Wednesday, January 26, 2011

New Deal

Ah, Robbie's crying again. He won't mind me doing this then. Not like he could stop me, curled up into the fetal position like that.

Oh, don't try to tell him about this though. You know how the HYBRIDS can't see some of those videos? Same deal.

Anyway, onto business.
The old deal is still intact as always.
But now there's a new one. Why does he not STOP? Why do they look to him? He's LOST!

You folks get to say when Robbie's hell ends.When will they accept it? When will HE accept it? I NEED him to stop
I won't lie. When I say 'end,' it's exactly what you think it is. However, and as you all know I am not a liar, it will be swift and painless. He That Is...I do not know why He That Is cannot kill him...this way will work
If...oh lets get a good consensus...let's see...43 followers? Okay, if 15 different people ask, then Robbie will stop gibbering to himself and talking to walls. That's a good percentage, don't you think? This way will work...if He That Is and I cannot kill him...then it will be they that do so for us.
Anyway, until you decide to do the kind thing, Rob remains where he is...actually this is just the start. It WILL get worse. Then better. Then MUCH worse. Then I'll fix him again. Then, knowing him and his insistence on fighting He That Is, he'll end up back on the kitchen floor. Over and over and over. Fun stuff. This will work. He will fall.

It's up to you to choose how long it goes.

As always, you just need to say 'Please.'

Manners are important.


It hurts you know. I wake up and every part of my body hurts. I can't take it...I actually considered in a moment of weakness...but when I made a dive for the knife drawer, I blacked out again. --- LIKES me alive.

I don't sleep anymore. I just black out. Then someone else goes to work and acts normal. Then someone else comes home and scrawls on the walls, speaking in nonsensical babble. Preaching about Excalibur, Grendel, and Roland. Nonsense giving poetical gravitas by use of a large vocabulary and pseudo-Jungian terms.

Then I wake up...on the floor...filthy...aching in pain.

--- is in my house. In the guestroom, if you can take the irony. And I can't do a damn thing about it. I can't leave the kitchen. I blackout otherwise. At least as long as --- is here, then --- isn't outside. Not that being in two places at once ever gave --- pause before.

I try. I try so hard...

redlight laughs at me from the living room, and I can't tell if it's my laughter or not. Either way, I hate him.

Still, the bastards left me the computer, and a kitchen full of stuff. I won't give in.

Maybe the lunacy is right, with Fizzbomb and the others being free, because it's a damn sight better than being someone --- keeps alive.