Thursday, 18 August 2011

It's A New Day

It's a new dawn and I find myself admiring the sun through my bedroom window in my rum induced stupor. It's nice to feel good after all that's been happening. My new best friends are named Bacardi and Coke, but I couldn't bring my self to really care about that, and the sad fact that brings about. I pulled out the CD's and just wallowed in my own pitiful-ness, watching as the hoodie clad things surrounded my house, lurking outside the doors and the windows, waiting for me to show my face, but I wasn't about to give them the satisfaction. I lit the candles, listened to Barry White, and sat in front of the fireplace all night long, singing along to my favourite songs.

Then I had to wake up from my pleasant dream because hell just isn't going to leave you alone when you find yourself smack dab in the middle of the flames, and I literally mean flames. Some retarded Hobo found it fit to start a fire in an abandoned house two doors down from mine, and I suppose it was probably to keep warm for the night, but the problem is that the whole structure was made of wood. Talk about trying to smoke someone out. This intrusion into my farce of normalcy was unwelcomed and I promptly walked upstairs to my room and threw my security blanket over my head. This action was accompanied by my screaming, and the sentence "THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING". Rest assured that it was actually happening but I refused to leave my smoke encrusted house and now everything smells like fire and burning, but thems the breaks.

I don't see why I put this humiliating stuff on the internet anymore, other than the fact that I believe this is entertaining, and perhaps it will make one or two people laugh. I shall continue this waste of effort simply for the fact that, I really have nothing better to do. Hiding in my house and crying myself to sleep, clutching my trusty rum bottle to my chest is well and good, but in the end, I think it might be nice to have some friends.

 but what if I can't make friends?

Tuesday, 16 August 2011

What a Day

Sorry for the length of this, but hell....I think this is justified!

Let me start off by saying that last night wasn't fun. I was expecting to waste away my evening with my bottle of delicious rum, and end up passed out drunk on the stairs, making my way to bed. I must say that it turned out quite different from the way I planned. Instead of my nice, comfy stairs, I ended up with my security blanket wrapped over my head as I spent the night in a Jail Cell that I'm pretty sure smelled like piss and death.

Let me start at the beginning. I went to my liquor cupboard to find my lifeblood, other wise known as my magical bottle of rum, only to find out that my drinking habits are not only killing my liver, but leaving me woefully short on the mystic substance of my desire. In a major life crisis, and a long debate with my walls, I decided to take the trek down the street to the store to buy myself a little more of the good stuff, like a good little junkie. I quickly armed myself with the shower curtain rod, that had hit me in the head earlier in the morning when I tore down the blasted object to give Slender one less space to hide, and hopefully deter him from popping in for a visit while I am sitting on the toilet, and threw my security blanket over my head, like a warrior dons his armour. I was ready for battle...or so I thought.

Now there was no incident on the way to the store, except for the crazy stares as I hurried down the street, rod clenched tightly in my hands and blanket pulled tight over my head. I checked my surroundings thoroughly, glaring off who ever I thought could possibly be a Proxy....though I think some hipsters got on the wrong end once too many. I finally made it to the store, bought my five bottles, and tried in my haste to make it back to the relative safety of my bunker as quickly as my legs could take me, when suddenly knocked on the back of the head...

And the bitch stole my rum.


Off she ran with me screaming like a banshee, waving my shower curtain rod and threatening to kill her. This is when the cops decided it would be a good idea to patrol the street. I was promptly pepper sprayed, disarmed, and thrown in the back of a squad car, presumed to be a illegal alien because my wallet was in the bag with the rum. After everything was said and done, I was thrown in the tiny cell to cower in the corner and cry that "he" was definitely coming to get me.

Three things:
1. That bitch stole my rum
2. Who the hell was that guy who came and bailed me out with the excuse that I was a paranoid schizophrenic who forgot my medications, told me to be careful after we were outside, and just so happened to recover my wallet
and 3. Did I mention that THE BITCH STOLE MY RUM?!

Sunday, 14 August 2011

Why Did I Do It?

Why? Why on earth did I invite unspeakable horror into my home? Why did no one tell me that it was a FUCKING BAD IDEA?!

What good is this community huh? I started reading about all these irrational people who are on the run and I LITTERALLY INVITE Tall, Dark, and Slender to come haunt me. Even my family history can't save me. I can't sleep, can't even walk down the street without checking over my shoulder for the faceless man. The pale, featureless face haunts me everywhere I go....and the shower curtain sitting across my tub now seems like a really bad idea.

To recap, A few nights ago I called upon the powers that be to bring Slender Man to me so I could laugh in his suit wearing presence. That turned out to be a retarded decision, and I wouldn't blame you for questioning my intelligence. I wasn't expecting for a figment of overactive imagination to show up outside my window. Yesterday was another peaceful night, and I was curled around my bottle of rum, ready to pass out from my drunken stupor, to notice something flickering in the light of the bustling city just outside my window. It goes to say I was startled by what was staring at me....or rather the lack of what was staring at me. Tentacles thrashing in the rain, an ethereal, guttural, screeching, distortion coming from his very presence.....I should have worn my brown pants to bed.

Ever since then I have seen his minion crouching outside my windows, waiting outside my door for me to make a mistake and set one foot past the threshold. What they don't know is that I am ready for the nuclear war in this bunker of a house, and eating canned food won't bother me for as long as I have to wait for all of this to blow over. Maybe I shouldn't have been playing with fire in the first place, but what is the fun if you're not going to get burned, or burn down the house you are playing in and half the neighbourhood along with it? Somehow I think all of this will turn out wonderfully, and I will live a nice long and eventful life, right guys?

I'll live right?

Friday, 12 August 2011

Sleepless Night #1

I'd hate to say I am afraid, because I don't believe I am, even if I am jumping at every creak and groan. I attribute that to the fact that the house next door is already a disaster waiting to happen and could well...fall at any moment.

Since the last time I posted nothing has become clearer to me. I spent my whole day on the internet looking for others like me...but it just seems like these people are, to be frank, awesome. I am far from the desired subject to fight this "Slender Bug", but it seems like everyone just pussy foots around the issue. I am not quite sure if it is lack of sleep that leads me to write this or perhaps it is my perverse death wish that makes these words flow from my finger tips. So here, with the hesitation of a thirteen year old that wants to look cool in front of his friends, but knows mommy and daddy will hate this decision, I come out with the very thoughts I believe that everyone wants to hide.


There. I said it. Now I just have to wait for the horrible monstrosity to descend upon me. I can't see why everyone is so scared. Slender Man is just a figment of everyone's imaginations and can't hurt me, or anyone else. All these people on the run are just paranoid of bumps in the night or delusional and need to be in a mental hospital, on stronger medication than a normal psychiatrist can give. The diary that was left to me from my "dad", which I still can't prove is either fake nor real, is for some reason keeping me up at night, and I am finding it in my constant thoughts. There is more to this hoax than there seems to be, and I WILL find the answers behind it.

Tuesday, 9 August 2011

And So It Goes

Now I am sorry to all those who watch this blog....Which is no one, and to my one commenter, The computers over here refuse to let me comment back to you. I would hate to make anyone feel as ignored and set aside as I have alwas been and continue to be.

On another note, a couple weeks ago I'm sure you heard of the bomb that went off in New York City. The house next door had the foundations damaged and my house shook so hard that well, I legitimately thought there was an earthquake and holed myself up in my bathroom. I didn't come out for a week and I must tell you that the Bathtub is far from comfortable. After finally coming out to see the light of day, and nearly getting lead away in handcuffs because the police actually smashed my door down to drag out the fugitive they thought lived there, I noticed a small and unexplained package in the mail box by the aforementioned door. Taking it out of the brown packaging, I noticed in all my brilliance that it was a note book, or to be more politically correct, a diary/memoir/who really cares about this anyway.

In reading the writing, something remarkable happened....Do you hear me? REMARKABLE!

Who would have thought that something interesting would happen to little, ol' UNREMARKABLE me.

In conclusion to my outburst, someone left me my father's diary. Jacob Timothy Russell, the man I always believed to have left me and my mother for some better family that was less boring, didn't quite leave at all. It's like the world ended and came back in different light, and that's not just because I've taken to having a glass of Rum in the morning instead of the usual coffee, or that I stopped going to work and no one has even remotely noticed any form of absence. It shouldn't affect me so to know that my father died, and left me here with all the love that he could possibly muster and named me after two of his best friends who turned into his closest family and now some horrible, inescapable, oddity is after my life....okay, maybe the last bit should but that's not my point.

I now know I am being hunted, but by what I can't tell you, and I hardly know how to describe what this Tall, Dark, and Slender guy is all about. Still, all I really do understand is that I'm supposed to watch my back and be afraid of the shadows in the corner of my eye.....I wonder how all this will turn out.