kikonista

kikonista @ 2010-12-09T22:24:00

2010-12-10T03:24:29Z

No more favors, no more graciousness, no more one-sided kindness.

kikonista @ 2010-04-12T16:56:00

2010-04-12T20:56:15Z

Holy shit.

In the moment

2010-03-03T01:22:03Z

Right now, I'm in one of those moods. It feels like everyone around me has completely gone off their gourd, and my usual answer to this is to just stop getting input from that source.

It goes in the well, away from people's prying eyes. Everyone tells me how troublesome this all is, so it's best in the well. People don't lose their patience that way, or their tempers, or their fingers. There's complaints when I leave the well open, so I don't. But then I get yelled at for hiding it. Well.

I've tried this a million times before, but I never get very far. Someone starts at me again, and I never have the energy to get back to it. Or I make it private, and/or delete it once I'm on the rise back up. Or the contradictions eat at me until I'm convinced it's just asking for it to say anything-- I won't ever win, I'll always be the wrong thing, and any attempt to fix it is only going to piss people off more.

But right now, I'm happy to ride the wave of anger, because at least it's something beyond the constant confusion.

Here I am, at the bottom of the well, and the view looks green with algae.

Some days I wake up, and the whole world's gone crazy.

Everyone I interact with has learned some new code the night before, and I don't know it. I don't know how to talk to anyone. My brain feels like it's sluggish behind everyone else, and like people are trying to run me in circles with what they say. I see logic gaps and I can't get anyone to stop speaking in the code long enough to explain it.

I'm confused, then I'm frustrated, then I'm angry, then I'm hurt and apathetic. I don't know what people expect. I can't get them to tell me what they want.

People say you're supposed to talk about these things, but I've got a long history of handing people the ammo I get fired on with. I get run in logic circles, I get called names, uncooperative, indecisive, argumentative, haughty... you name it. It doesn't make you want to talk about your feelings much when you know there's judgment and subsequent punishment or retaliation coming, instead of the lie of understanding slipping through their teeth.

It goes something like this:

Misc: I need x from you.
Me: Okay, here you go.
Misc: Oh, this isn't it. The other x.
Me: You mean y?
Misc: No, the other x.
Me: There isn't another.
Misc: Just give me what I need.
Me: Ok, here. [gives x AND y]
Misc: What is this?
Me: I'm not sure what you want. I don't understand.
Misc: No, you know perfectly well what I want, you just don't want to give it to me.
Me: WHY would I do that?
Misc: Because that's what you always do.
Me: ...You REALLY want to reword that, because now I'm confused and getting pissed.
Misc: SEE? Here you go again! You're being uncooperative. You always do this to me, and I'm trying to help you.
Me: Help ME? I thought you wanted x! Why won't you tell me what you want, or at least explain what the hell you DON'T want or what I'm doing wrong?
Misc: NOW you're putting up a wall!
Me: ... FUCK this and FUCK you. You're speaking nonsense. I'll come back when you're sane.
Misc: You don't even want to try. You're just walking away!
Me: Tell me, in different words than the first time, what you want. Barring that, tell me what you don't want. Following that, tell me what I'm doing wrong so that I can not do it again in the future.
Misc: I need x.
Me: OMFG AM I SPEAKING CHINESE? PHRASE IT DIFFERENTLY, THERE IS NO X!
Misc: Of everyone in the world, you're the only one that has to make trouble.
Me: GUH??
Misc: Everyone else knows perfectly well what x is. So do you, you've given it to me before.
Me: Describe it to me, then. What did it look like? When was this? Was anyone else there?
Misc: Are you calling me a liar? You always do this! You've always done it, and I don't think you're going to stop because you don't want to. You don't care. You did it [1], [2], [3], and [4]. You just don't want to give me x, even when I asked for it all those other times.
Me: But you JUST SAID that I DID!
Misc: But you don't.
Me: WHAT? Okay, you know what? FUCK THIS. Do whatever you want. I don't care. Obviously, I'm fucking up the process, and I always do it wrong, and I'm crazy, and... whatever else makes you feel better, but just don't bother me with this anymore, okay? Do it however you want and I don't care where you get your x.
Misc: You're only hurting yourself by not giving it to me.
Me: If I'm the problem, wouldn't taking myself out of the process work?
Misc: No, because I need x.
Me: ... GO. AWAY. *opens distance*

My feelings are wrong, apparently. I get misunderstanding someone's meaning, I get looking at something in a negative light, I even get focusing on the wrong aspects of a situation... but my feelings are wrong?

It makes me immediately react, 'Who the FUCK are you?'

That's not even subtle, that's OPEN invalidation of my feelings. NOT conducive to share-time. NOT going to make me come back to you later. NOT going to make me open up, or tell you ANYTHING ever again.

It makes me want to go back to the well, where there are no contradictions, and no one angry at me because I don't understand, or because I need it explained.

Sometimes I feel like people expect me to build a house, and when I keep telling them I don't know how to lay foundation, they insist to me that the house has to be painted green. Well that's great, I'll make it any damn color you want, once I learn how to build the goddamn thing in the first place. But that's not fast enough. That's not good enough. I'm purposefully not being cooperative by pointing out that I don't have the capability YET to do what they expect of me. But taking myself away from it so other people supposedly more competent can do it while I sit back and learn is also not good enough.

I don't feel crazy. I feel like everyone else has gone crazy.

People can tell you that a dog is a lamp as much as they want. When you see that thing bark, and illumination doesn't come from it, you're going to think to yourself, "Man, these people are crazy. They all thing that dog is a lamp. What the hell is wrong with them?"

They can tell you that the dog sits next to the couch all the time, like a lamp would. They can tell you that they can read better when sitting next to the dog, as if they were sitting under a lamp. They can tell you his tail is really a cord, plugged into the wall, and that if you whack him on the nose, light will come out of his head.

NOTHING they say will make you whack that strange dog on the head. He might bite you!

But it's NOT a dog, it's a lamp. You need to just trust them that it'll work, and that no harm will come to you.

See how crazy that sounds? That's what the view looks like through the well.

My cycles used to be mild and tolerable. I'd have sharp up and down spikes that usually resolved themselves in a few hours or a day. No more than two. The past two years, I've rapidly spiraled down to a steady 3-day up/down cycle, and I feel like I'm in hell.

I can't seem to get anyone to understand how drastically reality seems to change. First everyone else is crazy, then everything in the world is GREAT and nothing can go wrong, then I'm the one that's crazy. No matter what data I use from other phases to moderate the distortion, it's never enough. I'm told that I'm making it worse.

When you can see your cycles coming, and they build and decline slowly, it's a lot easier to control. You can put yourself away and go down to minimal operating power until the worst is over. You know the worst is coming, you hunker down and wait for the shells to stop falling, and it passes fairly quickly.

After years of cycles that could swing every few hours, the end of 2004 brought a mental calm I had NEVER had before. I could finally have a life. Instead of haphazardly arranging my entire life around the cycles, I could live a life without the fear that my own broken head was going to ruin me. I could stop telling people about my mental disorders in the first place, I could involve myself in activities I didn't have the mental stability to maintain before, and most of all, I stopped thinking of myself as broken. I stopped FEELING like I was broken.

Then in 2008 everything fell apart and I watched the well rebuild itself from nothing practically overnight. I tried to scale it, I tried to call for help, I tried to reach out, but the well is deep and swallows up everything on the bottom, out of sight. It's there when everyone else is, and when no one else is. Sleeping, dreaming, eating, writing, using the facilities, I hear the drips. People throw rocks down it and make wishes, but the well just eats rock, wish, and good intentions.

I tell people not to throw things down there, that you'll lose things down there, but people persist. They get angry when they lose things, but I'm not allowed to close the well.

Everyday is a desperate attempt to make sense of the day before, except my mind is being reset every day. I don't know how to behave, even if yesterday I did. Everytime I climb out of the well, something is different, and now I go back to it because no one can come down here speaking their gibberish and contradictions. I tried to put the bad things down here that people didn't want to see, and now I'm down here, because people always want to see the bad things, but I'm apparently the one getting in the way. I'll leave the lid off because I can't win anyway, and if the bad things eat fingers, then it only means people got what they asked for. I don't have to make sense of the contradictions down here because they don't have to matter.

The constantly changing expectations are up there, and people can't have me out of step. It disrupts too much. But in the well, I can't break what's only broken pieces. Everything sits at the bottom and never changes. It's always green.

13 hours

2009-08-20T03:18:17Z

While I have now learned the UPenn ER is amazing and their doctors rock, I found out in a way I'd prefer not to.

Starts out, Monday I had jury duty. I'd been eating and sleeping very little, stressed about school coming up, still sorting through things here at the apartment, Harris's birthday approaching, and also the one year anniversary of mom's death. Lots of stuff piling up in the Kiko-brain, but I was actually kind of excited about jury duty since I'd never done it before.

It was one of those harrowing experiences that further affirms your adulthood, and makes you sort of hate it at the same time. I have a lot of respect for due process, especially after the courts proved my innocence when the cops were douchebags last year, but the jury duty system sucks balls. We were bounced around a lot from room to room, and between the blistering August-in-Philadelphia heat and the blue-fingered cold of the air-conditioned courtrooms.

I was on edge, but I was back in the cycle of sleeping 2-3 hours a night again, so I expected that. I'd gotten picked for a civil case that everyone said would last maybe a day if the folks didn't just settle instead. Okay day.

Then I came home, got a little nap, and we started on dinner. Well, we meant to. It degenerated into arguing to the tune of all of us storming out of each other's presence. None of us really slept, none of us really could. By 5AM we were all sitting in the same room together.

Thus occurred my total and complete snap.

The last year, life has been a madhouse. No matter how we all felt about mom, losing her was like losing a limb. And the guys, Gods bless them, want to go back to "normal." Except, we're never going to have that normal again. There's going to have to be a new normal. They've also kept to themselves a lot, and bickered with each other a lot. I've been up and down on the "intolerable" list every other week myself.

Problem is, they cope by putting things back together. They cope by letting their feelings out, raw, unabridged, and taking them 100% for what they are. I cope by tearing down the broken thing and building it new and different. I cope by carefully keeping my feelings to myself until I'm sure they're not going to hurt me or put me in an undesirable position, and sometimes outright countering what I feel because it's so damn easy for me to drown in it and feel sorry for myself.

The guys read this as me not wanting to grieve or mourn at all, and trying not to overwhelm me because of that. In a way, we've all been 'protecting' each other, or trying to, which is a fool's errand. This has been a vicious cycle for nearly a year that we didn't realize until Monday night.

Finally climbed into bed for the few hours I'd have before court. Except I didn't sleep. My mind buzzed and I tossed and turned and apparently mumbled incoherent things. When the alarm went off at 8AM, I was seeing things and even more incoherent. I vaguely remember Paul taking my pulse, and the guys helping me get dressed to get to the hospital. I remember watching TV with Joe in the waiting room, and some lady in Pepto Bismol pink asking us to hold her station-alarm they give you while she went to go have a cigarette. Joe went to go call court for me, and when my buzzer went off for triage, Pink Lady's buzzer was gone and so was she, and there was a different show on the TV then had been there when I was watching it a moment ago. Most of the day went in blips of consciousness like this.

At triage, the nurse became increasingly alarmed as she tried to talk to me. They put me in the back to wait for an EKG guy. I don't remember talking to him, but apparently I did because I saw him later and he struck up the last conversation. I remember talking to two people at registration after waiting for the EKG, but everything else from there to actually getting placed in an ER room is gone.

The first thing I remember in the back is the nurse was immediately on me for fluid samples. Then about fifteen minutes later, she came back and asked for more. Then they came in and took blood. Then they sent someone else in to take more blood, and put an IV in. The nurse is really nice and manages to get it in my left hand, so it doesn't wiggle if I try to sleep. Despite all the niceness, I'm getting kind of freaked out now, though.

We wait anxiously wondering what's going on, but they've been moving pretty fast with us, and the ER is busy-- which is part of our worry. Joe gets me a blanket and tells me to try and rest. I doze off. I keep waking up at intervals: Joe is sitting, Joe is pacing, Joe is in the doorway. The doctor comes in, C-something, and he's really polite and gets right to the point.

He gets that we're worried at this point, and says he needs to ask me a few questions. He does, including all the crap I've been going through with my hormones and reproductive system since last December. Then he tells us why he's worried is because my first sample came up as positive for pregnancy.

Blinkmotherfuckingblink

There are 3 reasons why this is medically impossible, only one of which is that I'm on Depo again.

As my sense of reality kind of dissolves, he cautions us that he's running the best tests for this they have on the other samples. It could be a false-positive. What he's really worried about is that I might have a pulmonary embolism-- some kind of blockage of blood to the lungs. He enunciates, "This can kill you."

Now I'm fucking scared.

Whether I'm pregnant or not, he wants to send me for an X-ray if I'll agree to it. They tell me they can safeguard me since they're only X-raying my chest. If the tests come back positive, he wants to send me for an ultrasound. If that comes back positive, we'll decide what to do from there. He goes, and about an hour passes of Joe and I sitting there in complete confusion.

He wants to go call everyone. I tell him to wait with me until they send me for something. They send me for an X-ray. I see the head of the department. It goes fast. I'm worried. The nurse doesn't know about the other tests yet, and I go back to my room where Joe is waiting. More time passes, and Dr. C checks in on me. The X-Ray is fine, but they still don't think they know anything yet, and he tells us to be patient. I try to sleep more. I've now not had REM sleep in closing on 96 hours.

When I keep waking up, the floaters are back. Finally they cart me off for an ultrasound, and Joe leaves for more phone calls. I wait for about two hours, dozing in a wheelchair wrapped up like a mummy because it's freezing. The first ultrasound takes five minutes. The technician brings the doctor in charge in for a second, better one (depending on which side you're on). I want Joe there, but no one's sent him up.

Thankfully, I am absolutely not pregnant. But, there is "anomalous tissue" that shouldn't be there, and my body is giving it blood. It might be a cyst, or... "something else", he says.

I hysterically laugh in relief and then cry while I'm getting dressed. The area is empty when I come out, and I'm told by a passing nurse someone will be coming for me shortly. I doze in the wheelchair for about an hour until someone comes to get me. Back in the room, Joe and I put together pieces from my adventures and his talks with the doctors. We're both still really confused and scared, though relieved there's not one brick to the head with the possibility of pregnancy.

The day has waned on. Neither of us is keeping track of time too well. Dr. C comes in at some point, and asks us more questions. He wants me to sign a consent form for a VQ scan concerning the pulmonary embolism. Nothing is 100%, not even the ultrasound, and in case I am pregnant, I have to sign consent to have the VQ done. Fine, whatever, just make sure I don't die, right?

They send me upstairs, Joe goes with. A hot, tiny doctor in her early-50's comes out, gracefully aged with dark hair pinned up and a grey sort of mini-dress on, except it's got a fold-patch up across the chest like an officer's outfit. She's really hyper and cheery, and introduces herself to me as the department head. She doesn't think I have a pulmonary embolism, but she'll have someone "right with me quickly."

They put radiated saltwater or something in my IV, then put me in a machine out of 2001: A Space Odyssey. I have to keeps my arms above my head. I doze off in there. The technician tells me most people freak out. I'm too tired to freak out at this point, but I am starting to feel like I got stuck in the Twilight Zone.

Joe and I joke around in the hallway while waiting to hear back. He's supposed to be in the waiting room but no one says anything. Dr. Hyper comes back and informs me I have GREAT lungs, and nothing to worry about, and they're sending me downstairs. She comes back a bit later and tells me she's sending her diagnosis to Doc C that I have extremely high stress, possibility for some sort of anxiety complex. She tells me it's not her area of expertise, but what is is that you can work your body up to being used to being stressed, and wear your body out physically. If I don't let up, I will be back in there with a PE.

The battery on my cell phone is dead, and in our rush out the door, I didn't grab my bag, so no charger. A nurse lets Joe use the phone at the station to call Paul. We watch the news and wait for hospital transport (which I'm annoyed with at this point: I could walk, get lost, and still eventually get there faster). Finally two cute young interns come up to get me. They chat with us the whole way. They're bubbly and friendly, and it makes me feel better.

We get back to the room, and the nurse who put my IV in is back to take my blood pressure. He says hopefully I'll be out of here soon, because it's about 7PM by now. They've been talking on and off about keeping me overnight, so I joke with him that if I get to leave by the time he does, I'll be happy. He laughs and says he's not done until 10PM-- and he really hopes it doesn't take 3 more hours. I'm feeling a little better but Joe and I are both frazzled and hungry. Joe hasn't much left my side, and I haven't eaten.

A young female GYN comes in. She gets right to the point-- she's really confused. Joe and I laugh at that and she laughs with us. We're all confused. That's not encouraging. There's no medical way I can be pregnant, but apparently the normal rate of some hormone I'm supposed to have is "5". I'm up somewhere at 4,000, but all other signs contradict this, and they're worried about the tissue.

Unpleasant female things ensue. Doctor is still confused, but all signs point to me being healthy and not having anything life-threatening. She brings me paperwork to release my information from my normal GYN to a department in the hospital. They'd contact me in two days to test my hormone levels again, and discuss the possibility of surgery and biopsy to see what the tissue is. More than likely, it's not a big thing to worry about, and the surgery would be outpatient (joy, more of that). It could be a cyst, loose scar tissue, or tissue left over from a previous pregnancy.

Dr. C comes back in and chats with us for a few, then takes out the IV. My symptoms are being caused by the high hormone count, and no doubt it's heightening my stress level. If I start showing any symptoms of pregnancy, like nausea, or I start having back pain, or pretty much anything else alarming, come back in immediately. He personally sends us on our way. We drown him in thanks.

Outside it's raining and humid. We're now both really damn exhausted and hungry. We get home, finish straightening up Harris's room, watch some Star Trek while we eat dinner, and then collapse early.

I sleep like the dead.

Joe says, "Kiko?"
"WHAT?"
"You set the alarm for 10:30. It's going off."
"I'm NOT getting up right now."

And I rolled over and that was that. I was amazingly less cranky about an hour and a half later. The walking-haze lifted, and Joe and I straightened up until Paul came home with Harris.

The rest of the day has been a heaven-sent with Harris. Nothing can possibly be wrong right now, and the ER and all the hysteria associated with it is miles away. I've got my follow-up in another day which I'm not looking forward to, but when I come home I'll get to come home to my boy. I've missed that and needed it so badly, and he'll be gone again Monday, so the rest of the world will have to wait.

Un-fucking-believable

2009-08-09T22:40:32Z

Once Douchebag #1 relieved himself from my life (finally, thanks for getting a hint), Douchebag #2 has made himself known, and outted himself at the same time. This dude? Is OUTRAGEOUS.

After a few weeks of really being sick and hoping to see him, he passive-aggressively dodged me at every turn. I looked really bad in front of a friend who we'd had plans to introduce to him and some of his, but the second to last day she was around, he made himself pretty clear. My family offended him, though he'd never come right out and said anything to them, so this was sort of like "bwah? Okaaay". Oh, in so many words, he had no intention of setting foot near my place or near them-- ever-- even at the expense of our friendship. (Reliable, right?)

But he loved flirting with me, and still wanted to sleep with me.

There is NOTHING you can politely say in response to that. Really. It all ends in "go fuck yourself".

So, it's done, after some drama filled txt-whining from the hypocritical ass, wishing me to, I dunno, absolve him of any guilt he may have? I never asked for a fucking apology, and even further, I wouldn't WANT it. What do five letters mean to me in the face of such selfish, callous behavior?

I'm struck by the knowledge now that, of the friends we made last year at school, Kristal was dead-on about who was worth hanging with, and who wasn't. Carla, Jason A, Brandi and Sadiyyah, despite the things that have frustrated me, have been good associates. Sarah and her ilk are flaky people that aren't honest to each other, but yet insist they have some higher answer than others, though they are intimidated but anyone challenging such ideas. College intellects.

I hope I always have people keeping me more balanced than that.

Dear President Obama,

2009-06-23T03:45:57Z

(And all you parents worried about your children smoking)

Here's a great idea, while we're morally policing the populace: if we're going to go after tobacco companies for their harmful advertising that obviously induces some sort of mind control in our young people, let's put Abercrombie & Fitch, Mattel, Nerf, and Nintendo up there, too. I don't know if you've seen any of their packaging, or the general douchebaggery of any teen who devotes themselves wholly to any one of these companies' products, but I think it's going pretty far to corrupt the youth of America.

I know a lot more people that don't smoke than do. Most of the ones that don't are young, and, this feels worse to me, naive, self-proclaimed free-thinkers who wouldn't so much as poison their bodies with MEAT, much less smoke.

Even through all that, though, I can get behind some of this bill. Those "400,000" Americans that die in "tobacco-related illnesses", though? Get thee behind me, Satan. Most of us who smoke are way past your scare tactics now. To say that someone who smoked a pack a day for 30 years and died of lung cancer probably hurt himself significantly by smoking is pretty sound logic. It is not scientific. If you know how the process works, and I'm sure you do, most of those government health statistics come from insurance companies who report information to various health boards. Wanna know why insurance companies ask if you're a smoker. Yes, that's right-- if you are or ever were, and you die of a terminal illness, they can categorize this as dying from a tobacco-related illness.

And you bet your ass they will, because people love fear.

Now, I'm not endorsing kid's commercials and baby onesies with Joe the Camel. To me, most of that stuff is a historical footnote for amusement value, like the Flintstones Winston commercials. No cartoon character ever convinced me to smoke, and my most beloved comic book characters are not smokers. If anything, my crazy fucking parents drove me to smoking. I imagine a good portion of the underage smokers in America will probably tell you a great story that boils down to doing something everybody would freak out over them doing. For a teenager, this means everything is fair game. It might actually come back to, maybe, I dunno, policing your own damn kids and not me, too?

Anyway. I wanted to let you know I get where you're coming from, and I think, at the heart, what's trying to be done here could be well intentioned. But...

WTF with my flavored tobacco, you Dumbo-earred Joker-grinning MOFO? (I mean that in the politest way, Mr. President.)

FLAVORED TOBACCO? C'mon. Some of us adults, believe it or not, actually like a cognac-vanilla flavored cigar once in a while. I can even get into the banana or grape once in a while. This is another blatant attempt by the government to protect the people from themselves, and quite frankly, we don't need it.

There's this crazy idea that some of us enjoy smoking. There are a few smoking bars in this city, lovely little cafes, really, and there are always people inside, smoking, socializing, eating and drinking. I love Djarum Blacks in the winter time, but only the winter.

Even beyond that, I can think of a few vices we all have ourselves, or have watched for entertainment, that can also be quite dangerous, or fatal, especially if continued for a lifetime. You'd be astonished at the rates on... BDSM, NASCAR racing, bungee jumping, sky diving, sex with strangers, asphyxiation for sexual pleasure, professional wrestling (have you heard what most of those guys' medical charts look like after a while? Eesh), the UFC, alcohol (you know that's a toxin, right? Kay.), football, baseball, uh... yeah, let's just say being a professional athlete of a team sport can ruin your knees/back/neck over a long period... And we all know the memory retention and speech capabilities of those who spend many years in boxing. It can be a hard fact of the business.

We know these things are dangerous, but we've weighed the risk and said for ourselves that our enjoyment of it is worth any drawbacks or risks it may carry with it.

I don't even want to hear the addiction card, either. The word you want is chemical dependency, if anything. Modern neurological science has proven love to be an addiction, yes, an actual chemical process that happens in your brain. When you're in love... or addicted to something.. your brain behaves much the same way it would if you were mentally unstable. (I recommend 'The Science of Addiction: From Neurobiology to Treatment' by Dr. Carlton Erickson, 'Addiction and the Brain: the neurobiology of compulsion and its persistence' put out by Nature Reviews Neuroscience in 2001 and published by Elsevier Science. Or just go to Discoverychannel.com and do a search.)

So if we're going to sling the addiction word around, let's at least all be clear on what we mean; socially acceptable addictions, and non-socially acceptable addictions.

I love capitalism, Mr. President, and in that venue, I love that you have done this. Do you want to know why?

You haven't stopped us, you've actually kind of helped me. I've always complained for some time that they don't make enough different flavors of pre-rolled cigarettes that are widely available-- or some just taste like perfume. There are many companies that make flavoring with "multi-purpose use", though, but there's a reason they're sold in head shops along with the "water tobacco pipes." See, with capitalism, with enough demand, someone will make 'it' eventually. I won't walk into my local head shop anymore and be disappointed by the selections of tobacco flavors, and thus, buy the pre-rolled, expensive pack of flavored cigarettes and leave.

Nope, you have now opened the door of opportunity to make what I want-- and what so many people so loudly love to hate-- more available to me. Soon, there will be shelves with all sorts of flavors. I'll buy a few, and the papers, filters, and tobacco, flavor it myself, and then I can make one banana cigarette, or a whole pack. It's entirely up to me. It will be cheaper than a flavored pack. The DIY-resources will last longer, and go farther, and I won't have to worry about not being able to share with my friends who are smokers because "crap, I've only one left, sorry!"

You're going to be renaming my menthol light 100s, but really, I couldn't give two craps about that, because it's only lip service. They won't stop making "lights" or "100s", they'll just call them something else.

Your kids will still smoke, too, but keep on keepin' on with tossing away all of our hard-earned, tax dollars, to stop kids from smoking, to keep Mexicans out, to keep marijuana illegal, and the other inane, pointless things we combat in this country. I'm laughing right now at every single one of your voters that helped lobbyists put this in place.

In closing... thank you for making it easier for me to smoke in the long run, though inconvenient in the meantime while I wait for the market to catch up.

Laughing at you,
Philadelphia Smoker.

I love when the shit writes itself.

2009-06-21T08:45:42Z

And thus, my first post.

Here's the joke and here's the punchline.

Ah, the modern age of not taking responsibility for your own immaturity. Innit grand? Don't hate me. I don't write this shit, I just laugh at it.

Edited because some people never give up
From: Saphie
Date: Sun, Jun 21, 2009 at 1:40 AM
Subject: Because it needs to be said.
To: G

Since you or one of your cronies most likely got me banned from BRPS, fuck you, G.

You know you're a wanky marty complex, manipulative son of a bitch that bullies the shit out of people and only has supporters because you constantly act like you're harmed and maligned when you're oh so innocent--never mind that it usually takes months or years of wank to get people to the point where they do speak out against you.

You're a bully. Maybe it's to protect yourself or whatever. You're just really goddamn good at hiding it.

Just be really fucking grateful I still don't intend to post anything anyone eviscerating you and making it abundantly clear exactly how quietly nasty you are.

Especially since I saved all our old logs, including ones where you were catty about people taking characters you'd left behind, and trying to get a player tossed from the game without them even breaking a rule.

From: Saphie
Date: Sun, Jun 21, 2009 at 1:59 AM
Subject: Re: Because it needs to be said.
To: G

PS I'm only directing this at you instead of Miche since it was your name mention that got me banned.

But yeah, she kinda sucks too.