stories of horror

Gather 'round, children, for today you shall learn of the legend of Trina. Parental guidance is suggested.

Pat used to frequent this text-based online MUD called 'Crossroads.' And in this case, 'frequent' translates to 'to such an extent that it provoke dreams that painted portraits of Pat stealing cinnamon knickknacks from witches living in gingerbread huts.' Needless to say, when Pat suggested I join the fun, I made no hesitation in declining.

According to Pat, he used to converse with this chick every so often on Crossroads who seemed 'cool,' dare I say.

Seeing weeping, hysterical girls squealing over their assjack boyfriends who, Britney Spears forbid, said thank you to a female store clerk -- let's just say it takes a cheese grater to my sanity. Therefore, I'd rather show my boyfriend that I trust him by refraining from such over dramatic jealousy.

So, Pat went on to say that him and this chick (let's pretend her name is Trina, since that is, consequently, her real name) had exchanged IM screen names and were currently talking about Crossroads.

I wasn't in the least jealous or suspicious. Because what's there to be jealous or suspicious of? Seeing as Crossroads isn't amazingly popular, I concluded it wasn't kinky whatsoever.

Then Pat relayed compliments given to him by Trina -- how he's such a sweet guy and whatnot. In other words, things I'm already keenly aware of.

Because I already considered her compliments to be self-evident, I still remained unfazed.

After the shower of praise and compliments, Pat copied-and-pasted further excerpts from their conversation.

Even after seeing that Trina had given him a hug, I still wasn't alarmed. In junior high, I always saw girls fluttering around in circles and gingerly hugging their girlfriends after every class period, though I could never figure out why. Hugs seemed to lose their comfort factor when they were dished out like complimentary frisbees. But nevertheless, the fact that Trina was hugging my boyfriend mattered little to me.

Trina then decided to lick my boyfriend.

Sorry, but taste tests are not permitted under any circumstances.

And on a sidenote, I've never actually had someone want to lick my past boyfriends before. And somehow, it doesn't surprise me.

But anyway, my guess is that Pat then initiated conversation about me, which in turn provoked this question from Trina: 'So, you and Kate -- is that a relationship, or is it more of a one-sided thing?'

Yeah, I see how it is. You want a taste of my kazoo slicing open your rather large abdominal area, bitch? You can scoff all you'd like, claiming that kazoos are far too blunt to be used as weapons -- but we'll see what your position is on that particular subject when your entrails are dripping onto the floor.

My suspicions were confirmed that Trina was indeed a sick fuck when she started explaining how she was going to rape Pat, make him cry and drool simultaneously, give him beautiful children, you know, the usual.

Last week, I was honored to see a picture of the famed Trina. At the very least, it was interesting to see who it was that I was harassing over AIM for those brief five minutes before Pat insisted that I stop. After seeing the photo, I took it upon myself to adorn it with flies and snails from Paint Shop Pro's ever-useful picture tube tool. The revised version will not be posted, however, as I'm sure you'd get more satisfaction by seeing such a picture in your imagination instead.

One final word of caution: do not view the following picture if you eat.

Click!

Oh, and much to your delight, I imagine, I decided to upload my picture to Homestead account, simply because Pat sent this particular picture back to me yesterday, and it's the only one I have of myself alone. So, if perhaps you've ever wondered who was behind these idiosyncratic ramblings, wonder no longer.