Yeah, so maybe it was my birthday a few days ago

But when you're about a hundred years older mentally then everyone else in the state and might look (FOREVAR) 23, there's really no point in celebrating. I didn't realize it was Sept, though.
"You hit me with a salami!"
"That was you?"
"YES! O^O"
"Well, you shouldn't have been in my FUCKING tree!"

My birthday salami got ruined.

MY BIRTHDAY SALAMI GOT RUINED FUCK

QAQ

Anyways.
Remember how I said travelling was going to start a few days ago?

I LIED.

We're probably going to move out today or tomorrow. I would've gone earlier, but....

Well.

For one, Sept tried to kill me. She "didn'tmeanit!" of course, but that makes no difference when you've got a knife to your throat.

So I kinda, uh, nearly shot her in the face. I was out of bullets.

CLASSINESS LEVEL OVER 9000 RIGHT HERE

She was a blubbering mess after that; and really, I don't blame her. So we went to get some cat food, which (can't believe I'm saying this) took a while because the Proxies in our area were out pet shopping.

THE PROXIES.

IN OUR AREA.

WERE PET SHOPPING.

I don't even have to swear. Relaying the situation alone gives it justice.

So we didn't end up paying for the cat food. Just sorta booked it when the knives came out and one of the idiots was so startled that he fell into a fishtank.

.____________.

Honestly. They are reaching new heights of incompetence. It's actually really funny hilarious pathetic.

Are they so bad everywhere else? I doubt it. I've never really gone into this, but let's just say that as an Agent, I was... pretty high up there in the ranks. He knows that if he sends his best people, I'll just kill them. So we're getting bottom of the barrel, and it's getting annoying.

All fun and games until the Unspeakable Monstrosity shows up, right?

Expect us, Pussyfoot. 

(And I have to admit, the cat is cute. Almost feel bad. ALMOST.)

... I don't like this. Something feels... wrong. Off. It's been bothering me since the database was changed. Maybe the nutty professor will have some ideas...? I don't know.

It's nice not to be alone in the house anymore.

DID YOU SAY SOMETHING I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING

ANYTHING

Hm. Wonder where I'll get my guns and ammo now. It'd be nice if there was a... service for this type of shit. FFFFFFFFFFFT. Stalked, being couriers? Yeah fucking right. They'd have like seventy casualties in the first year! 

I can fucking see it now; the "fearless" leader with the dark and horrible secret, the little sissy boy, the newcomer, the badass, the guy with other guys in his head, the doc, and the swearing chick who smokes a pack a day because who cares about lung trouble when SLENDY is after you?!?

How about describing every seven-man-band in existence, Tom. Uhg. Not in the mood. Got to get packing.

Oh, and Sept? Want to help me BURN THIS HOUSE DOWN?

Expect the unexpected, folks. Now, it won't be a good day unless I singe off half an eyebrow...

--Tom

Um.

I - I know you told me to not post here again...

(ohgodyou'regoingtokillmearen'tyoutom)

B - but I made a blog and stuff and I thought may - maybe you'd like the link.

(pleasedon'tusethesalamiagain)

Anyways he - here it is.

I promise I won't post here anymore, Tom.

Yeah, maybe I haven't posted in a little bit...

... but you wouldn't have either if THIS HAD FUCKING HAPPENED TO YOU.

I AM TIRED.
OF GOD.
DAMN.
SURPRISES.

The last surprise was a fucking CAT showing up on my doorstep on my birthday. I think that they expected me to care or something? And I'd love it and cuddle it and then the damn proxies, because they were too TERRIFIED OF ME, would come back in a year and be like
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY I KILLED YOUR CAT."

So I PUNTED the little sucker off my doorstep. The proxy sitting in my tree looked at me, utterly HORRIFIED, and ended up giving it to the family across the street after he was SURE I wasn't going to come out and-

Wait, I did beat that one over the head with a giant salami, didn't I?

Anyways.

So I've got a houseguest, as you could EVER SO OBVIOUSLY see. Her name is Sept, and she...
We worked together as Agents, and to be honest, lady looks like a man. Not only a man, a HOT man, and she's too polite to ever correct you about it. Some find it endearing, I find it annoying. This kid is too shy to even stutter out her own name half the time.

So, of course, she sticks to me like a bad cold.

I was expecting her, of course; how much of an idiot do you people take me for?(andifididn'twhothehellisgoingtocallmeoutforit?) She has a key; don't even FUCKING ask me why, and the moment she stepped through the door, two pistols were against her head.

I said "Oh, it's you."

Old habits die hard, I guess.

She started to cry.

CLASSINESS TO THE NTH DEGREE, TOM.

So after a good amount of her GREIFING ALL OVER MY HOUSE and me TRYING TO GET A LITTLE PEACE AND QUIET, she told me she had been living out of the back of a van before it got stolen.

... what?

And that it apparently had the words "Free Candy" spraypainted on the side.

WHAT?!?

GREAT TROLL, YOU HAVE HONESTLY OUTDONE YOURSELF.

So I've got a partner for when we leave in a few days. I've got my first lead of increased activity.

Meet exhibit A.

Christ. Is it just me, or do these people sound... laughable? Ah well. Only really going to figure out what happened anyways. What happens afterwards...

Aaaand why am I even thinking of that? It's doubtful that they'll survive long enough for me to get there. Only reason I hope they don't is because corpses can't speak. Otherwise, I couldn't care less.

And Sept? I'll say it again; use your own FUCKING blog. I'm not in the mood to go through this thing and delete anything, so it's all as-is, people. That being said, if I see you post again here then EVEN YOUR COOKIES WILL NOT SAVE YOU.

We'll keep looking for others while we're moving. Path travel can be a little weird if you're taking the long route, but hey; at least there's nice scenery-

Nah, I'm fucking with you. In all seriousness, it's going to be BORING, and we're probably going to be utterly and totally FUCKED.

... part of the fun, I think.

Expect the unexpected, all you fools out there.

--Tom

Uhmmm.

H - hi, Tom.

I know you hate it when I follow the - your blog and stuff but but I'm in a bit of a tough spot right n - now and I was wondering if maybe oh please maybe it'd - it'd be okay if I crashed at your place for a bit?

A - and before you ask how I got onto your blog we - well your password was so easy and you gave me your email a little while ago because you thought I should maybe c - contact you if I needed you and I just had a hunch and...

ohgodpleasedon'tkillmetom

I - I'll bring cookies! Peanut Butter Fudge! yourfavouritethey'reyourfavouritearen'tthey?

Oh.

Uhm.

Uhhhh.

It's Sept.

Yeah, so there's someone out there watching me

But considering it seems to be a psychic chick with Rake issues not another Agent or Proxy, I think I'm going to be fine.
Good morning, everyone out there that I really couldn't care less about~! Did you sleep well?

I DIDN'T.

I spent the whole night puking and blubbering incoherently while "I love Lucy" blared on the television to mock my misfortune. Seriously. Every time I would end up retching, some sort of laughtrack would come on and I'd curse the Great Troll In The Sky (the GTITS, which is a downright hilarious fitting acronym as far as I'm concerned). One good thing did come out of this, though.

I've had a trail for the last bit. A girl, no idea what her name is, and not nearly experienced enough to be stalking me, really. It got to a point that when I went out (which was rarely at best), I'd kind of... let her follow me. Of course, if she tried to hurt me, she was screwed, but you can only come home from an awesome night of drinking alone to see someone shooting you sad puppy-dog eyes out of your bushes a few times before you figure

"Oh gee, maybe I should DO SOMETHING."

She has little stickers on her mask.

I wish I was joking about this.

Anyways. The thing about this girl is that, well, she's pretty bottom of the barrel for even Proxy standards. Skinny as a rail is something you're supposed the become, not BE IN THE FIRST PLACE. Oh, and I've noticed that she's a TAD BIT obsessive compulsive, if by TAD I mean THAT CHICK SHOULD PROBABLY BE IN A MENTAL HOSPITAL. She got a nosebleed once and ran off, crying, Slenderinfluence apparently be damned.

So when she finally got the nerve to ring my doorbell last night (I guess she would've said something like "Agent Tom, um, we're really supposed to bring you back either alive or dead and, well, if you're dying of something else like normal people I should probably, uh, take you to a hospital or something"), I threw opened my door, raised an eyebrow, and promptly puked all over her.

She shook for a few seconds, made a few squeaking noises,  kind of just looking where my four dollar bargain burrito breakfast had made it's way onto her shirt, and, gasp, was probably sinking through as she shook.

I just wiped the side of my mouth, because there is no way to play that off with class. Ever.

She ripped off her shirt, the squeaking getting worse, and now I had a most probably underage teenage girl squeaking and shaking like a crackwhore who needed their next fix ON MY DOORSTEP.

So I did the only logical thing there was to do.

I slammed the door in her face and continued watching late night T.V. from the comforting spot of being crouched over my toilet.

... There's nothing that would have caused this. The nausea came out of nowhere. The blubbering made no sense. There's now a dozen proxies swarming the area and I paid good money for that burrito, dammit! Today is going to be a very boring day of poking through all the blogs I can find and looking for increased Proxy behaviour.

I never said this was easy, folks. Just said it was fuck I don't even. 

Just... What in FUCK'S name is going on?

... Expect the unexpected, kiddies. God knows I'm going to have to.

--Tom

Yeah, so it's a horrible reference

Nobody ever said that I was creative when I made this thing. Only that I made it. Yeah, me.
I'm Tom. Tom Parker-Fitzgerald, for the un-initiated. I like doing nothing, seeing new places, taking long walks on the beach, sleeping, and, oh right, not being a slave to a faceless tentacled ABOMINATION.

Yeah, suck it, this is a Slenderblog.


So let's get this out of the way before I lose interest with this altogether.
I was raised in a Slendercult. It's my personal belief that you give power to things by caring about them, so forgive me if I don't name names (SCIENTOLOGY). Yeah, I've got some pretty weird paranoias and moral systems from there (my childhood pretty much consisted of "IF THEY'RE NOT CHOSEN, STAB THEM IN THE FACE"), but hey, the second I saw Der Slender Mann on my fifteenth birthday, well.

I'd like to say that I burned the cult down to cinders while laughing like a badass. What I actually did was run straight into the desert while screaming like a little bitch.

I met a guy named Spencer there, in the desert. He seemed pretty nice, knew a lot about our little skinny friend, and used The Path to get me to New York.

A FIFTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL IN NEW YORK ON HER OWN WHO KNEW NOTHING OF THE OUTSIDE WORLD.


THIS WAS SMART.

I actually fared pretty well. I learned to grift (As in a grifter. Basically, a con-artist. A con-artist runs cons. Therefore, to grift is to con) in the cult to swindle more money so the cult could buy more ominous pipe organs or robes or something equally stupid mystical. I lived in woman's shelters and by eighteen, actually had a nice little apartment to myself.

Have you ever stepped out of the shower on your ninth floor apartment to see something looking (well, not actually looking because he's faceless) through your window? I have. So I opened the window and threw a flowerpot at Tall Dark and Ugly before I quickly sold the apartment and went on my way.

I ran for two more years, until I turned twenty; learned to fight as I went, became really good at using anything on hand as a weapon. Ended up using my downright gorgeous physique to stay... comfortably wherever I went, before it was time to pack up and leave the poor sucker to be disembowelled.

But yeah. When I turned twenty, I joined the Agents.

You don't like it?

FUCK YOU.

Having Him in your head wasn't so bad, though. Still got a lot of time by myself, but the team dynamic was nice. As far as I saw it, we were putting those runners out of their misery.

You don't like it?

FUCK YOU.

But as you would know it, this got to be not so fun anymore. I didn't like how ol'Slendy operated did shit, so in the middle of a mission, I turned around, shot my two "partners" in the head, and ran. They wanted to kill a kid. Only was 15. So it goes.

GOD DAMMIT TOM YOU SO CLASSY.

So it was back to running until now. That time as an Agent... I look 23. I am 27. That's the way it is, I guess.

And why am I making this blog?

Because I was rooting around in my head, checking out the stuff I got as an Agent (which Slendershit forgot to take out, stupid dunce) one of which is a kind of... database? Either way, everyone who's stalked has a ranking, or "priority". The higher your "Priority", the more people that are going to hide in your bushes and wear bad home-made masks while they comically invade your privacy.

A few have skyrocketed.

Including mine.

Now I wonder who the hell did that?

So I'm pretty much just putting this thing up as a taunt. Run run run, as fast as you can, motherfuckers. Try and catch up and you'll get a fork in the eyesocket.

Now, all I need to do is try and figure out who these other people are, and why they're high priority like me.

If only it was more simple.

Aha. Guess I should've known by now.

Expect the unexpected;

--Tom