I once read a story from the paper to Boo and Hilary about a little boy who repeated stuck rubber-ended pencils up the class hamster's arsehole, because he liked it when their eyes popped out. He was sent to a juvenile boot camp.
I read it out as a bit of a joke really, but Boo was distraught -"What? They sent him away? But he need help!"
She was a surprising person, I said:"He pencil fucked a hamster!"
"But He's obviously not happy. Happy people don't do things like that." Fair point.
She Continued: "And anyway, thats the very reason they put rubbers on the ends of pencils."
"What? to fuck hamsters?"
"No, because...people make mistakes."
-"What if i wrote that i fucked that Cafe into liquidation?
That i fucked up my family, I fucked my friend by fucking her boyfriend.
That i don't feel alive unless i'm being fucked and i don't feel in contre unless i 'm fucking.
That fucking makes the world tighten around me.
And i've been watching people fuck for as long as i 've been able to search for it.
And that i know that my body as it is now really is the only thing that i have.
And when that gets old and unfuckable i may as well just kill it.
And sometimes i wish i didn't even know that fucking existed. Because somehow there isn't anything worse that someone who doesn't want to fuck me.
That i fucked everything but this time... This time i really wasn't... I genuinely wasn't...
Either everybody feels like this a little bit and they're just not talking about it...
Or i am completely fucking alone,
which isn't fucking funny."
-"That really wasn't appropriate."