Have you ever been sitting down, perhaps at a computer, perhaps at a typewriter, fuck, maybe if you're truly ancient even at a macintosh, and you were typing a letter to someone, perhaps a special someone, and you realize that you could probably get much more better results from the letter if you were to alter the format from a "hi, how are you" kind of thing into a "if you don't give me what I want, you're fucking dead"?
A chinese woman mistakenly sent me an email while attempting to reach her son whom she hadn't spoken to in eight months and wished to make reparations with, and in the course of replying with "It seems you have been given an incorrect email address because nobody likes you because you're ugly hahahahhahaha", I realized a personal threat might be much more appropriate, and switched the format around to "Also the terrorists say that if you don't send me tons of naked pictures of you naked they will gouge out my eyes and livers." Man, I felt like such an idiot! Then I realized, I responded appropriately to letters all the time, and was forced to hide my face in shame for three whole days. The rest of myself I exposed several times to Jehova's Witnesses who show up with increasing regularity at my door (with the catch line of "Witness THIS!"), but my face was concealed.. because of the shame.
Also, I wish to give tribute to the unsung hero of this really horrid clash I had with a small family of voles, namely my shoe, Shoey McHyde. Shoey, you saved my foot from vole guts at great personal hygiene cost, and for that I will never forget you, even though I burned you alive after I couldn't get the vole guts from your treads (and if anyone says shoes aren't alive, I swear to Jehovaa I'll be scraping a family of voles who came from YOUR neck of the woods off my new [new to me, not really new] shoes).
I felt so stupid the other day, I went without sleep for like four days then fell asleep on the bus and this creepy guy was sitting by me when I woke up and I was wayyyyy the hell past my stop. See, there's the thing. Every goddamnned time I fall asleep on the bus, it's always some freaky guy touching me - never can I get the homeless old lady or the girl who smells like she washes herself in the feces and urine of a dozen alleycats, no, I always, ALWAYS have to get the guys. I think it might be the shampoo I use, it has a picture of a kangaroo on it, and everyone knows that australia is a breeding ground for homeless homosexuals that love riding busses, so they must be all "HE IS FROM AUSTRALIA. HE MUST ALSO BE A HOMELESS HOMOSEXUAL WHO LOVES RIDING BUSSES. MAYBE IF I HOLD HIM INNAPPROPRIATELY, HE WILL BE MY.... FRIEND?" No such luck on the other day in question though, when I woke up I stood up really fast and knocked the guy to the isle in between the seats and he gave me this startled look and asked in a really slow voice who I was. Man, if praying would get me a car, I would totally pray and get a car, then go on a joyride and ruin the transmission, sell it and claim it's in perfect condition, pray and get a new car, then never, ever ride the goddamned bus again.
Well see, I would continue going through everything that's pissed me off between now and the last time I posted, but that would take all damned night, and nobody in their right mind would read it, and most people in their wrong mind would then proceed to hunt me down and carve "should have posted shorter" into my flesh, which, twisted as I am, would probably turn me on, but then I would bleed to death and die which would suck. So instead I stop here and let the crazies scrawl their cryptic, yet somehow profound messages into your flesh tonight, and I promise that Eric will post longer later (hah, see how I turned that around? You thought I was going to promise something, but I didn't. Aren't I cool? Don't you love me now? Crazies, remember that TYLER WEBB leaves his window unlocked and loves late-night visitors).