This will be my last post on Blogger.
Because I have a brand new website! It retains every post I ever made here, every comment, everything!
More than that, check out the new site I now share with Bobby for not only our podcast, but also some crazy new content we're working on:
My new website: www.WillRogers2000.com!
The site I share with Bobby: www.WillAndBobby.com!
Please bookmark both and spread the word!
Showing posts with label WillRogers2000. Show all posts
Showing posts with label WillRogers2000. Show all posts
Friday, February 24, 2012
Sunday, February 19, 2012
WBKE - Episode 6: Crazy People Part 1
This week on Will and Bobby Know Everything, Bobby and I welcome my sister Kristen Rogers onto the show to discuss Crazy People!
In Part One of the show (which is also our first two-parter) Bobby, Kristen, and I discuss a toothless sandwich maker, a dangerous "pregnant" woman, and a professor Bobby and I had who may have been a ghost!
How can you resist!?
This episode is also a big deal because it's being posted on Bobby Koester's birthday! So give Bobby the gift of listening to this show!
Look for the show on iTunes by clicking here!
Stream it on your iPhone or Android phone by searching for it in the free Stitcher app!
Please subscribe to the show, and please leave any feedback you'd like. You can also get involved in the show by emailing us at WillAndBobby@gmail.com! We're always open to new hosts with new topics.
Also, because the show is free, and because it's just for fun, all Bobby and I ask is that, if you like it, please tell 3 people! No money, no nothing, just tell 3 people if you like the show!
Thanks a lot guys, take it easy, and remember that Part 2 of Crazy People will be online in a week!
And again, happy birthday to Bobby!
Monday, February 13, 2012
Scary Story Time - February, 2012
Hey guys, before we get into the story, I have a quick announcement. In light of finding out how many Friday, the 13ths we'll be experiencing in 2012, and due the the fact that I had decided to post a scary story on each one of them, I've had an idea: Instead of just randomly posting these things whenever I feel like it, I'm going to turn it into a monthly feature.
On the 13th of every month, you can expect a new Scary Story Time! I'm going to stop numbering them though, which will help, because sometimes, instead of posting a long story, I might post several short ones. And that will get clumsy. So now I'll just label each post by it's month and year, as you can see from the title of this post.
Also, at the very base of this post, look for the "Scary Story Time" tag that I'll place on each SST. By clicking on that tag, you'll have a quick consolidated list of every SST I've posted.
And finally, don't forget that JUST YESTERDAY, Bobby and I posted a BRAND NEW episode of our podcast Will and Bobby Know Everything centered on The Supernatural! So basically, once you're done with this creepy story, you should immediately search for the episode on iTunes or Stitcher, click HERE to read my post about the episode, or click HERE to listen right from your browser!
Now on to the story:
Quick disclaimer: I'm a really big fan of horror movies and scary stories. Recently I've been finding a lot of interesting little scary stories written anonymously by people on the internet, so I decided to start sharing some of the ones I like. You should know, before you read on, that I did not write any of these stories, unless otherwise noted. You should also know that I won't always be posting that I enjoy 100%. There could be a ten page story that I post because I like one sentence of it. In that case, I assume I'll explain why I posted horse-shit and what merit I see in it. Sometimes, I'll post "scary" stories that I hate, think are stupid, or maybe even funny. But more than that, you should really know that some of these stories may be somewhat graphic, so just steel yourself for anything, especially poor spelling and grammar (I don't edit these stories). No matter what, though, I hope you enjoy them too, and if you know any stories or sources, please share them with me. Also, if you have any requests, just ask, I have a huge archive of this stuff!
From the Peephole
There was a male college student living by himself in an old apartment. There was a small hole in his room’s wall, and he could peek into the next room from there. His next-door neighbor was a young woman. The woman apparently wasn’t aware of the peephole, so the man thought himself lucky and fell into a pattern of peeping on her.
Then, one day…
Around 3am, the man woke up to the sound of shuffling. Wondering what it was, he realized that it was coming from next door. Maybe she brought home a guy? Feeling his excitement mount, the man looked through the peephole. The room next door also had the lights off so he couldn’t see that well, but he could see two shadows for sure. The man felt the thrill well inside him, thinking This is it! when he noticed something was off.
The big shadow that he assumed was the man kept moving, but the woman wasn’t moving at all.
When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized that the man was punching the woman. The woman seemed to be be gagged, so even if she wanted to scream all she could do was grunt. In the end, he couldn’t even hear the groaning anymore. Then the man’s shadow left the room.
A home intruder!
The man decided to call the police, but he stopped in his tracks with the phone in his hands. If he reported this to the police, his peephole would be discovered. Wanting to protect himself, the man wavered.
Within a week the police showed up at the apartment. Apparently, the woman really was killed. Inevitably, the police found the peephole and asked the man if he’d seen anything.
The man replied, “I didn’t even realize there was a hole in the wall. I never noticed anything unusual that day.”
He was asked several more questions, but it didn’t seem that the police suspected him of anything. He couldn’t forget having witnessed the murder, but the guilt of not reporting it to the police quickly evaporated. Even two weeks later, the culprit was still on the loose.
Then, one day…
Around 3am, the man woke up to the sound of shuffling again. However, ever since the incident next door, no new tenants had come to live there. Even so, the sound was definitely coming from next door. Trembling, he peeked through the hole, but he didn’t see anything moving. Thinking it was his mind playing tricks on him, he began to move away from the hole.
Suddenly, as if trying to fill up the small hole completely, a wide-open bloodshot eye appeared. The man could only stare back, frozen with fear.
Then, a raspy woman’s voice rang through the silence.
“You saw, didn’t you?”
There was a male college student living by himself in an old apartment. There was a small hole in his room’s wall, and he could peek into the next room from there. His next-door neighbor was a young woman. The woman apparently wasn’t aware of the peephole, so the man thought himself lucky and fell into a pattern of peeping on her.
Then, one day…
Around 3am, the man woke up to the sound of shuffling. Wondering what it was, he realized that it was coming from next door. Maybe she brought home a guy? Feeling his excitement mount, the man looked through the peephole. The room next door also had the lights off so he couldn’t see that well, but he could see two shadows for sure. The man felt the thrill well inside him, thinking This is it! when he noticed something was off.
The big shadow that he assumed was the man kept moving, but the woman wasn’t moving at all.
When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized that the man was punching the woman. The woman seemed to be be gagged, so even if she wanted to scream all she could do was grunt. In the end, he couldn’t even hear the groaning anymore. Then the man’s shadow left the room.
A home intruder!
The man decided to call the police, but he stopped in his tracks with the phone in his hands. If he reported this to the police, his peephole would be discovered. Wanting to protect himself, the man wavered.
Within a week the police showed up at the apartment. Apparently, the woman really was killed. Inevitably, the police found the peephole and asked the man if he’d seen anything.
The man replied, “I didn’t even realize there was a hole in the wall. I never noticed anything unusual that day.”
He was asked several more questions, but it didn’t seem that the police suspected him of anything. He couldn’t forget having witnessed the murder, but the guilt of not reporting it to the police quickly evaporated. Even two weeks later, the culprit was still on the loose.
Then, one day…
Around 3am, the man woke up to the sound of shuffling again. However, ever since the incident next door, no new tenants had come to live there. Even so, the sound was definitely coming from next door. Trembling, he peeked through the hole, but he didn’t see anything moving. Thinking it was his mind playing tricks on him, he began to move away from the hole.
Suddenly, as if trying to fill up the small hole completely, a wide-open bloodshot eye appeared. The man could only stare back, frozen with fear.
Then, a raspy woman’s voice rang through the silence.
“You saw, didn’t you?”
THE END
Holy shit, that's a hell of a story. My hearts pounding. I want more scary stuff...I WANT to listen to Will And Bobby Know Everything - Episode 5: The Supernatural, but I'm afraid I might have a heart attack! I'm sure you're having the same problem, so here's a good pallet cleanser to calm your nerves before you move on to WBKE:
Phew, that's better. Now on to WBKE Episode 5!
Seeya!
Sunday, February 12, 2012
WBKE - Episode 5: The Supernatural
Turn on the lights.
Make sure the door is locked.
This week Will and Bobby Know Everything is delving into the topic of the supernatural.
Death.
Ghosts.
Abandoned factories.
This week's host Alex Silverii brings to Bobby and me tales of the disturbing things left behind by the previous owners of his family's house.
I tell one of the most terrifying stories known to man.
And Bobby is too masculine and rational to entertain such bullshit.
Listen to it, it's a fucking hoot. And a holler. And a SCREAM!!!
Will and Bobby Know Everything - Episode 5: The Supernatural is now available on iTunes (click here) and Stitcher. Load it up in your phone for later, or stream it through your browser right now (by clicking here)!
Please enjoy, please subscribe, and please tell your friends!
And don't forget to leave comments here or send feedback to WillAndBobby@gmail.com
Also don't remember that Bobby and I are always welcome to new hosts for new topics. We don't care who you are, everybody has something interesting to say, and everybody has a topic they care about. Please send all requests to us at that same email address: WillAndBobby@gmail.com.
It doesn't matter where you are, because through the magic of Skype, it'll sound like you're right here in the room with us!
Episode 6 will be online in a week. We recorded it just a few nights ago, and it's fucking magic.
Here are direct links to past episodes:
Friday, February 10, 2012
Ongoing: Film School
I think this'll be my first post that I constantly return to with updates, assuming anyone gives a shit.
We need to watch all the movies that people criticize us for having not seen yet.
Have you ever been talking to somebody when they bring up...lets say The Godfather? You tell them that you haven't seen The Godfather so you can't really say much about it, and they fire off with, "Oh my god, you've never seen THE GODFATHER?! It's so good!" You sheepishly shrug and they urge you that you "HAVE TO SEE IT!"
That happens to me all the time, and I'm sick of it.
And those people are right.
So a few weeks ago, Allie and I sat down and watched The Reservoir Dogs. I had seen it before, but she hadn't. It was amazing. The other night we watched One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. I loved it, I can honestly say that it's one of the better movies I've ever seen.
Maybe we're way overdue for these things, but we're making up for lost time. The movies don't even have to be classics. They just need to be movies that people love.
So here's a brief list of movies I haven't seen that I know I'm supposed to, just off the top of my head:
The Godfather Trilogy
The Lord of the Rings Trilogy
Leon: The Professional
Amelie
Annie Hall
Casino
Boogie Nights
Magnolia
Eyes Wide Shut
The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly
12 Angry Men
Rear Window
Citizen Kane
Dr. Strangelove: yadda yadda yadda
Full Metal Jacket
Raging Bull
You get the idea. I'm sure there are a lot I'm missing, and this is my first attempt at creating an actual tangible list, so please write to me here, on Twitter (click here), or on Facebook (click here) with your suggestion of movies I need to see. Especially because I'm sure there are a lot of movies I can't think of that I need to see, so help me out!
Also feel free to write in with what movies people give you shit at because you haven't seen them!
Tonight Allie and I are taking care of another movie we've been urged to see: we're going to the State Theater to see Midnight in Paris.
Booya.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
WBKE - Episode 4: Dating
Let me get this out of the way:
On Episode 4 of Will and Bobby Know Everything, Sara Mercadante joins Bobby and me via Skype. The topic this week is Dating.
Listen as Bobby and I go out of our fucking minds.
Maybe it's because the host isn't with us in person, or maybe it's because Bobby and I had more coffee than usual, but regardless of reason, Bobby and I are out of control this week. It's awesome. Listen close.
Now this is important:
We're all adults here, right? Well in the show this week, we discuss something that might be considered immature and gross, but I say suck it up and let go, and have fun. Yes it's gross, but it's also fucking hilarious.
Look for it on iTunes and Stitcher!
Click here to go directly to the show on iTunes!
Or click here to listen within your browser!
It's a fucking good one, tell your friends, because everyone should hear this horse shit.
Send any comments or questions to WillAndBobby@gmail.com
Bobby and I are always looking for new hosts for the show! You can tell it's pretty laid back and stupid, and this episode is a good example that you don't need to be with us in person, we'll take hosts from anywhere in the world, as long as you have a strong internet connection. So please let us know if you're interested, I don't give a fuck who you are or what the fuck you want to talk about, it's just for fun, so email us!
Episode 5 next week!
On Episode 4 of Will and Bobby Know Everything, Sara Mercadante joins Bobby and me via Skype. The topic this week is Dating.
Listen as Bobby and I go out of our fucking minds.
Maybe it's because the host isn't with us in person, or maybe it's because Bobby and I had more coffee than usual, but regardless of reason, Bobby and I are out of control this week. It's awesome. Listen close.
Now this is important:
We're all adults here, right? Well in the show this week, we discuss something that might be considered immature and gross, but I say suck it up and let go, and have fun. Yes it's gross, but it's also fucking hilarious.
Look for it on iTunes and Stitcher!
Click here to go directly to the show on iTunes!
Or click here to listen within your browser!
It's a fucking good one, tell your friends, because everyone should hear this horse shit.
Send any comments or questions to WillAndBobby@gmail.com
Bobby and I are always looking for new hosts for the show! You can tell it's pretty laid back and stupid, and this episode is a good example that you don't need to be with us in person, we'll take hosts from anywhere in the world, as long as you have a strong internet connection. So please let us know if you're interested, I don't give a fuck who you are or what the fuck you want to talk about, it's just for fun, so email us!
Episode 5 next week!
Sunday, January 29, 2012
WBKE - Episode 3: The Work Force
Hey guys, get to iTunes or run on search on Stitcher, because Episode 3 of Will and Bobby Know Everything is now online!
You can also listen in your browser via this link: WBKE on LibSyn
This week, guest host Samantha Short leads a conversation about what is listed as The Work Force, but is mostly a discussion about an asshole boss she, Bobby, and I have all shared.
Also we discuss a giant baby that Bobby used to live with! Who tried to get me drunk! How can you avoid something so intriguing??
As always, feel free to ask any questions or send any comments to WillAndBobby@gmail.com.
If you're interested in hosting a future episode of Will and Bobby Know Everything, just e-mail us, we're open to anybody, from anywhere! Because Skype exists!
So go ahead and listen, it's a good one!
Episode 4 next week!
Thursday, January 26, 2012
A True Blog Post. I'm Not Sorry.
Sleeping is total and absolute bullshit.
Last week I had a minor cold, and because of that, I was sleeping A LOT.
More than I'd care to.
If there was some way I could work this out, I would never sleep. Honestly, if I didn't get so goddamn groggy and messed up due to a lack of rest, I'd stay up 24 hours a day, doing nothing but going to real work, doing my own goofy work (Will and Bobby Know Everything, boom), hanging out, and doing whatever I want.
Sleep is 6-8 hours of completely wasted time.
I don't accomplish a single thing during those hours.
Worse than that, they're WAY too mandatory:
If I'm sick, like I was, and I sleep for 18 hours of a day, doped up on Nyquil, despite getting more than twice (maybe triple) the amount of sleep that the typical person needs in one night, I'll still wake up with enough energy for about 13 hours of the waking life before I have to fucking sleep again.
It's a weakness. If I sleep for 18 hours, I should be able to stay awake for 3 days.
You can't bank those hours.
However, if I stay up for 48 hours, a typical 8-hour rest won't be enough. I'll need to sleep longer.
What a joke.
Moving on.
I haven't got anything fun to examine, really, but I do want to quickly discuss this:
More than likely, you've heard about how Norway recently has had a shortage of butter.
It sounds weird, just on the surface, but the actual reason why is almost more unreal. There was a diet craze, not unlike the Atkins diet, which says that if you eat a diet with high butter-content, you'll lose weight.
That's all it takes.
In American, whenever the fucking McRib goes on sale, we line up around the block to fucking kill ourselves, but whatever, Norway freaked out over a diet fad.
(Also, in America, we don't need a goddamn excuse to eat butter).
Anyway, in response to all the stupid jokes about the situation, some dude in Norway posted the following video to us, in an effort to shut us up.
He took a stand and said "NO MORE!"
And trust me, it's WAY fucking worth watching. It's unreal. At first you might feel bad for him, but power through it and keep watching, it's the best. Keep reading when the video ends:
See, I was right.
This is the worst fucking decision this guy could have made. In an effort to make America stop mocking his country's situation, he released a video of his shiny face where he accidentally says the cake they make is called "Pussy Cats," and he generally stumbles and fucks up through the whole video. I have to give him credit for trying, I guess.
Actually, I don't. If we ran out of butter, and fucking Norway started making fun of us, I wouldn't post a video to them. I wouldn't speak broken Norwegian while trying to mock them in accidentally hilarious ways.
Maybe I would, actually, that sounds kind of fun. Especially the threat of eating butter in front of a bunch of people.
Actually, I don't. If we ran out of butter, and fucking Norway started making fun of us, I wouldn't post a video to them. I wouldn't speak broken Norwegian while trying to mock them in accidentally hilarious ways.
Maybe I would, actually, that sounds kind of fun. Especially the threat of eating butter in front of a bunch of people.
As angry as he is, which makes me want to take him seriously so that this video doesn't COMPLETELY paint him as a fool, I have to point out a few things...
There are edits in this video! I haven't done my research, but I think this is exactly what the guy posted online, himself. Occasionally you'll see the video "jump" as he finishes a point and moves on to another. There was stuff he decided to edit out! Sure, he leaves in all the bumbling missteps, and embarrassing sequences, like when he fakes you out into thinking maybe there's butter in the container he holds up. Speaking of which, I was fooled... But --
I lost my train of thought...
Christ, that pussy cats thing is unreal.
What the hell would you do if this guy actually DID come to your house and went into your refrigerator and ate a bunch of butter right in front of "your family's eyes"?
[Door gets kicked open]
"Whoa, who the fuck are you?"
Tommy storms up the hall, and turns into the kitchen, as your family, sitting on the couch, turns and watches, horrified and confused.
"Honey, do you know this guy?"
Tommy rips open the refrigerator and furiously grabs a stick of butter from the little butter cabinet thing.
Your family's mouths hang open, agape.
Tommy walks into the living room, stands in front of you, and, with great pride, defiantly takes a fucking huge bite out of the butter.
"Kids, cover your eyes!"
Tommy eats the whole thing, while you're mostly just confused. He goes back to the fridge and eats another, and then that little tub of whipped butter. You all just sit in stunned silence.
Then he has to go because he has to catch a plane back to Norway.
I really want that to happen.
I'll pay for the flight.
I'll pay for the flight.
You have to hand it to him, really. No one actually gave a fuck about this Norway/Butter situation, but he had the guts to release this dramatic/ridiculous/unnecessary video, which got some views.
It takes a real man to draw more attention to a completely absurd situation, while also throwing himself on the fire.
I'm going to try and sleep now.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
WBKE - Episode 2: Crime
Boom.
Episode 2 of Will and Bobby Know Everything is online!
In this episode, Bobby and I are joined by special guest host Tommy Becker, who comes by to discuss the state of crime in the world today. Specifically, we try to figure out the best way to murder each other.
It's a lot of fun! I hope you guys like it.
Same rules as last time, find it on:
iTunes for you Mac or PC
The iTunes app for your iPhone, by searching the show's title.
The free Stitcher (podcast directory) app for your iPhone or Android phone, by searching the show's title.
Or just listen through your browser!
No matter what, just enjoy the show!
You can make any comments of love or hate, or send any questions or requests to this blog or to WillAndBobby@gmail.com
Episode 3 in a week!
Monday, January 16, 2012
WBKE - Episode 1: Public Speaking
Hey everybody, the first episode of my buddy's and my weekly podcast, Will and Bobby Know Everything, is now online! And though it's 11:53, technically speaking, I DID get this episode up on Monday!
In this podcast, Bobby and I are joined by special guest host Michael Costa to discuss the very common fear of public speaking.
We also discuss drowning in soup.
It's a weird show, just listen to it.
Here's how:
Assuming you have iTunes installed on your computer, you can go straight to the page for the show by clicking on this link:
WBKE on iTunes
If you HAVEN'T got iTunes on your computer, you can go directly to the source, the website our podcast is originally hosted on, and either stream or download the episode by clicking on THIS link:
www.WillAndBobby.libsyn.com
If you have an iPhone, just search for the show in the iTunes app.
If you have an Android phone (this will also work for iPhones), you should download the free Stitcher (podcast database app) and search for the show to STREAM the episode.
No matter what you do, just enjoy the show, subscribe, and pass on the good word! This is a stupid fucking show for the whole family to enjoy! Aside from children! Because of the explicit language!
Bobby and I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Kevin Townsend for creating the logo for the show, Tommy Becker for creating the theme song, and Allie Palmer for helping edit the show! Thank you so much!
Please feel free to lend feedback, ask questions, or make requests here or by e-mailing WillAndBobby@gmail.com
Enjoy, it's funny!
Episode 2 comes next Monday!
In this podcast, Bobby and I are joined by special guest host Michael Costa to discuss the very common fear of public speaking.
We also discuss drowning in soup.
It's a weird show, just listen to it.
Here's how:
Assuming you have iTunes installed on your computer, you can go straight to the page for the show by clicking on this link:
WBKE on iTunes
If you HAVEN'T got iTunes on your computer, you can go directly to the source, the website our podcast is originally hosted on, and either stream or download the episode by clicking on THIS link:
www.WillAndBobby.libsyn.com
If you have an iPhone, just search for the show in the iTunes app.
If you have an Android phone (this will also work for iPhones), you should download the free Stitcher (podcast database app) and search for the show to STREAM the episode.
No matter what you do, just enjoy the show, subscribe, and pass on the good word! This is a stupid fucking show for the whole family to enjoy! Aside from children! Because of the explicit language!
Bobby and I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Kevin Townsend for creating the logo for the show, Tommy Becker for creating the theme song, and Allie Palmer for helping edit the show! Thank you so much!
Please feel free to lend feedback, ask questions, or make requests here or by e-mailing WillAndBobby@gmail.com
Enjoy, it's funny!
Episode 2 comes next Monday!
Friday, January 13, 2012
Scary Story Time #11
Hey guys, I just read some disturbing news. SEVERELY disturbing news. Evidently it's Friday, the 13th. Not only that, but we'll be having ANOTHER Friday, the 13th in 13 weeks! These are dark days, indeed. 2012 is supposedly the year that the world ends, and based on the aforementioned facts, I have to assume that this rumor is true.
Yes.
The fact that there will be two Friday, the 13th's in 13 weeks is UNDENIABLE PROOF that the world is ending.
(Disclaimer: I don't believe in any of that bullshit)
More disturbing than that is the fact that evidently I haven't posted a scary story since Halloween. I used to post these goddamn things too much, but now I find out I haven't done it in nearly a quarter of a year!
So here we go.
I should tell you that at some point I had read so many anonymously written creepy stories, that I began to rediscover stories I'd already read. I was worried that maybe I'd read them all. So I branched out. Via Google Reader, I searched for certain keywords like "creepy," "scary," and "weird." Again, I would just come across new blogs with the same old stories.
Until I found a new source.
Japanese horror stories and Japanese myths.
At first I was reluctant, because I had considered Japanese horror to be a little too bizarre, and less frightening than strange. To be fair, I was basing that assumption on the commercials I had seen for movies like The Ring and The Grudge, which looked like shit.
I decided to give anonymously written Japanese horror stories a try. And I was not disappointed.
Yes, these stories are different from anything else I have read. And no, I don't like all of them. There are urban legends about mythical creatures which are half-man and half-dog. Those stories, I don't like. But the Japanese have a very different approach to stories about ghosts. Their concept of ghosts seems to be wholly different from anything we have in this country (United States). I find it to be bizarre and disturbing. The mental image that the following story creates is both surreal and terrifying. The person who translated and re-posted the story I bring to you today (http://sayainunderworld.blogspot.com/) uses letters in place of character names. Today's story is told about a man called "Y."
So, yes, it's pretty different, but let it wash over you.
Here we go:
Yes.
The fact that there will be two Friday, the 13th's in 13 weeks is UNDENIABLE PROOF that the world is ending.
(Disclaimer: I don't believe in any of that bullshit)
More disturbing than that is the fact that evidently I haven't posted a scary story since Halloween. I used to post these goddamn things too much, but now I find out I haven't done it in nearly a quarter of a year!
So here we go.
I should tell you that at some point I had read so many anonymously written creepy stories, that I began to rediscover stories I'd already read. I was worried that maybe I'd read them all. So I branched out. Via Google Reader, I searched for certain keywords like "creepy," "scary," and "weird." Again, I would just come across new blogs with the same old stories.
Until I found a new source.
Japanese horror stories and Japanese myths.
At first I was reluctant, because I had considered Japanese horror to be a little too bizarre, and less frightening than strange. To be fair, I was basing that assumption on the commercials I had seen for movies like The Ring and The Grudge, which looked like shit.
I decided to give anonymously written Japanese horror stories a try. And I was not disappointed.
Yes, these stories are different from anything else I have read. And no, I don't like all of them. There are urban legends about mythical creatures which are half-man and half-dog. Those stories, I don't like. But the Japanese have a very different approach to stories about ghosts. Their concept of ghosts seems to be wholly different from anything we have in this country (United States). I find it to be bizarre and disturbing. The mental image that the following story creates is both surreal and terrifying. The person who translated and re-posted the story I bring to you today (http://sayainunderworld.blogspot.com/) uses letters in place of character names. Today's story is told about a man called "Y."
So, yes, it's pretty different, but let it wash over you.
Here we go:
Quick disclaimer: I'm a really big fan of horror movies and scary stories. Recently I've been finding a lot of interesting little scary stories written anonymously by people on the internet, so I decided to start sharing some of the ones I like. You should know, before you read on, that I did not write any of these stories, unless otherwise noted. You should also know that I won't always be posting that I enjoy 100%. There could be a ten page story that I post because I like one sentence of it. In that case, I assume I'll explain why I posted horse-shit and what merit I see in it. Sometimes, I'll post "scary" stories that I hate, think are stupid, or maybe even funny. But more than that, you should really know that some of these stories may be somewhat graphic, so just steel yourself for anything, especially poor spelling and grammar (I don't edit these stories). No matter what, though, I hope you enjoy them too, and if you know any stories or sources, please share them with me. Also, if you have any requests, just ask, I have a huge archive of this stuff!
Ooh, is it Y?
This is a story I heard from my friend Y. Y's grandad died about two years ago. Y loved his granddad almost too much, and at the funeral he cried like a baby, not caring that other people were watching.
It happened on the seventh day after his granddad's death. On that day there was a storm warning for the area where Y lived and in spite of the murderous wind Y didn't have enough money on him to take a bus and had to walk home from school. He struggled all the way to keep himself from blown away and it was already past seven in the evening when he finally arrived home. He took out the key from the bag and opened the front door.
As soon as he was in, he saw the door to his own room, which was visible from the front door, open, as if to welcome him. He could see from the opening that the light and the TV had been switched on, as well as the halogen heater, which was the sole source of heat in his room.
It must be mum. She was considerate enough to have my room warmed up before I got home. Y thought happily, and he called out to her in a voice more cheerful than usual.
But strangely, no one answered Y. He looked around the front door and noticed there was only one pair of shoes that belonged to Y (note:Japanese people leave shoes at the front door before entering the house) and neither his mum's nor dad's shoes were there. Then Y remembered everyone in the family apart from Y was going to be home late, due to them attending a memorial service that was being held for his granddad. Who could be home then? Y was afraid that it might be a burglar.
Y tiptoed to his room, and fearfully peeked inside through the door. In the room there sat Y's dead granddad with his back to the door.
The moment Y realized that it was his granddad, his fear vanished into thin air. Y was the sort who could never watch horror movies without having someone beside him, but although he knew he was seeing a ghost it was different when the ghost was his granddad's.
Tears rushed to his eyes out of love and gratitude that his granddad cared enough about him to visit him even after death.
Granddad gave a few of his characteristic coughs and clumsily scratched at the back of his head.
"Granddad." When Y called, grandad slowly stood up and turned around.
And as he turned, as if by a trick, the outline of his body became slightly blurred.
Granddad's face looked as if covered in red ink.
"Oh...Oooh, Y. Is it Y?" Granddad called Y's name.
The voice was as he remembered it, but the intonation was somewhat strange. It was too monotonous. Granddad used to speak with a strong accent, but his voice sounded artificial as if it had been computer-generated.
Granddad took one feeble step towards Y.
"What happened to you, granddad?"
Y said, growing anxious because granddad was acting strange.
Granddad again coughed a few times and scratched his head.
"Granddad, did you try to come home?"
When Y asked, grandad looked up at the ceiling as if he was trying to think a little, and said;
"Oh...Oooh, Y. Is it Y?," uttering exactly the same phrase and in the same intonation as before. Y found that disturbing, and began to think maybe what he was seeing in front of him was not his granddad at all.
Granddad was still staring at the ceiling. From his fingers some purplish-red liquid trickled to the floor, making a small pool on the carpet. Moreover, when Y looked at him more closely, he noticed that granddad's arm was bent at an unnatural angle; and the length between the shoulder and the elbow was longer than a normal person's upper arm should be. Granddad wasn't like that at all when he was alive. Maybe this thing was something that was pretending to be his grandad.
Y slowly start to back away, being careful not to make any noises. Despite that the thing that was pretending to be his granddad seemed to have realized Y's intention and, stretching only its neck, he stared at Y.
Oh no, it's looking at me - the moment Y thought it, the thing's face was right in front of him.
Its body was still standing where it was; the only parts that moved were its head and neck. The neck was now like a over-stretched rubber band. Before his eyes, purplish-red bubbles formed around its mouth.
"Oh...Oooh, Y. Is it Y?"
Y screamed.
He ran for his life and took refuge in the nearest bookshop. He was scared to be alone in the house. He couldn't go back until the rest of the family was home, by which time it was past 9pm. He told them what happened to him but none took him seriously.
That night he was forced to sleep in his own room, where the red granddad appeared. Y felt uneasy. Whenever he closed his eyes he feared that he would see that red face the moment he opened his eyes again. But in the end fatigue took the better of him and he fell asleep.
When he woke up the next morning, his face somehow felt itchy. He went to the bathroom and looked himself in the mirror; his face was wet with purplish-red juice.
From then on he stopped sleeping in his room. Because he wasn't sure if he could manage to escape like the last time if the thing appeared to him again.
To this day Y still says, "that was definitely not my granddad."
It happened on the seventh day after his granddad's death. On that day there was a storm warning for the area where Y lived and in spite of the murderous wind Y didn't have enough money on him to take a bus and had to walk home from school. He struggled all the way to keep himself from blown away and it was already past seven in the evening when he finally arrived home. He took out the key from the bag and opened the front door.
As soon as he was in, he saw the door to his own room, which was visible from the front door, open, as if to welcome him. He could see from the opening that the light and the TV had been switched on, as well as the halogen heater, which was the sole source of heat in his room.
It must be mum. She was considerate enough to have my room warmed up before I got home. Y thought happily, and he called out to her in a voice more cheerful than usual.
But strangely, no one answered Y. He looked around the front door and noticed there was only one pair of shoes that belonged to Y (note:Japanese people leave shoes at the front door before entering the house) and neither his mum's nor dad's shoes were there. Then Y remembered everyone in the family apart from Y was going to be home late, due to them attending a memorial service that was being held for his granddad. Who could be home then? Y was afraid that it might be a burglar.
Y tiptoed to his room, and fearfully peeked inside through the door. In the room there sat Y's dead granddad with his back to the door.
The moment Y realized that it was his granddad, his fear vanished into thin air. Y was the sort who could never watch horror movies without having someone beside him, but although he knew he was seeing a ghost it was different when the ghost was his granddad's.
Tears rushed to his eyes out of love and gratitude that his granddad cared enough about him to visit him even after death.
Granddad gave a few of his characteristic coughs and clumsily scratched at the back of his head.
"Granddad." When Y called, grandad slowly stood up and turned around.
And as he turned, as if by a trick, the outline of his body became slightly blurred.
Granddad's face looked as if covered in red ink.
"Oh...Oooh, Y. Is it Y?" Granddad called Y's name.
The voice was as he remembered it, but the intonation was somewhat strange. It was too monotonous. Granddad used to speak with a strong accent, but his voice sounded artificial as if it had been computer-generated.
Granddad took one feeble step towards Y.
"What happened to you, granddad?"
Y said, growing anxious because granddad was acting strange.
Granddad again coughed a few times and scratched his head.
"Granddad, did you try to come home?"
When Y asked, grandad looked up at the ceiling as if he was trying to think a little, and said;
"Oh...Oooh, Y. Is it Y?," uttering exactly the same phrase and in the same intonation as before. Y found that disturbing, and began to think maybe what he was seeing in front of him was not his granddad at all.
Granddad was still staring at the ceiling. From his fingers some purplish-red liquid trickled to the floor, making a small pool on the carpet. Moreover, when Y looked at him more closely, he noticed that granddad's arm was bent at an unnatural angle; and the length between the shoulder and the elbow was longer than a normal person's upper arm should be. Granddad wasn't like that at all when he was alive. Maybe this thing was something that was pretending to be his grandad.
Y slowly start to back away, being careful not to make any noises. Despite that the thing that was pretending to be his granddad seemed to have realized Y's intention and, stretching only its neck, he stared at Y.
Oh no, it's looking at me - the moment Y thought it, the thing's face was right in front of him.
Its body was still standing where it was; the only parts that moved were its head and neck. The neck was now like a over-stretched rubber band. Before his eyes, purplish-red bubbles formed around its mouth.
"Oh...Oooh, Y. Is it Y?"
Y screamed.
He ran for his life and took refuge in the nearest bookshop. He was scared to be alone in the house. He couldn't go back until the rest of the family was home, by which time it was past 9pm. He told them what happened to him but none took him seriously.
That night he was forced to sleep in his own room, where the red granddad appeared. Y felt uneasy. Whenever he closed his eyes he feared that he would see that red face the moment he opened his eyes again. But in the end fatigue took the better of him and he fell asleep.
When he woke up the next morning, his face somehow felt itchy. He went to the bathroom and looked himself in the mirror; his face was wet with purplish-red juice.
From then on he stopped sleeping in his room. Because he wasn't sure if he could manage to escape like the last time if the thing appeared to him again.
To this day Y still says, "that was definitely not my granddad."
I don't know about you, but for whatever reason, that description of the grandfather's neck stretching like a rubber band really gets me. It's weird, and oddly nondescript, what is actually happening here. I myself picture the grandfather standing still, across the room from Y, but his neck is stretched, parallel to the floor, so that his face is inches away from Y's. It's terrifying to me, because of how weird it is.
I'm going to go a step further here.
I'm about to get REALLY fucking nerdy. Part of what terrifies me about this story is that, in part, I relate the grandfather's ghost to this character:
This character (enemy) is from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, from both the Nintendo 64 and the Nintendo 3DS, and it's a fucking nightmare.
It pops out of the ground with it's over-long neck stretched out straight up to the ceiling. Once you approach it, it slowly brings it's head down to stare at you, and ultimately attempt to bite you with it's huge mouth.
Bonus points for bullshit: it also has weird long arms that pop out of the ground around it, with sharply nailed hands which will grab you told hold you in place for some goddamn chomping.
Bonus points for bullshit: it also has weird long arms that pop out of the ground around it, with sharply nailed hands which will grab you told hold you in place for some goddamn chomping.
Anyway. That's the creepy story for today, Friday, January 13th, 2012.
I don't want to leave you shaking in your boots though, defenseless though. So here's an item to help you:
Take it easy guys.
Take it easy guys.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Sneak Peek: WBKE - Episode 1: Public Speaking
Hey guys, yesterday all I did was basically announce that Will and Bobby Know Everything exists. Tonight I have the first few minutes of the show online for you to check out!
Right now I have the show out for review by iTunes and a great app called Stitcher, so while you'll be able to get episode one on either of those services, for now you can only listen to this clip via the hosting site, Libsyn.
Basically, just play this file and check out the first few minutes of Episode 1: Public Speaking, with guest host Michael Costa!
I hope you guys like(d) it, and if you want to ask any questions or give any feedback, feel free to do it on this blog or e-mail Bobby and me at WillAndBobby@gmail.com!
Episode 1 goes live on Monday, January 16th! Stay tuned!
Right now I have the show out for review by iTunes and a great app called Stitcher, so while you'll be able to get episode one on either of those services, for now you can only listen to this clip via the hosting site, Libsyn.
Basically, just play this file and check out the first few minutes of Episode 1: Public Speaking, with guest host Michael Costa!
I hope you guys like(d) it, and if you want to ask any questions or give any feedback, feel free to do it on this blog or e-mail Bobby and me at WillAndBobby@gmail.com!
Episode 1 goes live on Monday, January 16th! Stay tuned!
Monday, January 9, 2012
Announcing Will and Bobby Know Everything
I'm really goddamn excited to announce a new project my friend Bobby Koester and I have been working on: our new comedy podcast which will begin ONE WEEK FROM TODAY!
A huge thanks to Kevin Townsend who created this logo! You should check out his blog to see not only his work, but also the incredible things he finds: http://blog.sevenknotwind.com/
On WBKE, every week we will have a new episode with a guest host who brings a topic to Bobby and me, which we all then dissect. While embarrassing ourselves.
The show will be free of charge and easily available online. You'll be able to get it on iTunes, Stitcher (more another time) and Libsyn, which is where the podcast itself is hosted online.
The podcast is essentially just a talk radio show available whenever you want it to be. You can download it to your phone or stream it on your computer. Honestly, it'll be so easily accessible that you can listen to it at your house while you're getting ready for work, continue it during your commute, and finish it at your desk.
I should suggest you wear headphones if you listen to it in public, though. The subject matter is safe, but I curse a lot.
A lot.
Maybe too much, but I also don't care.
It's a weird funny show that I think you'll really be able to get into. And potentially involved in, but I'll explain that at some other time.
I'll actually explain a lot at some other time, I just want you to know that Will and Bobby Know Everything is coming.
Whether you want it to or not.
It'll be kind of weird if you explicitly don't want it to, though, because you could always just ignore it.
But, come on, don't do that.
Has anyone ever told you you're kind of a jerk?
Kaboom. More very soon.
On WBKE, every week we will have a new episode with a guest host who brings a topic to Bobby and me, which we all then dissect. While embarrassing ourselves.
The show will be free of charge and easily available online. You'll be able to get it on iTunes, Stitcher (more another time) and Libsyn, which is where the podcast itself is hosted online.
The podcast is essentially just a talk radio show available whenever you want it to be. You can download it to your phone or stream it on your computer. Honestly, it'll be so easily accessible that you can listen to it at your house while you're getting ready for work, continue it during your commute, and finish it at your desk.
I should suggest you wear headphones if you listen to it in public, though. The subject matter is safe, but I curse a lot.
A lot.
Maybe too much, but I also don't care.
It's a weird funny show that I think you'll really be able to get into. And potentially involved in, but I'll explain that at some other time.
I'll actually explain a lot at some other time, I just want you to know that Will and Bobby Know Everything is coming.
Whether you want it to or not.
It'll be kind of weird if you explicitly don't want it to, though, because you could always just ignore it.
But, come on, don't do that.
Has anyone ever told you you're kind of a jerk?
Kaboom. More very soon.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Here Comes Santa Claus
Last night, from about 9:00pm to about 3:00am, Allie worked on making me a Santa costume:
I looked horrible.
Fortunately, she wasn't done at all. But I'm getting ahead of myself, here's why this happened:
The "Dan" she mentioned is her boss, by the way. She didn't accidentally call me Dan. I think. Actually I'm not sure. I'll ask her later.
So there you go. I was forced into it...Kind of. I knew this was coming. To be extra careful, I practiced the voice and stayed in character for the past month just to get it right. I'm kind of like Daniel Day Lewis. Anyway, the video we shot came out really well, I actually looked and sounded legitimately like Santa Claus, and hopefully I never have to do this again.
But here's the thing, take another quick look at how the costume and makeup look in that picture and video. It doesn't look great, but Allie is a freaking genius, because look at what all those weird individual pieces ended up as:
Incredible.
You'll never see the final video though.
Happy Holidays.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Oh Good, Unsolicited Opinions and Advice
It seems to me that there are a few things that everybody in the world agrees are annoying. For example: every single person in the world thinks rubbernecking is a pain in the ass. We all complain about traffic caused by idiots who gawk at every fender bender. I've yet to hear a single person say, "you know what I like? Car accidents. Everybody slows down, and I get to take a good look." Likewise, everybody seems to hate it when people talk during a movie. These things are universal.
You know what else we all seem to hate? People who push their opinions and beliefs on us. So why do we always tell each other what to think and do?
The other day I was driving home from work, and I had to merge into a lane on a highway. As I was trying to squeeze in, a guy assertively sped up to get ahead of me, rather than let me glide in front of him. It was no big deal. It was definitely because they didn't want to be behind me, and they had to drift into another lane to get around me, but it really wasn't a completely shitty maneuver. It was blah. I didn't give it another thought, until I squared up behind them. Thanks to their swoop-around, I got to check out their bumper sticker, which I managed to find an image of online.
It may be the teeniest tiniest picture in the world. Start squinting........now:
If you can't quite tell, that's a bumper sticker which says, "Abortion: One Dead / One Wounded," and it has a picture of a distraught woman on it.
I'm not about to debate the issue of whether or not abortion is moral or should be legal, so relax, I'm going to talk about how this person is a fucking asshole for not being able to shut their goddamn mouth.
I don't care what you think. About anything. You have your opinions, I have mine. The only time the two of them should be expressed is in some sort of public forum where we are each able to make a case for our beliefs. Even then, I probably don't want to talk to you.
Most people are insufferable, and if one thing is certain, it's that while I'm in my car, I should be free from your bullshit ideas.
Are we so self righteous and self centered that we think we need to be stating a "fact" or crafting an argument even when we're busy driving?
This person has this bumper sticker stuck to their stupid car! It's not even a matter of caring about the issue of abortion, it's a matter of thinking that their opinions need to be presented and respected at all times.
What exactly do they think is going to happen? What are they accomplishing? Are they under the impression that I am pro-choice, but once I see this cheap two-tone bumper sticker I'm going to rethink my beliefs? They must think that I'm about to have an epiphany sitting here in traffic, and change my whole life. Should I thank them? Do they want to spark fury in me? Do they want a debate?
Do they want to know if I'm anti-abortion and if they can be friends with me?
No.
Nope.
Nah.
They're just a dog barking. They just want to bluntly barf out what they think. They haven't really thought it through. They found something which expresses what they believe, and tossed it on their car because they're simple.
They must understand that this is an issue on which people strongly disagree. People fight tooth and nail over abortion, and they've casually placed their stance on the bumper of their car to challenge all the people on the other side of the coin. Really, just fuck off. We all have enough shit to think about without some simple, small minded moron throwing their opinions in our face. Now I'm barfing.
Why do people seem to want to have an impact on our lives? Are they bored, or just self obsessed?
It's not all about hot button issues, either. For example, here's something which I see on my way to work every damn day:
A few months ago, someone spray painted the impossible phrase "Smiles everyone! Smile" on a walkway in New Brunswick. I get annoyed every time I drive under it.
Part of the reason is that the phrasing is all screwed up. First we're ordered with "Smiles everyone," which is clearly addressed at the population at large, hence "smiles" being plural. But then it's followed up with the reinforcement of "Smile," which is singular and therefor seemingly directed directly at the reader (Though my personal theory is just that this was scrawled out by some drunk idiot Rutgers freshman who thinks they stumbled across a brilliant and simple way of solving all the world's frowns, but whose brain screwed up the phrasing).
The other part of the reason I hate this is the same reason why I hate the abortion bumper sticker: Don't tell me what to do or think. Leave me alone, shut up, and keep your opinions to yourself.
I know that this is all a bit rich coming from me, considering that I have a blog where all I do is write what I want without input, but the difference is that you have the option of ignoring all my shit. I have to drive under this bridge every morning, and there's nothing more annoying than someone telling you to smile when you're tired and grumpy. Just let me grump in peace.
I'm just going to start spray painting "Frowns everyone! Frown!" on every bridge I see, because I think my views deserve to be seen and appreciated.
I could have just posted this video to illustrate my point:
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Conspiracy Theories
A few minutes ago, I glanced over at my phone and saw that I had gotten a couple of text messages. I tapped on my inbox and saw that I had received both messages at the exact same time from two different phone numbers, neither of which are in my phone book. Just random digits.
I tapped on the first one. It simply said, "Like."
Then I tapped on the second one: "Love."
Weird. Really weird. The likelihood of receiving two anonymous texts from two different numbers with similar messages has got to be slim.
I sat up straight in my chair. It was time to play detective.
I'm always down for a good mystery. Always. I'm not a conspiracy nut, really. I'm just a big fan of having something odd happen, as long as it's harmless. I seek it out.
There's a huge book store in New York called The Strand, which boasts an inventory of "18 miles of new, used and rare books." When I was 18 or 19, I walked into the deepest darkest corners of the store on the off chance that I might find a creepy old tome hidden behind some Sue Graftons. No luck. Bummer.
It's exciting, though. It's fun to think that that there's something taking place that relates to you, but you're not privy to all of the information. I love the idea of Urban Legends that have some basis in reality. Fascinating. Why couldn't there be a magical book laying flat on a low shelf in a dark basement corner of a bookstore? I've seen that shit in movies MANY times. It happens!
One of the biggest events of modern history to be enshrouded in mystery was the JFK assassination. Thousands of people believe and investigate numerous theories as to how and why he was killed, as well as who did it, and whether or not the government was involved. There's even a theory which suggests that after he died, his body was taken, and his wounds were modified to make it appear as if he were shot from a particular angle. Why? Well who knows. We'll find out the truth in 2017 when the documents regarding the event are released.
I should say, before I get back to the mystery of the friendly texts, that I'm no stranger to high stakes intrigue.
About four years ago, I was leaving a class at Rutgers with my messenger bag over my shoulder. It held a few notebooks, a pair of headphones, and my Sony PSP (one of the most advanced handheld gaming systems the world has ever known [it kind of sucks]). I walked to my parking space, and put my bag on top of my car while fumbling with my keys. Ten minutes later, I pulled into my driveway and realized I had driven home with my bag on the roof of the car.
OH NO!
I got out of the car, but obviously, the bag wasn't there anymore. I quickly drove back to Rutgers, and looked around my parking spot. No luck. I then took the same route home as I had earlier, desperately looking for my bag. It was gone. Maybe for good.
The next day I was sitting in one of my classes which took place in a large lecture hall. About ten minutes into the lesson, the professor was interrupted by a student who addressed the room and held up a bag. My bag. He said he had found it on the side of the road the previous night, and based on a schedule inside one of the notebooks, he figured out that the owner must be in the room. Excited, I claimed the bag, thanked the guy, and he left. I walked back to my seat and checked the bags contents.
As I expected. the PSP was gone. Being that I had expected to lose everything however, I was pretty fine with it. Especially considering the PSP kind of sucks (as I mentioned).
So there I was sitting in class with my stuff again, talking to a friend about how lucky it was that the guy thought to check for a schedule, and how it was cool that he actually bothered to do a decent thing such as bring the bag back to it's owner. I assumed that he wasn't the one to steal the PSP, based on how helpful he was, and that someone else probably found the bag first. Realizing that, I said this:
And seriously, I actually said this. Honestly. I swear. Here's what I said:
"Y'know, it's weird, but how cool would it be if there was a message scrawled on a page of one of my notebooks, like an old detective story."
My friend basically rolled her eyes at my geekiness. So I just sat there. But then my curiosity got the better of me, and like how I actually looked for an old cursed book in The Strand, I childishly checked my notebook for a secret message.
And I found one.
As of when I'm writing this, I can't post the proof, but rest assured that I'll update this post TONIGHT with a picture of the message.
But anyway, what I found was a message lightly written in pencil on the last page of a marble notebook. It was a phone number with the instructions to "Coll Pedro" written beneath it.
EDIT:
I told you I'd give you proof. I just took a picture of the page and the message, but I scribbled out the guy's address and phone number:
I was stunned. And really fucking excited. This was exactly what I was hoping for.
So obviously I pretended I didn't care for a couple of days. Because as much as it was thrilling, it was also kind of scary.
Eventually, my curiosity go the better of me, and I called the number. Pedro answered. I explained that I was the guy who had lost the bag. I said I got his message.
He told me he had something that belonged to me.
Like a fucking film noir! Awesome/terrifying!
He asked me if I knew what it was. Also scary.
I said it was a Sony PSP, and he confirmed that was what he had, he just needed to verify that I was the owner.
Now I realize that this whole thing doesn't make any goddamn sense, but I hope the insanity of this story is itself proof that the tale I'm telling is true. Truth is stranger than fiction.
I know that it's illogical that somebody should find a bag, take the expensive gadget out, leave a scrawled message, and go. How would he know the bag would ever get back to me? How would he know that somebody else would find the bag and be smart enough to check for a schedule? How would he know that same person would also be decent enough to go looking for it's owner? Finally, how would he know the owner would be a goofy man-child who goes looking for secret messages?
There are so many variables at play there that you can't truly expect those events to play out properly. It's incredible.
But fortunately they played out EXACTLY right for me to be on the phone, getting quizzed about what he had in his possession. This means that he also thought it likely that someone would find a bag and go looking for secret messages and phone numbers, and care enough to call. Mind you, the message in the book said nothing about recovering a lost item. It merely said to "coll" Pedro! Very bizarre.
But I passed the test. He gave me his address and told me when I could come by to pick it up. I questioned whether or not it was worth it. His house wasn't exactly in a bad neighborhood, but it was certainly a strange enough situation that I was considering letting him keep it. After all, I had already thought it to be gone forever.
Then I realized I was only half way through Crash Bandicoot. I grabbed my coat and ran out the door.
(That's a joke, I actually talked about it with a friend who said he'd come with me. Curiosity got the better of me once again so we went.)
I called Pedro from outside his house, and he told me to come right in.
Fuck no.
I said I was running late for a class, and so I wasn't coming in. Instead asked if he could meet us outside. A couple minutes later, who I can only describe as a human version of Super Mario walks out of the house, with a dirty grocery bag bunched up in his hands, which, by the way, are completely covered in white powder up to his elbows. Got the image? Mario. Short, fat, mustachioed. Arms covered in white powder. Dirty grocery bag.
He quizzes me again to confirm that I'm the owner of the bag. The odds of me being some crook who correctly guessed that he had a PSP are unreasonable, but whatever, I confirm who I am, and he hands me the dirty bag. My PSP. Great. Let me get the fuck out of here now.
He explains that he found the bag in the street, looked inside, and took the PSP because he didn't want anybody to steal it. It doesn't make much sense, but I just want to get out of there, so I thank him again, take the PSP (battery completely drained...I hope you enjoyed Crash Bandicoot, Mario!), and my buddy and I take off.
Mystery solved, although I had to wonder why that guy's arms were covered in white powder. I asked my friend what he thought, he quickly answered, "He's probably a professional gymnast. He was in great shape."
Another riddle un-riddled. And it's this experience that has made me a master detective.
So now all that's left is to reveal who those texts ("Like," "Love") were from. Well it's simple, really. They were messages accidentally copied to me intended as responses to a picture Bobby had mass texted to his friends. This is the picture:
All this bullshit because of a picture of a cat. An awesome cat, yeah, but all this crap I wrote is because of a picture of a cat. Sorry.
Case closed.
I tapped on the first one. It simply said, "Like."
Then I tapped on the second one: "Love."
Weird. Really weird. The likelihood of receiving two anonymous texts from two different numbers with similar messages has got to be slim.
I sat up straight in my chair. It was time to play detective.
I'm always down for a good mystery. Always. I'm not a conspiracy nut, really. I'm just a big fan of having something odd happen, as long as it's harmless. I seek it out.
There's a huge book store in New York called The Strand, which boasts an inventory of "18 miles of new, used and rare books." When I was 18 or 19, I walked into the deepest darkest corners of the store on the off chance that I might find a creepy old tome hidden behind some Sue Graftons. No luck. Bummer.
It's exciting, though. It's fun to think that that there's something taking place that relates to you, but you're not privy to all of the information. I love the idea of Urban Legends that have some basis in reality. Fascinating. Why couldn't there be a magical book laying flat on a low shelf in a dark basement corner of a bookstore? I've seen that shit in movies MANY times. It happens!
One of the biggest events of modern history to be enshrouded in mystery was the JFK assassination. Thousands of people believe and investigate numerous theories as to how and why he was killed, as well as who did it, and whether or not the government was involved. There's even a theory which suggests that after he died, his body was taken, and his wounds were modified to make it appear as if he were shot from a particular angle. Why? Well who knows. We'll find out the truth in 2017 when the documents regarding the event are released.
I should say, before I get back to the mystery of the friendly texts, that I'm no stranger to high stakes intrigue.
About four years ago, I was leaving a class at Rutgers with my messenger bag over my shoulder. It held a few notebooks, a pair of headphones, and my Sony PSP (one of the most advanced handheld gaming systems the world has ever known [it kind of sucks]). I walked to my parking space, and put my bag on top of my car while fumbling with my keys. Ten minutes later, I pulled into my driveway and realized I had driven home with my bag on the roof of the car.
OH NO!
I got out of the car, but obviously, the bag wasn't there anymore. I quickly drove back to Rutgers, and looked around my parking spot. No luck. I then took the same route home as I had earlier, desperately looking for my bag. It was gone. Maybe for good.
The next day I was sitting in one of my classes which took place in a large lecture hall. About ten minutes into the lesson, the professor was interrupted by a student who addressed the room and held up a bag. My bag. He said he had found it on the side of the road the previous night, and based on a schedule inside one of the notebooks, he figured out that the owner must be in the room. Excited, I claimed the bag, thanked the guy, and he left. I walked back to my seat and checked the bags contents.
As I expected. the PSP was gone. Being that I had expected to lose everything however, I was pretty fine with it. Especially considering the PSP kind of sucks (as I mentioned).
So there I was sitting in class with my stuff again, talking to a friend about how lucky it was that the guy thought to check for a schedule, and how it was cool that he actually bothered to do a decent thing such as bring the bag back to it's owner. I assumed that he wasn't the one to steal the PSP, based on how helpful he was, and that someone else probably found the bag first. Realizing that, I said this:
And seriously, I actually said this. Honestly. I swear. Here's what I said:
"Y'know, it's weird, but how cool would it be if there was a message scrawled on a page of one of my notebooks, like an old detective story."
My friend basically rolled her eyes at my geekiness. So I just sat there. But then my curiosity got the better of me, and like how I actually looked for an old cursed book in The Strand, I childishly checked my notebook for a secret message.
And I found one.
As of when I'm writing this, I can't post the proof, but rest assured that I'll update this post TONIGHT with a picture of the message.
But anyway, what I found was a message lightly written in pencil on the last page of a marble notebook. It was a phone number with the instructions to "Coll Pedro" written beneath it.
EDIT:
I told you I'd give you proof. I just took a picture of the page and the message, but I scribbled out the guy's address and phone number:
I was stunned. And really fucking excited. This was exactly what I was hoping for.
So obviously I pretended I didn't care for a couple of days. Because as much as it was thrilling, it was also kind of scary.
Eventually, my curiosity go the better of me, and I called the number. Pedro answered. I explained that I was the guy who had lost the bag. I said I got his message.
He told me he had something that belonged to me.
Like a fucking film noir! Awesome/terrifying!
He asked me if I knew what it was. Also scary.
I said it was a Sony PSP, and he confirmed that was what he had, he just needed to verify that I was the owner.
Now I realize that this whole thing doesn't make any goddamn sense, but I hope the insanity of this story is itself proof that the tale I'm telling is true. Truth is stranger than fiction.
I know that it's illogical that somebody should find a bag, take the expensive gadget out, leave a scrawled message, and go. How would he know the bag would ever get back to me? How would he know that somebody else would find the bag and be smart enough to check for a schedule? How would he know that same person would also be decent enough to go looking for it's owner? Finally, how would he know the owner would be a goofy man-child who goes looking for secret messages?
There are so many variables at play there that you can't truly expect those events to play out properly. It's incredible.
But fortunately they played out EXACTLY right for me to be on the phone, getting quizzed about what he had in his possession. This means that he also thought it likely that someone would find a bag and go looking for secret messages and phone numbers, and care enough to call. Mind you, the message in the book said nothing about recovering a lost item. It merely said to "coll" Pedro! Very bizarre.
But I passed the test. He gave me his address and told me when I could come by to pick it up. I questioned whether or not it was worth it. His house wasn't exactly in a bad neighborhood, but it was certainly a strange enough situation that I was considering letting him keep it. After all, I had already thought it to be gone forever.
Then I realized I was only half way through Crash Bandicoot. I grabbed my coat and ran out the door.
(That's a joke, I actually talked about it with a friend who said he'd come with me. Curiosity got the better of me once again so we went.)
I called Pedro from outside his house, and he told me to come right in.
Fuck no.
I said I was running late for a class, and so I wasn't coming in. Instead asked if he could meet us outside. A couple minutes later, who I can only describe as a human version of Super Mario walks out of the house, with a dirty grocery bag bunched up in his hands, which, by the way, are completely covered in white powder up to his elbows. Got the image? Mario. Short, fat, mustachioed. Arms covered in white powder. Dirty grocery bag.
He quizzes me again to confirm that I'm the owner of the bag. The odds of me being some crook who correctly guessed that he had a PSP are unreasonable, but whatever, I confirm who I am, and he hands me the dirty bag. My PSP. Great. Let me get the fuck out of here now.
He explains that he found the bag in the street, looked inside, and took the PSP because he didn't want anybody to steal it. It doesn't make much sense, but I just want to get out of there, so I thank him again, take the PSP (battery completely drained...I hope you enjoyed Crash Bandicoot, Mario!), and my buddy and I take off.
Mystery solved, although I had to wonder why that guy's arms were covered in white powder. I asked my friend what he thought, he quickly answered, "He's probably a professional gymnast. He was in great shape."
Another riddle un-riddled. And it's this experience that has made me a master detective.
So now all that's left is to reveal who those texts ("Like," "Love") were from. Well it's simple, really. They were messages accidentally copied to me intended as responses to a picture Bobby had mass texted to his friends. This is the picture:
All this bullshit because of a picture of a cat. An awesome cat, yeah, but all this crap I wrote is because of a picture of a cat. Sorry.
Case closed.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
The Buddy System
On October 6th, 2011 (I give the year because it's almost over), my dog Daisy died. If you have any concept of who I am, you likely know that because I haven't stopped talking about it. Based on the past couple of months, I don't think I ever will.
I've written previously about how talking has helped me cope with her death. And I have to take that previous point of view for what it's worth, because now I'm a month and a half removed from saying it, and I can tell you now, on December 6th, 2011, that I can hardly stand to think about my girl, let alone talk about her.
I'm still very upset. And I'm very angry. Not in general, I should say. In general, I think I'm pretty okay, but when it comes to my dog, I'm very, very angry.
Being that I aspire to someday have a career based on my writing, I usually try to revel in ANY extreme emotion, and given how extreme I become when thinking about Daisy, I've tried to write from this mindset. I can't do it. It's too much. I'm so overwhelmed by how much I'm hurt. If that weren't enough, I'm actually annoyed at myself for letting my hurt turn into anger.
We adopted a new dog, partly because the house was too empty without my big goofy girl, partly because we needed someone new to focus on, and partly because of our OTHER dog, Harley.
Lately, out of the blue, I've begun to slip. I'm calling people by the wrong name. More specifically I've been calling our new dog Daisy. Her name is Penny. I slip and call her Daisy. Somethings wrong. I've lost a girl who should have been a long term family member. She was my pet, my friend, and my family. And my brain is trying to reintroduce her, because I can't quite stand life without that stupid fucking dog pouncing on me.
Worse than my interpretation of her death, which is inherently more informed because of my human brain (and because I was there), is what seems to be happening to poor Harley.
Harley is approximately 12 years old. And I have to approximate that age, because, just like all of our pets, he was a rescue. I don't intend to get on a high horse here, but I kind of do, because I'm proud of my family for always adopting a pet who NEEDS our help. There will always be people who buy from breeders, and there will always be people who just shop at puppy stores, but not as many people will welcome an older, potentially abused dog into their house. But those are the dogs who need a home. Daisy was one of them. Harley is one. We don't know what happened to him, but when we got him, he was approximately 3 years old, and was very nervous around men. I have to assume that he was hit by a man.
To take a quick tangent: If you are a human, and you are reading this, and you have EVER abused an animal, you are actually an inhuman fucking monster. One time I was at a party with my friend Bobby, where we saw a guy put his foot down on his cat's neck in some bizarre joking/frustrated manner, and we were inches from fucking killing him. Don't abuse animals. I'm going to turn into a real-life Batman who defends animals. My story parallels Bruce Wayne's: His parents were murdered in front of him. I had a doggy who died and I found out later. Chilling similarity.
Anyway, Harley has been in our family for 9 years, and in that time, he has seen many animals come and go. And he's always been a great dog, but he's been aging. When Daisy showed up 3 years ago, he suddenly got a good burst of speed, and somehow he seemed to be really interested in that girl. He kept step and pace with her, running around in the backyard, despite the fact that Daisy was 4 times his size. She kept him young. Now that she's gone, he's slow, sluggish, and man does he look old.
With any luck:
We're born into a world where we have an established family. We're born into a world where we have parents, siblings, and extended family, all of whom have a distinct love and interest in us. We're coddled as babies (because there's no such thing as some weird, self-sufficient baby), and then during our formative years, our families take care of everything for us. We have homes, clothes, food, an education, and in the unfortunate circumstance that a member of our family dies, magically a funeral has been planned, and all we have to do is show up. Maybe. If we're too young, we probably don't even have to go. Basically, we're accounted for.
At some point, though, we start to expand our interest outside of our families. And I should say that I don't limit "family" to blood. Our family is whoever takes care of us. At some point, we expand our interest outside of those who take care of us out of a sense of duty. And if we're lucky, we meet someone who will take care of us because they want to.
Think about it for a couple minutes, and you'll realize that your parents are nothing more, and have never been anything more than two people who like each other. It's a basic analysis, but it's true. Our parents are two people who like each other so much they wanted to spend most of their time with each other. They liked each other so much that they had children. They maybe liked each other so much that they decided to live in the same house, and forever sleep in the same bed.
Our parents are not obligated to each other necessarily. They just really really like each other. They're what we aspire to not only because they are our reference point for how we're meant to structure our lives, but because family can only go so far.
I love and respect my family. Every member. And in my family, each and every member is particularly interesting (or I'm bullshitting), but the world we're born into is limited. Most of the people we meet the moment we're born are already adults. As we grow up, they're getting older. I don't mean to be grim (which is to say that I'm not being grim for the sake of being grim, I'm being grim because the concept I want to explore is inherently grim), but these people are likely going to die before we do. It happens generation after generation. We should know that. I've tried to. It's fascinating and inescapable, and the fact that it can truly happen at any moment is major bullshit.
When we get to the point that we are expanding our interests outside of our family, we're met with absurd trepidation and apprehension, and rejection. We accidentally make new friends and form complex relationships, and we stumble into traditions and layers of responsibility toward each other. We date a lot, and we try each other out. And it's awkward and dramatic and fun, but eventually we get to the point where we truly want/need to settle down. We build a group of people with whom we hope to share our time in the future, and it's because the world we've always known inevitably has to fall away at some point. In all of these relationships though, most of us obviously hope to have a relationship with somebody that we can create a family with. We want to have children who can one day theorize that their parents are just really tight friends. It's nature. It's ethereal and spiritual. It's evolution. It's done out of love and fear. I can safely say that without the woman I love and without the family and friends I love, I'm an old man. I'm an old man yelling at you to get off my lawn.
Everybody who I care about and who cares back keeps me young and sane. I've seen what happens when you lose your anchor.
It can ruin you. It can turn you into a shell of who you were because you were so invested in their life, and they were so invested in yours. It's disheartening to watch. It's heart breaking. But it's a true testament to the power we can create and share with each other. And it should be comforting to know that people can be so capable of loving one another. I can love all my friends as much as I can stand to, but no matter how much I pour out, I'll still be a shadow if I lose it all.
Have a big satisfying meal. But in a few hours, you're still going to need breakfast. Does it cheapen the meal you enjoyed?
I hope not. But I'm feeling differently. I've mentioned that when I walked my girl, I made her pause and sit at each intersection. The truth is that I really hoped she would connect the street corner with the sound a car makes. I hoped that when those two pieces of stimuli occurred at once, she would respond by sitting and waiting, as I made her do. I was invested in her future. I enjoyed her at the time. I loved her without end at the time. But here two months later I feel less than empty. I feel vacuous. It isn't that there is "nothingness" in my heart as a result of her loss, it's that the space in which she once resided is actively yearning and trying to fill the space. It can't be filled.
I come back to Harley. I am able to intellectualize my loss. I am able to question why my pain is here. I can write a repulsively long blog post dedicated to the feeling. But my poor old Harley is simply vaguely aware that there used to be another animal around. Maybe. Who knows how a dog's mind works, let alone that sad abused boy. Maybe he doesn't remember feeling so happy running through the grass with Daisy. Maybe he doesn't remember rolling and playing with her, but I'll bet that the opposite of those feelings is registering heavily with him.
Daisy was a dog. And she was a good one. But she was a dog. And as hurt as I am, I can reason out the pain. I can riddle out the reasons. I can think. But for Harley, she was there when he woke up and went to sleep. She focused on him. She loved him. She played with him. And he loved her. And without her, he's reeling. Harley lost his buddy.
It's all just some kindergarten buddy system on a global scale. Harley needed Daisy and without her, he's falling. I loved her, and I wanted her forever, but she was always going to get away from me. If life had played out the ideal way, Harley would never have to know a future without his friend.
I don't know where this is going. I can't cap off this theory in a nice clean way. I'm 25 years old, which is a short span of time when gauged against the time of the people around me. I'm inexperienced. I'm a child. But simultaneously these 25 years have been an enternity, because they're all I have known. I'm lucky. I love my family. And I've picked my friends carefully. But I'm still trying to stand up after having been sucker punched by the car that hit my Daisy.
We all need our buddy. We need someone to check in with. No one is obligated to care for us, and I'm one of those who has been lucky enough to find someone who is invested in my happiness and in my health. I hope I don't take it for granted.
I'm sorry that I'm not being very funny right now. But this is a massive side of my personality that I don't want to shelf in favor of writing quippy, sarcastic posts about people I hate. I'll get back to that soon enough. I haven't written a single blog post in over a month, but it's about time that I should try to "speak" again. This is what I have to say right now.
I wish I could say that this is the last time I'll talk about Daisy, but I know for a fact that isn't true. Someday I still have to tell the full story of the night she died. It's a story that I need to tell and which needs to be told for how shocking, horrible and FUNNY it was. It was all those things. But I will say here that I owe a significant debt of gratitude to Bobby Koester, Michael Costa, Allie Palmer, and my whole family for helping me to survive it.
I'll put that off for a while.
I guess if there's anything I truly want to say with this post, it's that I think it's okay to need someone's help. And it's okay to talk. And that as much as I talk about how you need the people in your life, the flip side of the coin is that those same people will likely need you one day.
I also want to say that, across the board, I think women are stronger than men.
Coming soon: jokes.
Sorry guys.
I've written previously about how talking has helped me cope with her death. And I have to take that previous point of view for what it's worth, because now I'm a month and a half removed from saying it, and I can tell you now, on December 6th, 2011, that I can hardly stand to think about my girl, let alone talk about her.
I'm still very upset. And I'm very angry. Not in general, I should say. In general, I think I'm pretty okay, but when it comes to my dog, I'm very, very angry.
Being that I aspire to someday have a career based on my writing, I usually try to revel in ANY extreme emotion, and given how extreme I become when thinking about Daisy, I've tried to write from this mindset. I can't do it. It's too much. I'm so overwhelmed by how much I'm hurt. If that weren't enough, I'm actually annoyed at myself for letting my hurt turn into anger.
We adopted a new dog, partly because the house was too empty without my big goofy girl, partly because we needed someone new to focus on, and partly because of our OTHER dog, Harley.
Lately, out of the blue, I've begun to slip. I'm calling people by the wrong name. More specifically I've been calling our new dog Daisy. Her name is Penny. I slip and call her Daisy. Somethings wrong. I've lost a girl who should have been a long term family member. She was my pet, my friend, and my family. And my brain is trying to reintroduce her, because I can't quite stand life without that stupid fucking dog pouncing on me.
Worse than my interpretation of her death, which is inherently more informed because of my human brain (and because I was there), is what seems to be happening to poor Harley.
Harley is approximately 12 years old. And I have to approximate that age, because, just like all of our pets, he was a rescue. I don't intend to get on a high horse here, but I kind of do, because I'm proud of my family for always adopting a pet who NEEDS our help. There will always be people who buy from breeders, and there will always be people who just shop at puppy stores, but not as many people will welcome an older, potentially abused dog into their house. But those are the dogs who need a home. Daisy was one of them. Harley is one. We don't know what happened to him, but when we got him, he was approximately 3 years old, and was very nervous around men. I have to assume that he was hit by a man.
To take a quick tangent: If you are a human, and you are reading this, and you have EVER abused an animal, you are actually an inhuman fucking monster. One time I was at a party with my friend Bobby, where we saw a guy put his foot down on his cat's neck in some bizarre joking/frustrated manner, and we were inches from fucking killing him. Don't abuse animals. I'm going to turn into a real-life Batman who defends animals. My story parallels Bruce Wayne's: His parents were murdered in front of him. I had a doggy who died and I found out later. Chilling similarity.
Anyway, Harley has been in our family for 9 years, and in that time, he has seen many animals come and go. And he's always been a great dog, but he's been aging. When Daisy showed up 3 years ago, he suddenly got a good burst of speed, and somehow he seemed to be really interested in that girl. He kept step and pace with her, running around in the backyard, despite the fact that Daisy was 4 times his size. She kept him young. Now that she's gone, he's slow, sluggish, and man does he look old.
With any luck:
We're born into a world where we have an established family. We're born into a world where we have parents, siblings, and extended family, all of whom have a distinct love and interest in us. We're coddled as babies (because there's no such thing as some weird, self-sufficient baby), and then during our formative years, our families take care of everything for us. We have homes, clothes, food, an education, and in the unfortunate circumstance that a member of our family dies, magically a funeral has been planned, and all we have to do is show up. Maybe. If we're too young, we probably don't even have to go. Basically, we're accounted for.
At some point, though, we start to expand our interest outside of our families. And I should say that I don't limit "family" to blood. Our family is whoever takes care of us. At some point, we expand our interest outside of those who take care of us out of a sense of duty. And if we're lucky, we meet someone who will take care of us because they want to.
Think about it for a couple minutes, and you'll realize that your parents are nothing more, and have never been anything more than two people who like each other. It's a basic analysis, but it's true. Our parents are two people who like each other so much they wanted to spend most of their time with each other. They liked each other so much that they had children. They maybe liked each other so much that they decided to live in the same house, and forever sleep in the same bed.
Our parents are not obligated to each other necessarily. They just really really like each other. They're what we aspire to not only because they are our reference point for how we're meant to structure our lives, but because family can only go so far.
I love and respect my family. Every member. And in my family, each and every member is particularly interesting (or I'm bullshitting), but the world we're born into is limited. Most of the people we meet the moment we're born are already adults. As we grow up, they're getting older. I don't mean to be grim (which is to say that I'm not being grim for the sake of being grim, I'm being grim because the concept I want to explore is inherently grim), but these people are likely going to die before we do. It happens generation after generation. We should know that. I've tried to. It's fascinating and inescapable, and the fact that it can truly happen at any moment is major bullshit.
When we get to the point that we are expanding our interests outside of our family, we're met with absurd trepidation and apprehension, and rejection. We accidentally make new friends and form complex relationships, and we stumble into traditions and layers of responsibility toward each other. We date a lot, and we try each other out. And it's awkward and dramatic and fun, but eventually we get to the point where we truly want/need to settle down. We build a group of people with whom we hope to share our time in the future, and it's because the world we've always known inevitably has to fall away at some point. In all of these relationships though, most of us obviously hope to have a relationship with somebody that we can create a family with. We want to have children who can one day theorize that their parents are just really tight friends. It's nature. It's ethereal and spiritual. It's evolution. It's done out of love and fear. I can safely say that without the woman I love and without the family and friends I love, I'm an old man. I'm an old man yelling at you to get off my lawn.
Everybody who I care about and who cares back keeps me young and sane. I've seen what happens when you lose your anchor.
It can ruin you. It can turn you into a shell of who you were because you were so invested in their life, and they were so invested in yours. It's disheartening to watch. It's heart breaking. But it's a true testament to the power we can create and share with each other. And it should be comforting to know that people can be so capable of loving one another. I can love all my friends as much as I can stand to, but no matter how much I pour out, I'll still be a shadow if I lose it all.
Have a big satisfying meal. But in a few hours, you're still going to need breakfast. Does it cheapen the meal you enjoyed?
I hope not. But I'm feeling differently. I've mentioned that when I walked my girl, I made her pause and sit at each intersection. The truth is that I really hoped she would connect the street corner with the sound a car makes. I hoped that when those two pieces of stimuli occurred at once, she would respond by sitting and waiting, as I made her do. I was invested in her future. I enjoyed her at the time. I loved her without end at the time. But here two months later I feel less than empty. I feel vacuous. It isn't that there is "nothingness" in my heart as a result of her loss, it's that the space in which she once resided is actively yearning and trying to fill the space. It can't be filled.
I come back to Harley. I am able to intellectualize my loss. I am able to question why my pain is here. I can write a repulsively long blog post dedicated to the feeling. But my poor old Harley is simply vaguely aware that there used to be another animal around. Maybe. Who knows how a dog's mind works, let alone that sad abused boy. Maybe he doesn't remember feeling so happy running through the grass with Daisy. Maybe he doesn't remember rolling and playing with her, but I'll bet that the opposite of those feelings is registering heavily with him.
Daisy was a dog. And she was a good one. But she was a dog. And as hurt as I am, I can reason out the pain. I can riddle out the reasons. I can think. But for Harley, she was there when he woke up and went to sleep. She focused on him. She loved him. She played with him. And he loved her. And without her, he's reeling. Harley lost his buddy.
It's all just some kindergarten buddy system on a global scale. Harley needed Daisy and without her, he's falling. I loved her, and I wanted her forever, but she was always going to get away from me. If life had played out the ideal way, Harley would never have to know a future without his friend.
I don't know where this is going. I can't cap off this theory in a nice clean way. I'm 25 years old, which is a short span of time when gauged against the time of the people around me. I'm inexperienced. I'm a child. But simultaneously these 25 years have been an enternity, because they're all I have known. I'm lucky. I love my family. And I've picked my friends carefully. But I'm still trying to stand up after having been sucker punched by the car that hit my Daisy.
We all need our buddy. We need someone to check in with. No one is obligated to care for us, and I'm one of those who has been lucky enough to find someone who is invested in my happiness and in my health. I hope I don't take it for granted.
I'm sorry that I'm not being very funny right now. But this is a massive side of my personality that I don't want to shelf in favor of writing quippy, sarcastic posts about people I hate. I'll get back to that soon enough. I haven't written a single blog post in over a month, but it's about time that I should try to "speak" again. This is what I have to say right now.
I wish I could say that this is the last time I'll talk about Daisy, but I know for a fact that isn't true. Someday I still have to tell the full story of the night she died. It's a story that I need to tell and which needs to be told for how shocking, horrible and FUNNY it was. It was all those things. But I will say here that I owe a significant debt of gratitude to Bobby Koester, Michael Costa, Allie Palmer, and my whole family for helping me to survive it.
I'll put that off for a while.
I guess if there's anything I truly want to say with this post, it's that I think it's okay to need someone's help. And it's okay to talk. And that as much as I talk about how you need the people in your life, the flip side of the coin is that those same people will likely need you one day.
I also want to say that, across the board, I think women are stronger than men.
Coming soon: jokes.
Sorry guys.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Happy Halloween! It's Scary Story Times #8, #9, and #10!!!
Hey guys, it's Halloween, so even though I typically try to space out when I post my favorite scary stories, I figured today I'd definitely have to make an exception.
Because it's supposed to be the most frightening day of the year, I'm posting not one...not two, but THREE different scary stories from the internet! I think I'll try to take a few weeks off from scary stories, so enjoy these three! That's right, turn off the lights, hop in bed, and get scared! Here we go:
Always With You
There you go, three creepy ass stories to freak you out. That one with the kid in Mexico is almost nauseating. God...Anyway...
Because it's supposed to be the most frightening day of the year, I'm posting not one...not two, but THREE different scary stories from the internet! I think I'll try to take a few weeks off from scary stories, so enjoy these three! That's right, turn off the lights, hop in bed, and get scared! Here we go:
Quick disclaimer: I'm a really big fan of horror movies and scary stories. Recently I've been finding a lot of interesting little scary stories written anonymously by people on the internet, so I decided to start sharing some of the ones I like. You should know, before you read on, that I did not write any of these stories, unless otherwise noted. You should also know that I won't always be posting that I enjoy 100%. There could be a ten page story that I post because I like one sentence of it. In that case, I assume I'll explain why I posted horse-shit and what merit I see in it. Sometimes, I'll post "scary" stories that I hate, think are stupid, or maybe even funny. But more than that, you should really know that some of these stories may be somewhat graphic, so just steel yourself for anything, especially poor spelling and grammar (I don't edit these stories). No matter what, though, I hope you enjoy them too, and if you know any stories or sources, please share them with me. Also, if you have any requests, just ask, I have a huge archive of this stuff!
Across the Border
There was a couple from Texas who were planning a weekend trip across the Mexican border for a shopping spree.. At the last minute, their baby-sitter canceled, so they had to bring along their two year old son with them. They had been across the border for an hour when the baby got free and ran around the corner. The mother tried to find him, but he disappeared. The mother found a police officer who told her to go to the gate and wait.
Not really understanding the instructions, she did as she was told.
About 45 minutes later, a man approached the border, carrying the boy. The mother ran to him, grateful that he had been found. When the man realized it was the boy's mother, he dropped him and ran. The police were waiting for him. The boy was dead, and in less than 45 minutes he was missing, he was cut open, all of his organs removed, and was stuffed with cocaine. The man was going to carry him across the border as if he were asleep.
There was a couple from Texas who were planning a weekend trip across the Mexican border for a shopping spree.. At the last minute, their baby-sitter canceled, so they had to bring along their two year old son with them. They had been across the border for an hour when the baby got free and ran around the corner. The mother tried to find him, but he disappeared. The mother found a police officer who told her to go to the gate and wait.
Not really understanding the instructions, she did as she was told.
About 45 minutes later, a man approached the border, carrying the boy. The mother ran to him, grateful that he had been found. When the man realized it was the boy's mother, he dropped him and ran. The police were waiting for him. The boy was dead, and in less than 45 minutes he was missing, he was cut open, all of his organs removed, and was stuffed with cocaine. The man was going to carry him across the border as if he were asleep.
NEXT:
Bad Dream
"Daddy, I had a bad dream."
You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Your clock glows red in the darkness - It's 3:23am.
"Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it?"
"No, Daddy."
The oddness of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter's pale form in the darkness of your room. "Why not, sweetie?"
"Because in my dream, when I told you about the dream, the thing wearing Mommy's skin sat up."
For a moment, you feel paralyzed; you can't take your eyes off of your daughter. The covers behind you begin to shift.
Bad Dream
"Daddy, I had a bad dream."
You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Your clock glows red in the darkness - It's 3:23am.
"Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it?"
"No, Daddy."
The oddness of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter's pale form in the darkness of your room. "Why not, sweetie?"
"Because in my dream, when I told you about the dream, the thing wearing Mommy's skin sat up."
For a moment, you feel paralyzed; you can't take your eyes off of your daughter. The covers behind you begin to shift.
And finally, one of my favorites:
I am always with you.
I was there from the time you were born. I stood in the delivery room, staring down at you before you could even open your eyes to see me. Your parents, relatives and doctors couldn't see me there, in the corner, watching you with cloudy eyes, but I was there from the time you were born.
And I followed you home.
I was with you always, your constant companion. You played with your toys alone while I stared from all angles in nearby mirrors; my matted, clotted hair with oily sweat that hung off my dented forehead like glue. I was always your constant companion, drifting behind your mother's car on your ride to preschool. You alone in the bathroom, but I was on the other side of the door, wind whistling through the bruised hole in my throat. My arms twisted and hanging in their sockets as I stood hunched on the other side of the shower curtain. I wait and follow you. I follow and drift behind you.
I'm not seen. I'm almost not-there in light. You never saw me that morning as I sat across from you at the breakfast table, a shiny red clot hanging from an empty tooth socket as I gaped grotesquely at you. I wonder sometimes if you know I'm there. I think you are aware, but you'll never understand just how close I am.
I spend hours of your day doing nothing more than breathing in your ear.
Breathing - gagging, really.
I crave to be close to you, to always wrap my crippled arms around your neck. I lie near you every single night, cloudy eyes starting at your ceiling, underneath your bed, at your sleeping face in the dark.
Yes. You caught me staring occasionally.
Your parents came running to your room one night when you screamed. You were just beginning to talk, so you were only able to cry out "Man! Man in my room!"\
You thought you'd never forget the sight of me, with my collapsed jaw hanging to my chest, swinging back and forth. I sank back into your closet and your mother was unable to see me though you pointed and pointed and pointed. You thought you'd never forget when they left that same night. You saw the closet door crack so softly and me crawling across the floor to your bed on all fours, shambling in jerking movements as I pushed myself under your bed on disjointed limbs.
You learned a new word for me: boogeyman. Not quite the monster you thought I was. I'm just waiting and following you always, touching your face with my knotted fingers as you sleep.
You'll see me again soon. Any day now, I'm coming, blunt and brutal. One day you'll walk across the road and - I believe I'll plow into you with a loud roar and a screech.
You rolling on the pavement, rolling under wheels, bluntforce metal fenders and my fingers touching your face again and again.
As you stare up from the cold pavement with cloudy eyes; your matted, clotted hair hanging in your face and your jaw unhinged and swinging to your chest.
You'll see me approaching.
No one else will see me.
You will stare past them into my eyes and I'll leer down at you. For the first time in our life, something like a smile will come over my face. You'll swear you're looking into a mirror as clotted red bubbles form from our mouths.
I'll lean down, past the doctors and the ogling people and pick you up in my crooked arms.
Our faces will touch. My wings will unfurl. And then you'll have to follow me.
And I am always with you.
I am your guardian angel.
There you go, three creepy ass stories to freak you out. That one with the kid in Mexico is almost nauseating. God...Anyway...
Happy Halloween, everybody. Go crazy!
(Photo courtesy of http://dogs.thefuntimesguide.com/images/blogs/dog-halloween-costume-by-Don-Hankins.jpg)
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