August 8, 2009

Dear mom & Frank,

First of all, I didn’t take out the garbage like you asked because I’m not your slave.  I’m your son.

Secondly, I’m dead.  And I’ll tell you why I’m dead.

On June 3, 2009 I met the most beautiful woman in the world.  I mean, not this physical world that I existed in, but a perfect world called Second Life.  Her name was Augustana and she was my dream girl.  She had flowing white hair and the prettiest digital smile my computer screen had ever seen.  We’d fly around over the sea at night, just her and I, like a couple of sea birds.  I like to think we were just a couple of Albatrosses, but she liked us being Peacocks.  And I would say, “Augustana, Peacocks can’t fly,” and she’d say, “They can, but only short distances.  So if we fall into this ocean, we’ll drown together.”  That gave me such a love boner every time.  

We would come down from our flight and she’d caress my long, flowing Flexi-Hair and rub her face on my goatee.  And I knew we were in love.  And then I’d go fuck her brains out in my heart-shaped bed.  Just passionate, boundless, unforgettable sex.  I swear to God, I could make love like that in real life.  And, honestly Mom, I don’t care if you are gasping as you read this.  My brains are splattered all over my room, so get over it.

Ok, so this is why I blew my brains out.  On our 2nd month anniversary, 5 days ago, she told me something very saddening.  She told me that she found my Facebook page, saw how ugly I am, and broke up with me.  And, you know, it kind of felt like she broke my real heart.  The only other time I’ve dealt with rejection this badly was when I played pick-up basketball with Hakeem Olajuwon.  But, not only did she say I was ugly, but she just got married to Zephyr, the king of Virtual Africa.  So, I teleported to Virtual Africa as quickly as I could to message back and forth with her, but she already made up her mind.  She decided to stay in VA.  

So, what do you do when your real life and your fake life fucking suck and you’re 42 and you work at a gas station and you are bald and Augustana marries Zephyr?  You call uncle Mike, tell him you want to go quail hunting alone with his 20-gauge shotgun, and you turn on Creed.  That’s what you do, Mom.

Like Scott Stapp says: 

“These miles of memories

Seem to lose their beauty

You’re fine, you’re amazing

Not thinking of me”

Hey, don’t forget to call Citgo and tell Ron.  

See ya, bitch!

-Cliff

Wired 4 Weird

Kids are fucking stupid.  Actually, James Ryan Goodrich as a young and chunky boy is fucking stupid.

Who the fuck really thinks it’s possible to be the animated cat on Paula Abdul’s “Opposites Attract” video?

Oh, you don’t want to trick or treat? You’re nine.  Well, what do you plan on doing instead? What? You just want to sit on your front porch dressed as the guy from Hellraiser and scare kids who want candy?  What are you saying? I can’t hear you because you’re mumbling.  Oh, you yourself are so timid that, when they walk up, you just don’t move at all because you are completely shy?  And so these kids are all enjoying themselves, getting bags full of candy and running around after dark, but you…are sitting completely still on your porch waiting to find some goddamn courage? Sounds really cool, little Jim.

Hey, why don’t you want to swim with all of the other kids?  WHAT??? Your tiny nipples are inverted? Like the underside of a Cowrie shell?  Ok, that makes sense. Don’t go swimming.  Yeah, you really should collect Geodes instead.

Wait, hold on.  Let me try to understand this, little weirdo.  You aren’t looking for empathy and you don’t like Stevie Wonder’s music, but you just really want to be blind like him?  Does your mom know that you’re staring at the sun for extended periods of time so that you can reach your ultimate goal of not being able to see a fucking thing? 

Are you punching yourself in your eyes so that you can expedite your blindness?  Oh, that makes a lot of sense.  You just think black eyes look cool. All right, keep going then.  You know what?  CAN I PUNCH YOU IN THE EYES, PLEASE, IDIOT?

Mom.

Mom,

You probably have heard of me before, but let me reintroduce myself.  I’m Gordon, your son.  If you can recall, I had a satisfactory career as a child actor, which definitely included being the spokesboy of Crystal Pepsi.  You may remember this product.  It was similar to Pepsi, but it was clear…kind of like Crystal or air.  You know what, you could probably throw water and glass in there also.  So, this was a great soda and I liked to drink it.  The reason why I am telling you this is because I worked out a sweet deal with Pepsi which included your forged signature, five years of free Crystal Pepsi, and went on to not include any sort of money or me in your house…because I ran away to an undisclosed location because I didn’t want Dad drinking all of my Pepsi.  Looking back on it now, I would say that I made a fairly terrible decision in running away because now I’m writing you this email through a dial-up connection at an internet café in Laos and I have “Gotta Keep ‘Em Separated” tattooed on my forehead. 

P.S., Mom,

Crystal Pepsi didn’t last five years and I don’t want to tell you how a) I got to Laos or b) how I made money, but I wouldn’t come kill you if you sent me a few bucks.

Love,

Gordon