House of Cards. (Fiction) (804 hits)
Category: Quotes & Stories -> PoetryRating: 0.18 on 43 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by The Toddfather <thetoddfather.at.hotmail.com> (View user info) at 2004-07-11 17:15:52 EDT
Well, let's see, I've posted on the American Right-Wing Adjenda, Abortion and Religion... What's left? Well, I've been reading a few wonderful short stories on Uber, and thought I'd put some of my stuff on for comments... Why write it if you're not going to share it?
This is a short story I put together. Be warned, it's pretty long; and little more than a character study. If this doesn't interest you, save yourself some time, don't read it. Spare me the "Zzzzzzz" comments, but constructive criticism is always good. Be gentle......
House of Cards:
"Please, I don't want this. What is it you want from me? Please, just leave me the fuck alone."
I'm hunched over the fake-marble counter staring back at myself through the murky bathroom mirror. When this grey fog rolls over me, I know exactly what's in store. I know I'm in for another long and desperate night. Just enough light bleeds into the bathroom for me to clearly see half my reflection. I am pale and unwashed. The one eye I can see through the grime is bloodshot from exhaustion. The sweat from my palms slips on the countertop. The fear washing over me is painfully obvious. The brow and eyes reveal my panic. The brow is rigid and afraid. The pupil is dilated thick, and appears unspeakably vacant. A black door I fear no one would want to open.
This isn't the first time I've been in this ugly state. About all I bothered to do this morning was wear a new pair of boxers. I have no interest in anything. I feel empty. I drag my naked feet across the floor. My body is heavy; the mind is numb. Like a black fog, it rolls in; the mind is powerless and weak. Whether you like it or not, it persists, forcing itself on you.
I wouldn't dare tell anyone how I feel. I fear no one would, or even could, understand. I think they would see me as fucked up, or perhaps a burden. I know they would become distant; stop calling. I'd end up even more alone. I don't even understand what is happening to me, how can I expect anyone else to?
Still, I can't help but wish I had someone to talk to, someone to understand and accept me, warts and all. Society sees this as weak, if they only knew what it's like. There's no one else to take my place, no one to carry tonight's burden, even if they wanted to. No one to fight at my side. It's just me, a one-man army against god knows what. I dread the day I haven't the strength to fight, what would become of me?
"Fuck Leon, get a hold on yourself. Start thinking shit like this and you're only going to make it worse."
I break eye contact with the stranger in the mirror and seek answers elsewhere. I've lived alone for so long strange habits have begun to form. I wonder if other people stare at themselves in the mirror? Do they question their sanity at times? The endless games are unnerving. My mind seems to enjoy punishing me. When this fog descends, id relishes in feeding me uninvited, unwanted thoughts. Why does it bully me?
Wandering has subconsciously taken me to the refrigerator. It's an insurmountable task just to lift my arm to the handle and open the door. The light hits my thin legs and I curl my toes inward as a wisp of cool air descends and disperses over my skeletal feet. The empty fridge reminds me of the daunting undertaking a trip to the grocery store is during such times of despair. When I'm out of the house I am in a constant state of tension. The muscles along my spine become tight, especially in the lower region. I remain on the verge of screaming, and can only think of getting home and into bed. There simply isn't any justification for anything other than sleeping. If, that is, I can bring myself to sleep.
My only other comfort comes from a bottle. I know I drink too much, but it is my only escape. My only defense, it would seem. And when I'm down, it seems to be the only readily available help.
I snap a Heineken off the chilled six-pack. The fridge door closes behind me as the kitchen returns to shades of grey. I pull slow on the metallic tab and the can bursts open with a hiss and a pop. The frozen can feels refreshing on my dry, chapped lips. The icy can gurgles as I lap up my medicine. I turn the fridge down to extra cool in times like these. The beer's alcoholic content keeps it from freezing solid. I love the tiny particles of frozen water that the fridge works tirelessly to create.
I'm pacing in my cluttered little apartment with no destination or motive, consuming my beer. My place has one bedroom, a kitchen and a decent sized living room. It's small, but enough for me. Pacing is a habit of mine, and has been for as long as I can remember. Back and forth I wander for as long as I need. Used clothing and dishes mark my path. A cozy linen couch dominates the living room. Sometimes, I'll catch myself pacing around the coffee table like a cat chasing its tail.
Eventually, something would give, and I'd satisfy some inner need to keep moving, then probably sit and stare off into space wondering how to end this cycle of self destruction. Today, I think I've paced more than usual. It helps me sort out my thoughts, and besides, I'm too uneasy to get anything of use accomplished.
"I've got to get out of this fucking cycle. I'm coming apart at the seams. Christ, there's gotta be a way to beat this."
I've been talking to myself since my early teens, when this whole mess seemed to begin. Something inside me gave, shifted, and it was only getting worse with time. I can't help but feel like I'm losing this war.
"You've got a place of your own, a decent car, a paying job. A job you're going to lose if you don't get your act together. So stop being a little bitch and snap out of it. Dad is right about you. You're lazy. You're just a fuckin' pussy. Be a man! Everyone else can function at work, or keep a clean house. Everyone else can handle a little stress; you can't even cope with a simple conversation. You're useless. Pathetic. He's been right about you since day one."
I look up to see my tiny white kitten, Neruda, resting on the couch in the living room, watching me pace back and forth with a quiet curiosity. I watch Neruda's head follow as I move. It shifts a little with each step, but his focus never wavers.
"How do you do it Neruda?"
His disproportionately large ears tune in to my voice instantly, no doubt his brain desperately attempting to decode the message. His yellow eyes gently close and open in a show of affection and his tiny head cocks slightly to the left. I feel a tug at the corners of my mouth as I contemplate the oddness of that tiny little animal, capable of bringing me much happiness with such little effort. His blind acceptance and love of me makes me question whether they really are a so-called inferior species. His short, sleek fur is clean and well kept; while he must look at me right now and think, "My god Human! I wouldn't use you to clean my litter-box."
The sun has fallen below the horizon. It's a sinking feeling staring out at a world winding down, growing quiet, finding peace in their beds as they drift into sleep. I stick my head out the window and take in the ambient sounds around me. The evening Autumn air is arid and crisp. Why does the evening air seem to change the way everything sounds? Moments of dead silence are slowly broken as a car approaches. The sound of the spinning tires on the concrete creates the illusion of running water. I close my eyes and breathe the brisk air. I listen. I hear a calm river running. And slowly the car passes. Silence returns. The cool autumn air functions well to keep the condo from becoming too stagnant and hot.
I watch as the world winds down. I watch the atmosphere interfere with the lights on the hill, causing them to flicker slightly. Just beyond the hill's faint silhouette, my parents are winding down, watching the evening news. My father is reading McLean's under the amber glow of his bedside lamp. My mother watches the day's events unfold on the evening news supported by half a dozen pillows. I can smell the linen in the air. Perhaps, they are chuckling together at a British sitcom. Dad's laugh stumbles over itself in a series of heaving belly jerks. He turns his head to share the moment with mom. She shakes her head and smiles at the absurd physical behavior the characters are engaged in. It's quiet and safe though, under that amber glow.
Sure, they're aware that I'm "different"; I'm not that good an actor. They know I struggle sometimes; but I'm pretty good at keeping them from worrying too much. The last thing I need is to be asked to explain something I don't fully understand myself. Mom would start scrutinizing my every move. She'd be calling three times a day to make sure I'm not holding a blade to my wrist. I'm sure I can handle it, besides, all of that was before. I had long moved out when the worst of it came.
I lean on the sill and stare out into the darkness, pondering this seemingly age-old lament. Time seems only to make it worse. Where will it end? Will it just keep escalating until I would rather be dead than live one more day in the trenches? It feels like I'm conscripted to a war with my own mind. Fight, or surrender into insanity. I don't know what the consequences would be if I lost. I'm not as confident as I used to be.
I can remember a time when this mysterious affliction seemed more like a gift than a curse. Shit, it was only five years ago. It seemed to help me. I was proud it. It made me deeper. Stronger.
"Could be worse Leon. Could be a lot worse." I say abandoning the window.
Maybe, if I'm lucky, the music will help. I consume the last of my beer as I reach my destination. I scan my collection for the right sound. It has to be perfect.
"Ahh yes, Robert Johnson. Now there's a man who had a reason to feel depressed."
I grab the disk and carry it to the fridge. I notice Neruda has decided to stick it out with me as he tears across the laminate floor pitter-pattering toward my room. His ass slides out of control as he makes the corner. He pauses, staring up at the bed, preparing his tiny body for lift off. The bed is a formidable obstacle for him, but he leaps and claws until his rear is safe at the top. He coils himself around and around before finally flumping over into his flawless, crescent-shaped position. His eyes fix on me as I enter the bedroom; his purring is audible from a good six feet away. A pronounced rumbling that must require his entire body's aid to make it so effective. His paws are kneading the crumpled sheet in front of him.
I never speak when the music plays; everything shifts inward and the thoughts race faster than ever. Other times my mind falls silent; nothing remains but the music. I fall into the chair at my desk and hit the monitor's power button. It waits a fraction of a second before reacting to my command. It makes the usual buzzing sound and a flicker before last night's poem, which I titled Civil War, is slowly revealed.
The song is sober, but soothing. Johnson's voice rips at my heart. A sound that can only come from a person who has spent time in the company of pain.
I barely remember writing the poem. I don't pretend to be a poet; instead, occationally something forces itself out onto paper, or in this case, a computer. I just write and write whatever comes to mind. My eyes skim over it, and I quickly realize it's the last thing I should be reading at a time like this.
I spin the blinds for protection from the world's intrusion and collapse on my bed. The fitted sheet has been loose for three days now, but it's just easier to lie on the bare mattress than be bothered to fix it. The cool air penetrates my skin as I stare vacantly at the ceiling.
I swear this war is killing me. Day after day in the trenches, fighting my own mind to the death. I don't want it anymore. I don't even know who my enemy is, but it sure as hell knows me, and all my fears and weaknesses.
Without one ally to look to, not one fucking day of victory, I am forced into combat once again. Like a black plug being pulled from some rusted drain deep in the recesses of my mind. I am pulled down into the darkness, there is no escape.
It's a hopeless feeling knowing you're on your way back down. You hear ex-cons say, "I'm never goin back", I know exactly how they feel. Who knows when it'll let you go. Here, there's no time off for good behavior. I descend, not knowing how deep I'll fall this time. No telling where it'll dump me.
It's like something from a childlike nightmare feeding off your fear and misery. That creature under the bed. It must have been a night like this one, the night it crept from its shadowy crypt, then slithered and clawed its way deep into the recesses of my mind. A shadow, grinning as it pushes me to the edge of madness. No comforting nightlight. No parents to rescue me. Just a merciless piece of me, gone very wrong.
What if this one never stops? What if it finally decides to finish me off? I know of no sorrow like this sorrow. A solitary confinement in the only place you're supposed to be untouchable. There must be no misery like this one. What if I can't climb out this time? I am alone, though I feel there is another, the one who owns me. And I fear, sooner or later, one of us must go.
#
I glance at the clock; it's four in the morning. I'm rigid in front of the easel, staring intensely at the canvass. It comes so easy sometimes. A perfect focus. A flawless mix of color. A precise stroke of the brush. A feverish need to get it all down two minutes ago. It is as though the paint and I have some sort of arrangement. It's as if it too has something to say, as if we understand each other. My eyes well up from this focus, I become aware of the fact that my stomach is bone dry, a minor inconvenience. I refuse to waste a second on food. My hand carries a slight tremor and the palms are clammy. I can feel my slightly elevated pulse when I cease to breathe for some tiny detail most people will never take the time to notice. That's not the point, it must be flawless.
This creation of mine is now taking on a life of its own. I can't slow down, not for a second. It simply isn't an option at this point. Too many canvasses litter the floor unfinished. Too many opportunities lost. This is the one. I must finish it tonight.
The CD player once again plays the perfect song for the event, Matthew Good's, The Fine Art of Falling Apart. There is nothing like this ecstasy. The kind of heightened focus and elation that come only once in a blue moon. I certainly know of no feeling like it, nothing in the world. I wonder if others have days like this? A sort of blip on the radar that makes you see the world in a different way. Colours are brighter, food tastes exquisite, your mind is clear and all seems right in your life.
Something gives, shifts, and all the answers lie waiting to be plucked. I have learned not to take days or nights like that for granted. When they do come, I take full advantage. I've been here enough to know it will not last forever.
Sometimes, the strokes come as easy as speech. I know the precise location of each and every one. No second guessing, no doubts. I haven't any schooling in art. I read a few How To books, picked up the brush on a day like this, and I could paint. Most people said I had a natural talent, but when I'm high like this, it feels like I am one of the few who can really see world in colour.
I haven't eaten in at least twenty hours, but I can barely even notice. I haven't slept in thirty-six, and it wont come any time soon either. Here, I am free. Free from the world's pathetic priorities and rules.
While the world lies dormant, I feverishly create. Maybe writing. Sometimes sculpture. Perhaps photography. It really doesn't matter; it has to come out, one-way or another. Madness? Perhaps. Genius? I wouldn't go that far.
My swirls of paint are nearly done. I add some final touches to the dilapidated barn, some burnt sienna, mixed with raw umber and white highlights. A bit of shadow here, a touch of detail there, and the landscape is complete.
I stand back from it and examine it for flaws. An old abandoned barn with moss growing on the roof; the wood is slowly rotting away. A yellow field of long dead grass surrounds it blowing in the wind, once carefully tended to by the residents. The sun is high in the blue sky, and only a few soft white clouds rest in the distance.
My hands are covered in paint, and once again I have failed to put anything down on the floor to protect it. Only after completion do I think logical thoughts like, "hmmm, if I would've put paper down, I wouldn't have this spattering of brown and blue to try and clean later."
I feel quick, strong and creative, with an insatiable need to soak it all up. I have all the answers, and no interest in the monotony and boredom of a regular life. Chaos has its fine points; the world just keeps getting in the way. Right now, in this room, I am Mozart, out there, I'm considered pathetic, sick or broken.
#
I grieve as my house of cards shudders; seconds from imploding. Black as midnight, a menacing smog coils and twists over its foundation, eagerly waiting to strike. Why has life chosen to torment me? It has singled me for some nightmarish freak show. The grim fiend has found me once again.
I stand on a razor's edge, one falter either way and I slip into madness. I spend day after day in this wretched lament, decaying in this bed. The nights have made this cradle smell of sickness. This degenerate imp has reduced me to sweat and tears. I can't do this anymore. I ache for release.
Locked in this putrid cellar of depravity, I scream for help. I claw at the walls. I weep as I beg for freedom. I fling myself about the bed in search of comfort. Blueish moonlight filters through the blinds causing a faint linear pattern over my pale chest. I haven't anything left to give. I am hollow; nearly dead. I don't want this. I give up. I can't do this anymore.
"Get out of me."
I can feel the uneasiness in my eyes, mouth and chest.
"One of us must go."
My vision is blurring; jaw clenched tight.
"Get out! Get out!"
I leap to my feet and scream. I thrust my fist through the painting on my easel. It all seems fake. Nothing seems real, behind that screen.
"Leave me alone! Fuck off! Fuck off! Fuck off!"
My fists collide with anything unfortunate enough to be in my path. The computer monitor flickers as I leave a spatter of blood with every strike. Tears stream from my burning eyes. I tear the monitor from the wall, the computer hangs on.
"I've fucking had it!"
The monitor flies through the air smashing as it hits the bedroom doorjamb. Even the loud ploom and glass shards can't diminish my rage. My fists now spilling blood on the carpet as I plow them through the wall.
I tear the t-shirt from my chest.
"You want pain? I'll give you pain!" ripping and tearing at my face and hair.
"You want fucking pain? Want more? Want more?"
I collapse to the floor; blood soaked tears fall from my face. Wounds of flesh are nothing next to this infinite despair.
#
I can't help but hide my face in shame. The pharmacy is crawling with shoppers today. Oddly enough, though, the prescription line is short. I swear pharmacists need a class in reading doctor's handwriting, because it might as well be Greek to me. This is a refreshingly new experience for me. I haven't shared company with hope in years. Maybe this prescription will help, maybe not. For the first time in my life, I have an ally in this godforsaken fight. Someone to turn to. It's also comforting to know I'm not alone. Others have been here; there is a name for this darkness.
User Reviews
Submitted by I_Have_a_Kristen_Fetish (user info) at 2004-07-12 21:51:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Thanks to the fact that the following users -2's, ZaToddfather, BanFetish, ZeToddfather, all created by you, are still on the following posts, (Let's not forget the 30 some -2's from "TheToddfather" on the other posts) you will have problems:
http://www.ubersite.com/m/38117
http://www.ubersite.com/m/38046
http://www.ubersite.com/m/37958
http://www.ubersite.com/m/37840
http://www.ubersite.com/m/37800
http://www.ubersite.com/m/37647
http://www.ubersite.com/m/35629
http://www.ubersite.com/m/35536
http://www.ubersite.com/m/34955
http://www.ubersite.com/m/31932
Eat a dick, champion of cockmasters.
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-12 21:34:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Fetish,
I don't want problems with you. The whole thing was stupid. I didn't know it reached Bart. I know you pretty much hate every word I write. Keep posting "god you suck as a writer" stuff. I think you're a funny guy after reading your stuff. I don't see why you can't just see this whole thing as a big mix up.... I'm a rookie... Didn't get the "Fetish" thing... Maybe Bart will kill all the posts in his good time..
I look forward to reading your future posts. Even if you give me -2s. Take care. I need a break. Back in a day or two.
Submitted by I_Have_a_Kristen_Fetish (user info) at 2004-07-12 21:18:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
I guess you won. Bart removed all my ratings and left the ones from the 4 users you made.
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-12 20:32:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Hahahah! One of my favorite skits, thank-you!
Submitted by I_Have_a_Kristen_Fetish (user info) at 2004-07-12 20:30:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
George has something to say to you: http://temp.bumtasticq.servebeer.com:3600/todd.mp3
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-12 20:27:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
just so everyone is aware, the guy made enough users to make is rating higher. He made more fake posts on his pages than I did.
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-12 20:25:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
What did you get for your sixth birthday? Did mommy get lots of balloons? Get a life...
Submitted by I_Have_a_Kristen_Fetish (user info) at 2004-07-12 20:16:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by FilthyAssistant (user info) at 2004-07-12 19:38:03 (#)
Ranking: 0
<mother>
Why don't the pair of you just grow the fuck up.
Fetish - behave
Toddfather - check your email (it's probably in the junkmail due to my liberal use of profanity)
<end mother>
---
Don't tell me to behave. This fucking tool spammed over 30 of my posts with 4 different usernames and is ignorant enough to act like he didn't do shit. The idiot doesn't even know how things work here. Just because I didn't login, toolbag here accuses me of spamming his lame ass post. Only one of these -2's counts. If the douchezzle would get his facts straight before speaking, we wouldn't have this problem.
In closing I'd like to tell you to fuck the hell off. Bitch. Who are you to tell me what to do? Do you think that you are the supreme being of Uber? What gives you the right to tell me how to behave? You're sticking your nose where it don't belong. By the way I am not 99,999 different users on here, as you stated yesterday. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-12 20:10:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
no life...
Submitted by I_Have_a_Kristen_Fetish (user info) at 2004-07-12 20:04:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-12 19:31:05 (#)
Ranking: 0
Let it go... Fetish...
And stop spamming. This Fetish user is new. So, you're still spamming.
---
Bullshit. It's me not logged.
Get a fucking sense of how Uber works before you go accusing other. Dipshit!
Submitted by FilthyAssistant (user info) at 2004-07-12 19:38:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
<mother>
Why don't the pair of you just grow the fuck up.
Fetish - behave
Toddfather - check your email (it's probably in the junkmail due to my liberal use of profanity)
<end mother>
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-12 19:31:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Let it go... Fetish...
And stop spamming. This Fetish user is new. So, you're still spamming.
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2004-07-12 19:28:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
It's too bad everybody's so fucking childish.
Submitted by Fetish at 2004-07-12 19:12:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Just don't paint this story of how you're a victim.
You spammed my posts first.
You used 4 different usernames.
You spammed more than 30 posts.
I think you did a terrible job of explaining your part in it. 10 does not equal 30.
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-12 18:49:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Jesus man, let it go.
We both did the same thing. You are just as guilty of it as I am. It was stupid. Move on.
I think I did a pretty good job of explaining what happened, and my part in the affair.
Not to mention, you fixed your rating and then some. I haven't fixed mine. Only yours remain on my posts.
The whole thing was childish on both sides, and the most tedious thing I've ever done.
Submitted by Fetish at 2004-07-12 18:38:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Again, you might want to mention that you spammed over 30 of my posts with 4 usernames.
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-12 15:22:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I should comment on the Spam Issue as well. The matter should be cleared up. I hope. The sad thing is, it was all over a stupid misinterpretation on my part. A misinterpretation of a stupid comment on my Fetus for Food Program post. It was simply "Ban Fetish". I saw that and though, "WTF? He didn't even read the post! He thinks this article is Fetish? How sick is this guy?" So I went to his first post, didn't read it, and posted one "Ban Fetish" on his.
I'm new to Uber. So, many of you are probably laughing at the sad fact that I didn't realize "Fetish" was a user. Not my brightest moment, I assure you. So, the Fetish user saw it, and got pretty insulted, and so would I.
I don't care what my rating is on my posts. I pretty much expect a lot of people to hate them. And they do. Others don't. That's what it's all about for me. However, I had just posted my first personal work, which was important to me.
One thing that I was blown away by was the fact that the very first review of my House of Cards short story was by a person who appears to have the same illness. The story makes no mention of what the main character has. Zero. Yet she was the first to find it.
I have read a few of her posts. They are Bar None the best writing I have found yet on Uber. Go and read them.
Anyway. All was well, until, Fetish saw I had a new post up. So, BAM! "Ban Fetish" returns. About two seconds before that I had this huge sinking feeling and began thinking, "Oh god, I shouldn't have posted that." Although the story is 80% fiction, it is pretty close to home. Suddenly I wanted it off Uber. Not possible as far as I know.
So, when the page was spammed I wasn't too pleased. I went to his pages and did the same for something like 10 pages. Stupid. Not to mention I didn't even take the time to read his posts. I'm sure the guy has several things that are personal to him.
So, another Ape comes on and threatens to kill me and my family. The whole thing continues until I realize I am acting like a 15 year old. "What am I doing?"
So, I post on his page saying, "You win." And presto, it stops.
Submitted by FilthyAssistant (user info) at 2004-07-12 12:51:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Despite all the sandpit antics, this is still a fucking excellent post.
Submitted by Gnome (user info) at 2004-07-12 12:12:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
good stuff kid. never read any of your personal work before, it's pretty good. like, AshCrash, i'd fuck ya.
hi Tad.
bet ya missed me Tad.
say hi to the wife for me Tad.
bye Tad.
Submitted by Snuggles_The_Assassin (user info) at 2004-07-12 10:23:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-11 21:14:08 (#)
Ranking: 0
Due to a spam attack launched by I_Have_a_Kristen_Fetish, I wont be posting anymore. You put some work into something, and some piece of shit comes along and wants to be an asshole. I haven't got time to put up with this.
He launched the two user names you see that resemble my username in order to drop my rating. On to different things I guess.
----------------------------------
No more posts from you? Holy fuck there is a fucking God somewhere. You are a douche loving cocksucker who should spend his days getting fucked in hi ass.
Submitted by Quasiplasmohedron (user info) at 2004-07-12 02:09:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
More people should read this because it's very good.
Submitted by AshCrash (user info) at 2004-07-12 00:08:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Fuckin' rock dude. That was awesome. You truly captured the feeling of what it feels like to be in a deep depression. I would like to go to bed with you. ;)
Submitted by AshCrash (user info) at 2004-07-12 00:07:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
WOW!!!!
Submitted by AshCrash (user info) at 2004-07-12 00:07:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Holy shit!
Submitted by Quasiplasmohedron (user info) at 2004-07-11 23:26:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Another +2 because I have a Robert Johnson cd in the drawer next to me.
Submitted by Quasiplasmohedron (user info) at 2004-07-11 23:25:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This was really, really good. It could have used more explanation at the end, but the descriptions were extremely vivid. Sometimes this sort of thing feels like it's padded with irrelevant details, but in this case I was riveted.
Submitted by Quasiplasmohedron (user info) at 2004-07-11 23:14:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm only half way through this but I have to stop and give it a +2. This is grade A stuff.
Submitted by I_Have_a_Kristen_Fetish (user info) at 2004-07-11 21:54:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Correction: 4 usernames.
Submitted by Todd_Fucking_Sucks (user info) at 2004-07-11 21:53:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Multiple username bitch.
Submitted by I_Have_a_Kristen_Fetish (user info) at 2004-07-11 21:52:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
You rated everyone of my posts with 3 usernames, bitch.
Submitted by j00 (user info) at 2004-07-11 21:43:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-11 21:14:08 (#)
Ranking: 0
Due to a spam attack launched by I_Have_a_Kristen_Fetish, I wont be posting anymore. You put some work into something, and some piece of shit comes along and wants to be an asshole. I haven't got time to put up with this.
He launched the two user names you see that resemble my username in order to drop my rating. On to different things I guess.
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Don't cry, no tears no tears.
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-11 21:14:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Due to a spam attack launched by I_Have_a_Kristen_Fetish, I wont be posting anymore. You put some work into something, and some piece of shit comes along and wants to be an asshole. I haven't got time to put up with this.
He launched the two user names you see that resemble my username in order to drop my rating. On to different things I guess.
Submitted by ferrisbeuller (user info) at 2004-07-11 20:39:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
you would have had a decent rating but I disapprove of you spamming.
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-11 20:22:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Tell that to your friend I_Have_a_Kristen_Fetish he's the one that created two users to spam me.
Submitted by Snuggles_The_Assassin (user info) at 2004-07-11 20:18:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
And then you spam me, what kind of fucking nerd are you. You must be a cocksucker, enjoy it asshole.
Submitted by Squatttail (user info) at 2004-07-11 19:44:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Great post!
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-11 19:37:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Have the balls to put your name up if you're going to spam. Pussy.
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-11 19:25:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Fuck you. He spammed my posts, he gets it back.
Submitted by I_Have_a_Kristen_Fetish (user info) at 2004-07-11 19:19:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Nice of you to -2 everyone of my posts.
Submitted by Snuggles_The_Assassin (user info) at 2004-07-11 19:19:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Stop spamming his post's you fucking nerd. I'm gonna come to your house and skull fuck your wife and children until thier asses bleed. You are a fucking nerd bomber. Holy fuck are you fucking gay, I want to make you watch as I crack your kids skulls open like a egg and and suck on their brains and then I'll fuck their still warm dead asses and cum in thier eye sockets. FUCK YOU!!!!!!!
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-11 19:12:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Dude you're a prick.
Some asshole posted on one of my pages saying "Ban Fetish", so I went to his page and did the same on his article.
I don't want you banned. I haven't even read your stuff yet. I just smacked it back in his face.
Thanks for the -2...
Look...
http://www.ubersite.com/cgi-bin/message_get.cgi?user_id=2359
Submitted by bargled (user info) at 2004-07-11 01:33:43 (#)
Ranking: -2
BAN FETISH
Submitted by I_Have_a_Kristen_Fetish (user info) at 2004-07-11 18:45:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by TheToddfather (user info) at 2004-07-11 02:18:06 (#)
Ranking: -2
BAN FETISH!
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Yeah, ban fetish.
Submitted by FilthyAssistant (user info) at 2004-07-11 17:26:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This really was excellent. You've captured the feeling perfectly. Post more often.