Good morning, everyone out there that I really couldn't care less about~! Did you sleep well?
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
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
"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
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.