Afterwards we will sleep long and hard. Our mind will rest peacefully. But even as I do sleep soundly, one of us knows it hasn’t been a good day.

They know the hard part will come later, when I have to hide the latest cut from those I don’t want to know. I question myself if it was worth the few hours of feeling euphoric while I sat next to the officer baby sitting me as the they put seven stitches into my left arm to close the deep laceration. Maybe the next day will be a better day. This I know, she will not have to cut again for a few months.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

When We Forget the Past, We Are Dommed to Repeat It

Gritting my teeth.... If I didn’t I would probably bite someone’s head off.

I’ve been in this ‘pissed off at the world’ kind of mood for several days now, and I feel an overwhelming need to get away from everybody and everything. Even if it’s just a few yards, I need some sort of distance. I’ve been extremely edgy, yelling about the things that are not in their place, about how unclean everything is around me, just yelling about everyday stressful things that take place.

When I get like this, I have to write. I do most of my writing at home on my computer, or in my bedroom in one of the various notebooks where I keep most of my more serious thoughts. But every now and then, I escape to one of the local parks. Mostly because I enjoy the feeling of being around the trees, smelling the fresh air, and being able to feel alone with my thoughts for a little while.

There is one park that I mostly tend to lurk around, which is fine during the daytime, but at night this causes a problem with local law enforcement. So, again I started studying/stalking them a little recently to discover a pattern in their activities. This then allows me to spend my time relaxing in my own way at the park during the times I feel the need. It has worked several times without a problem, but every now and then I lose myself into some deep thoughts when writing and get caught. Luckily Officer R was in a good mood this time and let me off with a polite warning. Thanks.

Being bi-polar is very rough. It can lead you down roads you normally would be to frightened to travel, and you find yourself doing things that later leave you wondering what the fuck you were thinking. Such as thinking about cutting myself deep enough to need stitches. But I don’t want anyone to find out, so instead I’ve been inflicting small injuries where others can’t see, or won’t really question what happened. It was just something to shock my mind out of feeling unpredictable, and to slow the racing thoughts. Sometimes that is not enough. Here is where the police come into the picture.

Where I sit at the park, I can see where they are in the distance. I‘ve even done this at other parks in different towns. When I get to the level where I want to do extreme cutting, I go park where they are within a short distance. ( Q-Trip is sometimes a good place to park:) ) Then instead of cutting, I write. From past experiences I know if law enforcement were to view my ‘accident’ they might try to lock me up somewhere. Locking me up actually makes things worse, because the moment I’m left alone, I will cut myself deep. It’s like a part of me says it’s okay now to cut, because if you cut too deep someone will be there to help you. Later is when it messes with my mind.

I’m still finishing up the rest of my thoughts that I wrote the other night, so I’ll post it a little later.

Friday, November 06, 2009

Frolicking Around in the Land of Oz

----Warning Adult Material----

The people in this town think I’m nuts,
they just don't know how right they are.

People around me, give me my inspiration. Thanks for the story. No harmful intent is meant to anyone, this is just for simple pleasure. This story draws characters from real life, however the story itself is 100% fictional. This is the world of fantasy and fiction where the hidden corners of the psyche may be explored.

Years ago I lost the ability to catch the type of fish I was after, so I devised a plan that involved using a different type of worm. That was where my neighbor became involved... she became my bait. She is young, pretty, thin, and has child-like qualities that my type of prey tend to desire. All I had to do was stick the hook down her throat and she would unknowingly help me vanquish my enemies. I no longer had to chase my prey, she would bring them to the surface for me and reveal their hiding locations. Then I could rob them of their wealth, or force them to perform sexual acts of humiliation.

Frolicking Around in the Land of Oz

Jay was in for what he thought was going to be a lousy weekend. Normally he spent his weekends patrolling the streets, preventing crime by spending most of his shift driving up and down well known streets. But for this weekend, he had agreed to change shifts with another officer who needed Wednesday and Thursday nights off to attend a meeting out of town.

He sat home alone, thinking about the different women he attracted just because of his uniform. Even though some of the encounters were frightening, it didn’t stop him from enjoying the job he loved. Occasionally he would spend his night shift posted at the local Q-Trip store watching the young girls come and go, flirting only with the ones who possessed young flirty girl-like qualities.

Officer Jay sat in the darkened room, smiling, thinking about a girl he had flirted with many times, when he was suddenly startled by a noise coming from his bedroom. Jay quickly rose, heart beating rapidly in his chest, took a deep breath and picked up his weapon from the coffee table. He heard footsteps coming his direction, so he quietly stepped behind a door going into the living room and waited on the intruder.

Jay was somewhat shocked when the intruder began walking into the living room. As the person came closer, he was surprised to see it was one of the girls he had flirted with at Q-Trip. She was dressed in low cut, tight fitting shirt and snug fitting jeans. He couldn’t help being turned on as he watched her stroll across the floor towards the kitchen, but then his officer training took effect and Jay stepped from the darkened corner.

“Put your hands where I can see them!” Jay shouted from the darkness.

All four foot, nine inches of Jennile froze.

“What are you doing in here?” Jay asked as he stepped towards her.

Jennile slowly turned around with a big naughty smile on her face, licked her lips, and stepped up to Jay, making contact with his body. “I just came by to say hello.”

Jay looked down at Jennile as she stared up at his 6’1”, 200lb body. He could feel the heat of her breath on his chest and it sent waves of pleasure descending deep enough to cause his cock to throb with excitement.

“How do I know you’re not here to rob or kill me?” Jay said with a slight smirk across his face.

“What do you want me to do? Take off my shirt to prove I’m not hiding anything?” Jennile giggled, took a step back away from Jay, and began removing her shirt. As Jay watched, she dropped it onto the floor, then removed her jeans and tossed them next to her shirt.

Jay began to smile. “That’s good Jennile, but you might be hiding a weapon in your bra. So, I think you need to removed it, so I can make sure.”

Jennile unfastened the bra and dropped it on the floor as Jay leaned forward to exam her lightly tanned nipples, and her smooth lean stomach. Jennile giggled like a schoolgirl as Jay ordered her down on her knees. She obediently knelt down in front of him. Jay reached down to her small petite body and stroked her pretty face and short black hair.

“I’m a bad girl. I need to be severely punished. Just please don’t take me to jail officer. I’ll do anything you want.” Jennile again giggled at the playful remarks.

Jay smiled and decided to play along with her little game. “All right, my little thief. Looks like I’m going to serve up a little harsh punishment. Unzip my pants.”

Her fingers lightly brushed against his semi-hardness, sending delicious tingles up and down Jay’s spine. Jennile swallowed hard as she reached her little hand inside his jeans. She could feel the soft cotton of his briefs, and the thick hardness of his cock underneath. Every movement of her fingers brought him pleasure as she slowly removed his cock. In her small hands, his cock looked like a monster, and she gasped when she saw its full length.

Jay grabbed the back of her hair and pulled her towards his cock. “Suck it for me you little bitch thief. And if you tell anyone, I’ll have you arrested for stealing.” Jay then pulled Jennile closer to his cock and ordered her to open her mouth. Jennile took his cock fully in her mouth without hesitation. Her tongue moved tentatively against the bottom of his cock, leaving a hot wet trail. Jay began taking short pants of air as he forced her head up and down his thick cock.

Unfortunately Jennile was much weaker than Jay and she couldn’t stop him from forcing his cock deeper into her throat. Jennile gagged and had to force herself back to keep from throwing up. Jay pulled his cock out of her mouth, grabbed her by her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Well, now little thief, that was a good start, but now put you hands behind your back.”

Jennile started to resist, but with his strength he was able to quickly restrain her. He cuffed her wrists together and pushed her onto the couch so that she was kneeling on the cushions, her face pressed into the back of the couch.

“What are you going to ...” she tried to say, just as he pressed a washrag into her mouth. Jennile struggled to spit it out, but he was on top of her, easily holding her in place with one knee on her back.

Jay’s cock had softened a bit, but it quickly became rock hard again as he reached around her and pulled down her underwear. His eyes hungrily sucked in the sight of her firm young ass as he yanked her panties from her thin body. Jay slid a finger in between her legs and started rubbing his finger over her smooth cunt. He slid a finger into her opening and began rubbing it back and forth. Jennile squirmed, trying to let out small squeals of pleasure. His excitement began to build as he placed the head of his cock near her tight anal opening and began rubbing the head of his cock up and down.

Without a warning, Jay felt someone behind him, but didn’t have a chance to even turn around before he felt a object being smashed against his skull. He awoke to his head aching.

He cradled his head in his cuffed hands as his eyes scanned across the darken room. He tries to struggle, but he can’t move.
For part two of this story you will have to visit one of my other sites since Goggle does not allow me to post naughty stories on this site with ads.


Hope you have a sexy ass day!!

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

The Return of the Psycho Thoughts

Some days I feel like sitting in a darkened corner, and simply muttering incoherent thoughts to the wall. Today this blog is my wall.

I’m tempted to write some far-out, freak-imaged, kill-all nonsense, while patently being uncaring about what others think or how they respond. I stopped posting a lot of my more atypical stories, mostly because of my last tryst with law enforcement. Since I’m fairly sure they still occasionally return, I‘ve been trying to hold back on the bizarre thoughts of wanting to psychically hurt Officer .... Why? Because the other day while I was in the process of returning something my son didn’t need, officer ... felt the need to stare me down. Why? I wasn’t doing anything illegal! He followed me to the return counter and waited until I got my refund, then he walked up to the lady behind the counter and spoke to her about something. Maybe it was just my untrusting side, or my deeply rooted hate towards law enforcement that sent my mind digging around in the mud, but my thoughts are turning intrusive, which only means one thing.... It’s time to kill Officer ... then steal everything he has.

I believe as high as 90% of people have thoughts about killing someone at some point in their lives. It’s like crawling into the heart of darkness and you no longer think rationally. The brakes fail, and the sudden impulse to kill enters the mind. Different people have different reasons for crossing that line, but usually it is because of one of the reasons such as extreme hate, they are experiencing envy, some do it for the money, jealousy over what the other person has that they don’t, revenge is always a good reason, and then there are the ones who are just plain psychotic and do it for the thrill or notoriety.

The first time I crossed that line, it was because my emotions overcame my ability to reason. At the point of the kill, my judgment was set aside, and I was utterly oblivious to the consequences of my actions. There was never any plan, or time to prepare scenarios for the different possible outcomes that I later discovered would happen when taking a persons life.

Weeks later, I began entertaining thoughts of what it would be like to kill someone that involved taking a bigger risk. I repeatedly prepared scenarios, going as far as acquiring a weapon, stalking my possible target, selecting the best time, making sure I had an alibi, and lastly how to dispose of the body. My first kill was completely disorganized, but by the time I had killed more than one person I had learned how to plan for the possible different outcomes.

While I deliberated on who to kill next, I would have vivid and recurrent homicidal fantasies that would reach such an intense peak, that the brakes on my murderous impulses could not be stopped. My thoughts invariability precede the deed. After many years of not getting caught, I began going longer and longer in-between kills, until I was able to turned those thoughts off.

They say our nature is shaped by outside forces such as teachers, parents, peers, society, media, and culture. So, what happens to an individual when all these outside forces respond with nothing but negativity towards this person? Teachers treat the student with no respect, parents abusive, peers repeatedly tease, society laughs and mocks. Does this person one day just snap, and lose touch with all reality?

A few years ago I was pulled over for improper lane change by a local officer. The officer said I didn‘t signal quick enough before I got over in the other lane. I was in a bad mood, my blood sugar was really low, and I thought it was a ridiculous reason to stop a person and give them a ticket. But I knew the real truth, he didn’t like me, and I was fully aware that he thought I was nothing but a waste of sperm, so I had no respect for him. What pushed me over the edge was when he called me fat and stupid. At that moment it didn’t brother me as much as it did later when I was alone and thought about his actions. I wanted nothing more than to hunt him down at that moment and take his life for making me feel worthless. He did what many others had done to me throughout my life, he undermined my self-esteem, making me believe that I would never feel wanted by anyone.

After years of not killing, I once again grappled with my thoughts, going as far as tricking someone else into finding out where he lived. When I found out where his apartment was in Tulsa, I stalked him for a few days, discovering his daily routine. While I sat nearby and watched his place, I began entertaining alternate solutions of how I could keep a fantasy from turning into reality. Eventually I decided on another plan that didn’t involved killing him, but would still cause problems in his life. I still have an assortment of opportunities, but instead I choose to deliberate, for years if necessary. Maybe again someday my emotions will overcome my ability to once again reason.


My next story will be for the officer who stopped me last night at the football field. Smile for me, because I know you really can't stand me...hehe.

Monday, October 19, 2009

ROAD TO HAPPINESS: (Under Construction)

First off, update on my spider bite. My regular doctor sent me to a specialist at the Women’s Breast Center, where they removed a piece of dead tissue about the size of a half-dollar from my left breast. I now have a open wound that will heal shut with time, but it will leave a scar. (Pictures at the bottom of post.)

On to a thought or two...

Time has a sneaky way of slipping past a person when they aren’t looking. When you are young, you’re carefree, frolicking through the life with no thought to the next moment. As a teen you become invincible, and somehow you know the answers to everything. In your 20s and 30s you don’t really have much time to think about anything, you just move along, trying to make it to the next day. When you hit your 40s, something changes and you realize you are probably at the half-way point in your life. It’s that mid-life crisis thing, and you’re convinced everything from there on has to go downhill. Anyway, that’s how my life has been.

Some of the more recent things that have happened in my life has caused me to seek out old companions, just to see where their life is now compared with mine. It’s been interesting reacquainting myself with some of the people I went to high school with on facebook, but its also sad thinking about the fact that it has been 25 years since I saw any of them. Time has blinked away, leaving nothing but memories...some good, some bad.

High school was rough. Not just on me, but others had their own demons to deal with. I guess I was just to busy dealing with my own demons to notice how the smartest kid in school had parents that were janitors at the school, and he felt shame because of that. He pushed himself hard after high school, fearing he would turn out to be no better than a janitor or a dishwasher. I never really noticed or thought it was that big of a deal, but it was to him. That’s why he fought hard to become someone better, someone who ran his own company, and then paid others to clean up after him. It took him 25 years of fighting to keep the demons at bay, but he finally won. He says he’s now truly happy.

There are days when I wish I could find the kind of happiness that he proclaims he is now experiencing. When I really think about it, my life hasn’t been 100% horrible, tragic, or devastating beyond recovery. I have had my days when I wished to end it all, but somehow I made it past those days, and was later truly thankful that I did. I will probably always have psycho thoughts, but I will deal with them when they occur. For now, things are quiet.

Spider bite before dead tissuse was removed.

After dead tissue was removed.
Picture from 2 days ago.

Sunday, October 04, 2009

Living With Harmful Creatures Everywhere


I seem to have developed a new disorder, but at least this one I understand why. Last Sunday evening, around 7pm, I had just returned home from a long day. Wanting to relax, I took off my shirt for a more comfortable, older, I’m at home kind of tee-shirt. I then turned on the TV and laid back on my bed with a half-joint that I had gotten from a good friend. By the time I began to finally relax, I began feeling odd. My heart rate was racing too fast, I was beginning to itch everywhere, I was having a difficult time taking in a deep breath, and then I started coughing and coughing.

One hour later, my coughing finally begins to cease, but now the middle of my chest is on fire, and I’m getting the hot and cold chills. At my age, I freak out a little bit, and decide to go online and read about the symptoms of having a heart attack. (Instead of going to the ER right then and there....dumb me!) The main pain at the time was staying in the center of my chest and not spreading outward, so my thought was it was just from all the coughing I had done. And it was only hurting when I moved or twisted, so I felt safe that it wasn’t my heart, but something was wrong.

By 11pm, I was down. My body was completely drained and I could barely move. It was then that I noticed the large area on the underside of my left breast was swollen and discolored. On the right side there was a small, but still very red, irritated area. I still wasn’t putting it all together that I was having a reaction to being bitten by anything, let alone a Black Widow Spider, and decided I could ‘sleep it off. ’ I was quickly asleep, but within a short time, I was having the most extreme pain (rated it right up there with child birth) in my left breast.

Still, I kept thinking it would just go away, because I really didn’t have time to deal with what was happening. I was suppose to ride along with my older son the next day to show him how to get to his college campus at Spartan. He has never drove in the area, and was afraid of getting lost, plus I needed to come along and fill out more financial aide papers. Problem was by morning, my body had begun to shut down.

I couldn’t force myself out of bed, and all I wanted to do was sleep. I slept until 5 p.m. before a friend bought me some soup and water. I only managed to get down a couple bites of soup and a sip or two or water, before the nausea slammed my body. With the urging of my good friend, I got dressed and went to the ER.

By the time I arrived, the pain was unbearable. I only waited a few minutes, but it seemed like forever. I remember thinking, that I wished I had been brought in by ambulance so I could receive faster treatment. Finally, the nurse called me back and began asking me several questions and took my vital signs, which weren’t very good. My heart was racing 158 beats, my temperature was 103*, my blood pressure was high, and I was sweating. I showed her the spot on my breast, and told her my chest was hurting. She quickly got a wheelchair and took me to a room.

Everyone quickly rushed around me and began hooking up monitors, blood pressure cuff, oxygen, EKG, while one nurse hooked up a IV in a vein that kept collapsing. They gave me morphine for the pain, which helped for my chest, but the pain in my left breast was steadily intensifying. They then gave me more pain medication, and began running numerous test and x-rays.

My entire body ached from head toe, and it was very difficult to move or breathe comfortably. Inside my breast, it felt like someone was squeezing the inside tissue with a handful of needles, every few minutes. A little after midnight, they took another large vial of blood, to make sure no damaged was being done to my heart.

Around 1am, my son came to pick me up after they decided it was safe enough to release me. They gave me a round of steroids, more pain medication, a heavy duty antibiotic, and the scripts to get more filled. I crashed hard the minute I got home, but sleep was never deep. I repeatedly had fears of being bitten again, because I hadn’t found what bit me, and along with all the pain, sleep was not an option.

At least I now fully understand what the deal is with steroids, and why men like them so adamantly. But damn, it doesn’t let me sleep much, and I think I’m eating way too much. Still, if that is what I have to do to deal with this infection, then I’ll just worry about how I’m going to react to coming off of them later. (Watch out police department...just a joke....or is it?)

Tuesday I went to see my own doctor who put me on even more steroids and stronger antibiotics, along with what I’m already taking. I developed a severe rash from the pills, but if I can’t take them, then it means going to the hospital for IV antibiotics, so I’m fighting through the horrible itching.
Anyway tomorrow is day 7, and the wound looks horrible. I’ve been doing some research on what is expected to happen, but my doctors reaction alone tells me, its not going to be better for a very long time.

So, I now have arachnophobia... A extreme fear of spiders.
(To my followers...please forgive me if I'm not around for a little while...thanks for stopping by.)

Warning graphic photos:

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4
Day 5

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Daily Life Goes On

All day long I’ve been walking around with all thoughts on what to blog about, and I just really can’t seem to stop on just one line of thought. I usually try to force myself to post a blog on this site at least 4 times a month, no matter what my mood may be for that day. If I don’t do this, I feel my mind becomes cluttered beyond recognition, and I will seek out relief in non-standard ways. I honestly don’t like going to those extremes, and hope I never have to go that far into the darkness again.

So let me clear my throat (love that song).

For days now I’ve been so busy helping my oldest son get his life in line, that I really haven’t had much time for me. Which is actually good, because staying busy has kept me from doing things like my last act of stupidity. But tonight I’m alone. Alone with my thoughts, and I’m struggling hard to let them try to form into something coherent enough to put into words.

I can’t say that I’m unhappy, or happy right now. I just exist. Mostly I exist for my boys. If it wasn’t for them, I would have checked out of this life a long time ago. Focusing in on their needs has been my lifeline to staying in the real world. I guess I’m like most parents, I want to give them more than what was offer to me when I was a teen.

It all started a couple weeks ago with me taking both my sons to the DMV. My 19-year-old had yet to pass the test, because he just didn’t study enough. After failing the test for the second time, I think he was afraid of failing again, so he didn’t try again until almost a year later. And then it was only because his 16-year-old brother wanted to get his learners permit.

Nobody had better ever tell me I don’t love my boys, because after only getting a couple hours of sleep, I got up at 5:00am to make sure we were the first ones at the DMV. A light rain fell as I drove along, jacked up on a large cup of French vanilla coffee. My thoughts kept running to, “I hope the rain stops before my older son has to do the driving part. I don‘t want him to wreck the car I just got in May.” I was more worried about that than him passing the test. Mother instinct told me they would both pass the written part, and they did.

Both of them had the biggest smiles on their faces, which made me feel really good. The rain ended, and my older son took off in my car. Ten minutes later he returned with a big smile on his face...he was now a licensed driver. All week the smiles have continued, as I let my younger one take the wheel on the way to the store, or on his way home from football practice, and my older one has the dream truck of his life. I’ll admit, I love the truck myself, and the price was really good.

I just hate all the crap that comes with getting a vehicle. The salesmen are like vultures, hovering and circling above the meat, waiting to dive down and grab a bite. Then there’s all the paperwork, and the signing of this and that, agreeing to ... Etc... In the end all that disappears when you’re driving away from the dealership, inhaling the fresh scent of a new/used vehicle. It’s even better, when that’s your first vehicle. I felt deeply for my son.

Some people have already told me that I went to far when I helped my 19 year old son get his first dream truck. But again, I want to give my boys every opportunity I never had, to achieve their dreams. It’s stressful agreeing to a large loan for my son, hoping he doesn’t fail and leave me having to figure it all out. Still, I sucked up the stress and did it anyway.

He should start Spartan in a couple weeks, and things are really going to get hard on him. And I’m going to be there for him, as much as I can be, signing papers, agreeing to loans, paying for his gas back and forth...etc... Isn’t that what parents are suppose to do?

When the President of the United States got out of college, he owed over a hundred thousand dollars in loans, but look where he is now. When my first son finishes school, he will owe a lot of money, to a lot of people, but hopefully he will have learned enough to get a really good job and be able to have a very successful life after I am gone. When it’s time for my other son, I will do the same for him.

I'm out for the night...

Saturday, September 05, 2009

Hell, Maybe I'm Just Plain Psychotic

I’ve been spending a vast amount of time doing things ‘normal’ people would never consider doing, or even having the thought cross through their mind. Most of the time, I feel very little remorse about having psycho thoughts, so when they begin, I will sometimes let them bury me in the deepest hole, or fly me to the moon. I have safely done this in the past, so at that moment, I felt I had no reason to refrain from indulging in my hunger for stimulation. I just wasn’t fully aware of where my thoughts were going to take me this time.

Even to me, there is no obvious motivation behind what I did. Maybe it was because of my desire for excitement, or I was yearning for something more than my usually boost of adrenalin that I get from speeding. I just know that I had a strong overpowering impulse to deliberately do what I did, in order to relieve the intense tension that I’ve been experiencing for the past several weeks now. I was at a point, where I was willing to do anything in order to shock my system back to some sort of ‘normal’.

I’ve just been feeling incredibly powerless to cope with all the stress in my life, and the psycho thoughts were consuming my every waking breath, so I repeatedly began seeking out means to discharge all the tension by doing various activities, including many that are illegal, but caused no harm to anyone. Each one that I attempted, failed to help me stop the burial of my mind. With no control of my impulses, I went to extreme levels, but my actions finally managed to induce the euphoria that my mind needed/craved in order to stabilize my moods.

It has been many years since I had to bulldoze that hard to get out of my depression hole, and I hope I never again have to manufacture that kind of excitement, in order to elevate a potential crisis. At the time, I couldn’t envision any way to achieve the relief my mind was seeking, so when the opportunity presented itself, it occurred without thought. The euphoria continues to linger as I think back to my actions, which has been very helpful in stabilizing the chaos in my head.

It’s Labor Day weekend, so I’m going to have a couple of mixed drinks, and stay in the safety of my asylum for the night. Tomorrow, I’m going for my long walk in the woods at the back of Lambert Park, and enjoy the freedom my mind is experiencing.

I am writing this to prove
I once lived in a world which didn't understand
nor cared enough to find out...

Saturday, August 29, 2009

My Mental War Rages On

I want to let go of the pain and let others have it.

I need a vacation or someway to get away from everybody and every stimulant. I feel blank. I can’t concentrate, I feel hopeless, helpless, you know, all the things that come along with having depression. I hate this part of being bi-polar, far worse than having the mania. I felt it coming at the beginning of the week and tried to head it off by doing activities that would lead my mind to other places, but it failed to work. Here it is the end of the week and feelings still linger around like a lost, starving puppy trying to find a home.

I went out a couple nights ago, driving around in my circles, letting the wind blow across my face, just so I could feel something more comfortable. Plus, I also have writers block going on, so getting away from others seems to sometimes help relax my mind. Problem is late at night it’s hard to find a place that is away from everybody, but still a legal place to sit in the stillness of the night air, to gather my thoughts.

I somehow thought I could get away with sitting at one of the local parks after 11p.m. I honestly believed I had until midnight, but the local PD let me know differently. At least they were nice when telling me the parks closed at 11pm, which disturbed my thoughts a little. It made my mind scatter towards reasons like, ‘why was he so nice to me?’ or ‘did he know why I was really there?’

After driving around in my circles for a little while, I settled like a old hound dog, at the end of a newly built road that would eventually led to new housing. I rolled down my car windows and enjoyed the fresh scent of the night air, drifting across the open field in front of me. I took several deep breaths, in an attempt to clear some of the clutter from my mind. But the more I thought about my daily struggles, and the struggles I would continue to have for many more years to come, the more I wanted it all to come to an end.

I let the darkness crept into my mind, and begin eating away any rational thought that might still be floating around in my head. I picked up one of the many sharp objects, I keep within reach at all times, and held the smooth metal in my right hand. Cutting for me, has always been a way to keep me from doing something even more stupid than simply laying open my skin.

I sat in the darkness with only a small light that illuminated one of my many spiral notebooks, and wrote 8 pages without looking up or letting go of the blade. The only thing that finally brought me out of thought, was the sound of sirens coming my direction. I watched a rescue unit, with lights flashing, fly past, followed by someone else with there lights going. I figured law enforcement would soon follow and one of them would surely see me sitting in the darkness. Instead of having to deal with them, or letting them see the small amount of blood that dripped from my arm, I started my car and began to leave the area. Problem was there was only one way out.

He didn’t hit his lights, but drove near my car window and told me he was just checking who was back there. He let me know that it was okay for me to park there and write if I wanted to, and to have a good night. Then he drove off in the direction the rescue unit went. Again my mind went to questions like before, ‘why was he so nice?’, ‘what did he really want?’ I didn’t want to take the chance on him or another officer returning, so I sat for only a few more minutes before I headed back to the staleness of home.

Since that night, all I’ve done is mostly sleep. I slept 12 hours, Wednesday and Thursday night, thinking that would help elevate some of the homicidal/suicidal thoughts from wrapping tightly around my throat and choking out what little life that remains. The bad days have to pass soon. I don’t want to go as far as loading the weapon, and then standing over them as they sleep, debating if I will pull the trigger or not.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

I'm Corrupt


C - cannot follow law
O - obligations ignored
R - remorselessness
R - recklessness
U - underhandedness
P - planning deficit
T - temper

Take all the right actions, use all the right words and get by without any suspicion. It’s a quaint philosophy; fake it till you make it, and no one will be the wiser.

I see all these people hiding from reality, but I understand how vulnerable they truly are. In a way, I guess we’re all running away from something or someone, aren’t we? I figure it’s time I turned around and stopped running, and run head first into whatever I’m convinced is chasing me. Whatever it is, it knows my name and that’s probably what terrifies me the most.

Someone once called me ‘infamous’ and that stuck more in my mind, than what I was infamous for. I never really did anything worth talking about on the news, but I have had my briefs moments when things just weren’t as clear in my mind as they should have been.

I can’t really measure my sanity by any means; it’s been slipping away for years now. Each day I find myself falling deeper into the dark abyss, unable to grab hold of any dangling rope that might be offered. Even if it was offered, I’m not sure I would reach out to take it, someone would have to tie it around my body and yank me from the freezing darkness.

Total complete boredom has set in, so to make things interesting, I lie. I lie about everything, to anybody who will listen, but I mostly lie to myself. Making believe everything is okay, and somehow, someway, this is all just a bad dream that I will eventually awake from. I just have to find a way to keep my dark inner world from seeping out and infecting my outer world.

Thursday, August 06, 2009

Hide the Keys to the Gun Case

I’m just a girl who doesn’t know who she is
Because the mind I once had, suddenly became his.

For all I really know, I might not even exist.
That’s one of the reason I sometimes cut my wrist.

If I wake up tomorrow and I don’t know who I am,
Will anyone tell me if they give a damn?

Maybe some friendly person will take pity on my soul,
And tell me all the things that will make my mind whole.

The truth is they will just let me parade around like a delusional person trying to find something I lost a long time ago.

Light Up a Smoke and Stick Around for Awhile

Today my thoughts are running around in all the wrong directions. I tossed and turned for almost 6 hours of sleep before I couldn’t stand laying in bed for another minute because of the pain in my knees. I started going to psychical therapy last week to learn new exercises to help strengthen the muscles around my knees, so I can prepare for surgery in a few more months down the line. I’m told I have to have total knee replacements if I ever want to walk without pain again. Not sure if I want to go through all that. Still, the therapy seems to be helping with some of the relentless pain.

To help take my mind away from the unbending pain, I began pondering things like, ‘What would happen if I ....” Soon the thoughts turned intrusive and bore deep into my recesses of my mind, and hung around like open sore that you keep picking at. Here is a few things my mind explored today.

I wonder what would happen if I ...

If I... Walked down a road with heavy traffic rushing by at 65mph, and I ‘stumbled’ in front of the passing cars, would the firemen come to wash away all the blood?

If I ... Found the tallest building in Tulsa and went to the roof to jump off, would anyone care enough to stop me?

If I... Picked up my hammer and smashed my computer into a thousand pieces, then threw it out into the street, would other people understand?

If I ... I saw someone wearing a bullet proof vest, could I aim for their head or crotch and still be able to kill them?

If I ...walked into the store and got an overwhelming urge to smash all the eggs on the floor, would I have to clean it up?

If I ... Swam down into the deepest water, could I make it back to the top in time?

If I... Took a baseball bat to the police station and just went crazy breaking all the windows in their new patrol cars, would I kick them in the nuts when they try to arrest me?

If I ... Burned something, could it be put back together?

If I... Interrupted Obama during one of his speeches, would I be tasered?

If I ... Stab myself, will I survive?

If I ... Stuck my hand in the garbage disposal, would it hurt?

If I ... Used an assault rifle, how many could I kill before someone stopped me?

If I ... Closed my eyes while driving, and pushed the gas pedal down a little harder, would I wreck?

If I ... Jump off a tall building, would that end the fear of me falling?

If I... Carry out one of these urges, will I find myself levitating with a extreme mood lift and accompanying euphoria?

Others may think you are crazy,
but it is the genius inside you that is giving you those thoughts.
Let your crazy thoughts come and success will follow.

Other things I keep thinking about...

I keep thinking, “If I didn’t love them... I would put them out of their misery.”

As I stood behind a man at Wal-Mart, I thought about picking up one of the steak knives in my shopping cart and plunging it into the middle of his back because I felt he was looking at a little girl in the wrong way.

I saw a highway patrolman and couldn’t stop myself from following him into Q-trip, just so I could think about how it would be to take his life with my bare hands.

Acknowledging the darker, evil part of my human psyche... It exist within us all.

Being aware of the evil within allows me to control it, rather than merely ignoring it and letting it fester through my being to the point where it can overwhelm me when I loose control.

Once you get right deep down into the core of a persons being, we're all evil, malignant assholes who probably deserve to die.

Just how else could humanity come to sit at the top of the global food chain? Only by being the smartest, toughest, most bloodthirsty motherfuckers on this rock.

Can I control these intrusive thoughts?
Can I trust my own mind not to do something stupid?
One thing is that I am usually too damn busy or lazy to act on them, but of course if I get a day when I’m not tired, or busy... Then the world better watch out.

I’ll be alright, as long as the breaks don’t fail.

My court is tomorrow. I was hoping I could come up with enough money to pay the damn ticket before having to appear, but it looks like I'll have to make payment arraignments. Damn I hate fucking court! Too much stress. I don't do good with stress. Guess, I'll just have to come prepared.

Tuesday, August 04, 2009

Time For a Mind Fuck

****Warning Adult Material****

I’m obsessed with my pussy after I shave it smooth. I love the way it feels, the way it smells, hell even the way it taste is wonderful to my senses. Problem is I want to play with it all the time. I think about touching it while I’m walking through the store and I see some guy that looks like he would be fun to fuck. When I’m driving down the road and I hear a sexy song on the radio, I want to touch myself. Again I guess there’s nothing abnormal about that, unless you’re sneaking off into a public bathroom just so you can touch yourself.

I’ve never understood why it was expectable, healthy thing for a man to masturbate, but it was forbidden talk for a woman to even discuss such a topic when I was younger. There were so many things I had to learn on my own.

Then there’s porn. Most believe it’s not natural for a woman to want to watch porn. Personally, I don’t see anything wrong with watching porn, as long as everyone participating is over 18 and agreeing to what is taking place, porn can be very arousing. Sometimes a little too arousing.
I’ve been avoiding my other sites that just post information that has already been posted somewhere else on the web, and instead I’ve been trying to focus on writing more... Mostly some new sex stories. In order to get some fresh new ideas, I sometimes surf around to a few porn sites and watch various videos. I’ve been doing most of the ‘research’ in the evening when my older son is gone to work, and I’m alone for the night. I have one or two sites that I visit when I’m in the mood, but I will occasionally surf around and find a new site to visit.

Today I found a new site, and decided to spend a little time viewing the ‘mostly normal’ porn. Before I realized it, it was almost time to pick up my son from work. I quickly jumped into my car and drove towards his job. I’m just about to pull up, when I look at the time and realize that the clock on my computer was off again, and I still had almost 15 minutes before it was time to pick him up. Not wanting to sit around, I decided to go to the park near his job at Wal-Mart.

I drove to the back of the park, and found a place under some to trees to hide in the darkness. I felt safe enough there, but still I rolled up all the windows and locked the doors. I then put in a Prince CD and began listening to the song Cream. I immediately began thinking back to the videos that I had just watched. Flashes of hard dick being rapidly slammed into a woman’s pussy, flashed through my mind. The more I thought about it, the more I began to feel that all to familiar tingle beginning to stir deep in my lower stomach. I had never masturbated at the park, but the thought began seeping into the dark corners of my mind. It was shift change for law enforcement, so I figured I would be safe for a few minutes alone, and if anyone did come, I would be able to see their car lights before they had a chance to get close to me.

I left my car running, but turned out all the lights, and then I lowered the back of my seat to where it almost laid flat. I then spread my legs and put my right foot on the dashboard. This gave me plenty of room to reach down the front of my pants and cupped my freshly shaven cunt. I was still moist from watching the porn videos, so it was easy to lubricate my clit. I began twitching it back and forth between my fingers, making its little head swell. I slowly increased the pressure and stroked my clit up and down, pulling out my sweet juice from my hole.

I stopped a couple times when I had to look up to see if there were any cars coming. I didn’t want to have to explain to anyone what I was doing. I wanted it to be my little private dirty secret.

I continued listening to Prince as the song Darling Nicki began to play. I closed my eyes and went with the rhythm as I slowly worked my fingers up and down the sides of my clit. I was getting so close, but kept pausing to look up and see if any cars were coming, or if some stranger was staring in the window at me.

I looked down at the time and noticed I only had a couple minutes until it was time to pick up my son, and I hadn’t gotten off yet. At first I thought about stopping, but then I had this feeling that I was being watched, and something about that, made me speed up my stoking. Within in 30 seconds, I felt the swelling of my clit increase, and I began pumping out short little burst of cum. It continued pulsing from inside my hole, as I brushed my clit back and forth lightly.

Finally, I took a deep breathe and removed my hand from my soaked cunt. I couldn’t believe how much I had gotten off. I put my fingers one by one in my mouth and licked the cum from my fingertips. The racing of my heart slowed as I sat the seat back to its upright position. I quickly put my car in gear and left the park knowing I had yet another dirty little secret.

My game has continued for a over a week now, and each time I enjoy the thrill of what I’m doing a little more. I seem to be addicted to the possibility of some stranger lurking in the woods waiting to sneak up on me and catch me in the middle of my sex act. Now, I’m beginning to rethink this ‘thought’ after a close call a couple nights ago. I had just finished getting off and had begun to leave the park. Just as I was about to drive out, a police officer began pulling into the park. I almost froze.

He drove past me as I pulled over to another area so I could put my seatbelt on. I then expeditiously re-adjusted the seat and drove away, leaving him in the park wondering what I was doing. It also left me wondering what he was doing in the park at almost 11pm, especially since it was shift change. Have they figured out that criminals know when their shift changes and that is when some choose to break the law?

My thoughts turned to him coming up behind me and turning his lights on. I didn’t need another charge. I began wondering if he did stop me, would be able to smell the sex on my hand, even though once again I had licked my fingers afterwards? Would I then have to register as a sex offender if caught by law enforcement? The thought scares the hell out of me, but the thought is also what sent me right back to the park again tonight.

hehe...damn I'm a nasty

Want to know 10 things about Women? Goto

Monday, August 03, 2009

I Want to End This Existence

It’s one of those days where a person like me, wants to give in to all those voices that are failing to communicate in my head. I have no motivation to write, or finish writing one of the many stories I’ve started recently. My mind is completely unfocused, unable to concentrate on one thing long enough to complete the task. It’s like a toy ball thrown against the wall, bouncing around in a thousand different directions, then suddenly it comes to a stop and just lays there.

I don’t want to post any more crap about law enforcement officers fucking up their lives, on my other site What Happened to Protect and Serve? I don’t want to post any more fucked up stories about children being abused on my other site Crimes Against Our Children. I want to shut them down. I can’t handle the disappoint of mankind for another day. Cops, judges, teachers, coaches, ministers, mothers, fathers, etc... are continually breaking the law. Who the fuck are we suppose to trust? I can’t trust anybody. I have all these people who follow my blogs, but I just don’t care anymore.

I feel like my mind will never get a break.
So, I forfeit this fight for my family’s sake.
Evil eats me up alive, taking my soul.
Leaving me where I‘ll never feel whole.

Saturday, August 01, 2009


The 'Monkey' is on my back, steadily flipping me on the ear.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Walking Through a Wet Tunnel

I want to do something insane like: robbing a bank; stealing everything from someone else’s house; breaking into a store and looting everything I see, even if its something I don’t really want or need, I just want to take it anyway, and try to make it mine.

I want to end my life by driving my car into a head on collision with some unknown victim, knowing I will be punishing them for some past crime that they committed. Maybe a good confrontation with law enforcement will send my senses in another direction. Maybe I'll go on a violent rampage.

I want to cut my arm in one hundred different places, just to watch the blood drip down from my arm, so I will know that I am alive. I want to run butt ass naked through the sprinklers in front of the fire department, fat fully exposed, boobs flapping in the wind, then be able to snap my fingers and disappear to another time and place.

I stare incoherently at the computer screen before me, suddenly realizing I’ve read the above paragraphs a dozen time trying to figure out its meaning. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I feel so lost. I can’t concentrate, and my body feels alien to me. I want this feeling to go away...NOW!

I feel highly sensitive to taste, smell, but mostly touch. I don’t want to feel anything on my skin. I feel the need to have the outer layers removed, discarded like old trash. New flesh, replacing the old and worn out.

I can feel: every foreign thread in my underwear; every single whisper of hair heavily brushing against the back of my neck; the breathing of air moving in and out of my nasal passageway. I feel the freshly washed white tee-shirt caressing my soft nipples; the blood flowing through my veins, in a steady rush to get somewhere.

I walk with eyes lowered, not wanting to see the flawed world around me. Dressing in black, to appear as a shadow, hoping the world for one day won’t see me.

I don’t want to be touched. It sets off too many emotions, feelings I don’t want to experience. It makes me feel ill today.

Should I listen to the voices and do as they instruct? I haven’t slept in over 37 hours and counting.

What more is expected of me? I’ve done all I can, and things seem to be only getting worse. When do they get better? Deep down inside, I know they don’t like me.

Lights...there are too many. It’s too bright outside, inside I want the lights down low.

Strong odors invade my entire being, clinging to every hair follicle.

Too much clutter! Things are out of place, just have too much stuff.

Can’t seem to unwind. Moods jumping and rapidly changing from minute to minute.

Want to leave all this stimuli behind. Got to leave, got to run, just need to get away from it all.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

To Kill Again

I was with him longer than any man I've ever been with, so I suppose he had to die. He wasn't the most talented man in the world, matter of fact all he could do was work a eight hour shift, and then come home and lay down. Never able to do any of the manly things that I thought a man should be able to do. Like being able to change the oil on the car, fix the leaky sink, repair the carpet, or even doing little chores around the house. He didn’t do anything of these things. If it was to be done, I had to do it all.

I have days where all I want to do is take my life, just to save myself from all this pain and misery. I yearn for a sense of purpose that will define my place in this world. But I yearn for too much. Hope and expectation cloud the mind before delivering bitter disappointment. It is a lesson I have been taught time and again. It is a lesson I keep having to re-learn.

I remember when I first met him. He was thick, but in shape with a nice muscle tone underneath, but I hated the fact that he acted like he knew it all. Still, it was easy to take advantage of him. All I had to do was show him the pussy and he would give me anything I wanted or desired.

I never really seemed to bond well with others when growing up, I mostly prefered to be alone. I would spend hours alone, thinking about ways to inflict a slow death on some small creature I had caught. At 12, I broke down, and told my father that I could kill somebody and not feel bad, he beat me with a belt and sent me on my way. Taught me to keep my mouth shut.

Now here I sit, past 40 years old in my own house, hidden deep in the woods, far from prying eyes, with another fresh corpse sitting next to me. I guess it was partly my fathers fault. Maybe if he hadn’t sexually, physically, or mentally abuse me throughout my life, my life might have went a different direction. Maybe it’s the voices that I hear in my head, that makes me commit these crimes. Or it might be the thrill, the adrenaline rush, the sexual turn-on, or the high that I get from killing. Whatever it is...I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop.

Some people might think that I’m sick, a freak, a inhuman creature, or insane, but I don't. I don't feel that it's a normal thing, but I feel completely numb about what is happening. Mostly I enjoy the sense of power that comes from terrifying victims, and confusing the police. I always wanted to prove to myself that I was capable to taking another persons life, but only one thing kept me from carrying out this nasty deed for years when I was young, I didn't want to be locked up for the rest of my life, rotting away in some stinking jail cell. Whether I admit it or not, I do value freedom, but I have become smarter.

I wouldn't do anything really sick, like fuck a dead body, but the thought is still there. I thought about it a lot when I was little, and afterwards I would lay in bed and secretly masturbate. Maybe I am sick, maybe I‘m just willing to admit to my heinous thoughts. I'd like to believe that I'm like a lot of other people, but that's only a fantasy. I’ve even been told that I’m as normal as the girl next door, but the truth is ..... Well, no one knows the real me.

Everybody has the power in themselves to kill another. I remember sitting alone in the big barn behind our house when I was young, with a black cat in my arms, thinking I could take its head and crush it with one quick show of strength. Or I could throw it on the ground with all my might and stomp it to death. I suppose talking about killing an animal is wrong, but I can’t help thinking about the feeling of warm blood splashed across my skin.

Things weren't easy for us when I was growing up. We weren't rich, so most of the time I found myself going without, while others would be proudly showing off their trinkets, I stood alone in the background. We grew food in the garden in the summertime, and hunted down and killed any other food we might need to survive. There wasn’t much, but at least we had a roof over our head, (that leaked when it rained), and food to eat every night (even if it was the same food two nights or more in a row).

At 17, I was out on my own. I bought a car, got an apartment, and supported myself in my own way. I suppose others would feel a sense of accomplishment in having their own apartment, I didn't actually care. I never needed much space to live in, just a small kitchen, one bathroom, two bedrooms; one room to sleep in, and another to put my collection of souvenirs. I lived like this for years.

Then he came along. Sex with him was great. I couldn’t seem to get enough of what he was offering. He would hold doors open for me, enjoyed going out to a fancy restaurant, or just spending a quiet evening at home entertaining me. Eventually he moved in with me, and we then we moved to a bigger place. Things changed. I changed.

It's been said that people don't care anymore, but I tried. People just never gave me the same respect that I was giving. Were they too dumb to understand? So fucking stupid that they didn’t understand that when you treat people like dogs, eventually they become the meanest dog you’ve ever come across.

Sometimes, I don’t mind being treated like trash, but at times I want to be treated like princess.
Now, I enjoy lurking in the shadows, watching other people, madly laughing to myself, making people wonder what I’m going to do next. I get off on the pure joy of telling someone something so bizarre that it fucks with their mind.

I love being around certain people. But what I love more, is when the people like being with me. I was a social recluse for quite some time, now I can never get enough of people. Maybe this is what drove me to do what I did. Maybe not. Society is warped, I see it all the time, but I can't blame society for all my actions or re-actions.
When I'm tired, I can be very disrespectful. "Fuck off," is mild for me. Don't get me going, because once I start, I'm not going to stop until something really bad happens.

They never understand my moods. MOODS. What a strong word, more powerful than most. Perhaps it's the fact that I have different personalities at times, so there is always a different reason for what I do. Hell, I'm still trying to figure that one out myself.

I hate it when he yells and threatens my life, telling me I worthless and good for nothing. I don’t know how many times I’ve told him to leave, but he doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stand there like a fool and argue. I face reality and realize I can find another person just like him. He just makes me so crazy that all I can think about is killing him, and burying his body in a deep hole in the backyard.

Sometimes I get in this weird mood where all I want to do is listen to sad, dreary and depressing songs. Not happy songs. He hates this, and only wants to listen to his favorite type of music, calling my music nothing but crap, and giving me this look of hatred when he turns mine off and turns his on.

You know the letter 'y' in the word 'happy' makes the word look happy. Happ. That looks better. Like someone was trying to say 'happy' and their throat was slit in the process.

I could easily break someone’s bones, because the sound of the snapping bones drive me over the edge and sends me into a frenzy of inflicting pain. I want to make them curl up in the corner, and beg for their life.

I could easily cut a person. Blood doesn't bother me like it does some people. I've sat for hours, putting scars on my legs, arms, and stomach with one of the many blades that I own. I suppose that I'm rambling again, but I'll be strong and not apologize for it, because then I'd be weak.

He yelled at me, and read me like a book. He saw right through my moods. Saw the inner me. I don’t like that. I don’t want people to know me like that. We’ve been together to long.

What is the problem? You really want to know? I just wanted him to shut up, and stop telling me what I did wrong, over and over again until I want to throw up. I‘m not a dumb ass, I know I fucked up.

Then later, when I’m still mad, I didn’t want him to make believe everything is okay, and then tie me down to the bed and fuck me with all his strength...well maybe that was okay. I just wanted a word or two about how ‘the house looks nice’, or ‘dinner was good’, ‘your hair looks nice’, ‘don’t worry, I’ll take care of things’, that’s what I want him to say at least once.

The gun barely made a sound when it went off. I had put on the latex gloves, and wrapped a pillow fully around the gun before I placed it against his left temple. I was expecting a much louder noise, and at first I worried that it didn‘t really go off, and he would wake up shouting at me to leave him the fuck alone. But then I saw the blood beginning to pour from his mouth and quickly soaking into the sheets. I knew he was dead.

The blood meant something. It meant it was over. I didn’t have to deal with the way he treated me, ever again. I could move on and find someone new, someone better, someone I wouldn’t want to kill.

It feels good to scream, loudly. I felt like a God, standing in my big house waving the gun around in the air. Maybe I went back to some primal instincts of kill or be killed. I took the first step. There are no tears. I feel nothing.

So, now I sit here writing this, and I’m beginning to realize what I’ve done to him. He was my life for the past 20 years, and I've just altered that way of life forever. His death will mean my freedom again if anyone finds his body. But he has no family, no close friends, he won‘t be missed for a very long time. It will be time enough for me to move on, to begin again what I started so many years ago. I can’t let anybody find out. It has brought back all the old memories of when I killed years ago. Once again I am free to go out and freely kill and fuck at will. Some people might not understand this, but it is a part of me.

After I buried his body in a deep hole in the backyard, I took a long hot shower, blow-dried and straightened my hair, and now I'm deciding how to finish this story.
If a murderer moved next door, would you know it just by looking at them? Could you tell from your interactions with a person, that they were capable of committing unspeakable acts against other human beings? Could someone you love and have regular contact with, be a serial killer without you suspecting a thing?

The room he was in, now smells different. It's not the usual smell of his body odor, or his cologne that I bought for him last year at Christmas. It smells strange, and I feel like I don’t belong here any more. I cut up the mattress and buried most of it with him, but the smell of dead blood lingers, like dust in the air after a storm.

A gallon of bleach and a bottle of pine-sol should do the trick. I like to be clean, I hate it when things are dirty. Everything has to have its own proper place, and it is a must that things smell nice. Smell is very important to a woman. But they wouldn't listen! I'd like to take their words and shove them down their throats.

I figure people kill themselves because they feel they have nothing to live for. Nothing. Their life was wasted early, and that affects them later. So, they sit in one place, and look at all the dirt and filth around them, never finding happiness until the day they die. Nobody cares for them, and they don’t care for anybody. That's the reason. Maybe. I know how they feel now. I know, I understand.

My life is wasted, but his death fixed that.
I kissed him lightly on the forehead before I dumped his body in the hole. It sent goose-bumps through me, and made me wonder if I had done the wrong thing. Was it time to begin my plan? It felt like the first time all over again. The adrenaline rush like I got from my first kill was back. I had quit so many years ago because I was no longer getting the thrill that I had received the first time I took a life.

Society is going to hate me as much as I hate them. But I’m going to do it anyway, and not anybody is going to know the truth. Even if there was somebody who KNEW how I was feeling, what I'm thinking, and what I did, I would still deny it. It's like a disease, and it's not stoppable. Afterwards, I will feel bad, but right now, I don't care anymore. I feel alive, like Dr Frankenstein’s monster.

Who gives a fuck anyway? I should die. I am a sinner, and no one can save me now. What I’ve done is sick, disgusting, immoral, and I should die for my crimes. If somebody else had done the same thing, I would not hesitate to kill them. But, I am me, and so I am above the laws? No, I should die, and die I will by the hands of another...someday. That almost sounds poetic. I always wanted to be a poet, or a writer, but I don’t have the talent. I could have, but people are always telling me how much better they are than me, and how I'll never be anybody. People with more talent, more ideas, more feelings...normal people. People I don’t like. People that need to die.
This next weekend might be a good time to start this planned thought. Planning is important part... I don't want to make a mistake. Maybe I'll wait until my court date and explode in a violent frenzy, and not stop until I take my last breath.

If there is a hell, then surely I'll be there,
laying in my bed of hot coals, staring aimlessly at the ceiling,
unable to sleep.