10 Things For 9: An open letter to…

Someone has to say it, I think people should stay stupid.

Cook in 971 Words on July 29th, 2016

Just think about it. If everyone was stupid we wouldn’t have any smart people? I’m not saying this because I think people are smart. I don’t say this because I think I am smart. I am allowed to have my opinion and here it is, wake up America, and lay back down, because yes, it is time for the change to be made.

If people were stupid wouldn’t it be easier? Just think about it……………and now stop…you have run out of thinking time. Your thinking time is up Mr.Sir and you have had enough. If we lived in a world where people were stupid then we would have a world where we all belong. Just think about it. Haven’t we had enough of this segregation? Haven’t we have seen our children cry, grow up, and act like children? Why should we pretend? Why? We should all just be stupid. Now I know what your thinking…and just stop because your thoughts are no good, in fact they shouldn’t be thoughts, they just shouldn’t be. I had this personal experience and here it is. My mom and dad raised me, and that’s a fact. Try and dispute it. You can’t, stupid. I remember when they raised me…in fact…they haven’t stopped and that’s true. I was young. Yes I was. My dad sat me down on our front stoop. His glassy eyes echoed out the hot July sun. Dad spoke when he said, “Son…you…me…well this whole thing…this thing we have…it’s there.”

“I will never forget that dad,” I said to the father.  My dad’s eyes squinted, his mouth curled up and he cocked his head to the side to express his confusion. “What? What did you say?” That’s the America I want to live in, an America of “What?” Just like my Dad told me. We get to the “What?” when I finish the intro. Here are the 10 things and here is your “What?”

1. Why is you the way you are?

Remember the you that you were? Right? Remember? Yes. Now take a breath, yes a breath. Just think of why you are?

 

2. Are you even present?

You know when people talk of the “Now?” take a moment and reflect on the present. Who are your friends? Are you a friend? Is the past in the past? Why is the present not your future?

 

3. Why? Why? Why? WHY?

Yeah. Why? Just think about it.


4. Is? 

Oh yes.

 

5. That’s right fuckface. 

Vice News killed Death by Audio lol.

 

6. And every time.

STOP. Remember that time it didn’t happen? When that didn’t keep happening? It’s because you stopped….so there was no more every time. In fact, time is a human construct which means it’s not real, just like vaccines and bills of rights.

 

7. Bruce Springsteen

“Brando, whose childhood nickname was “Bud”, was a mimic from his youth. He developed an ability to absorb the mannerisms of kids he played with and display them dramatically while staying in character.” (Wikipedia)

 

8. Here I am!

Take a good gander. What do you see? Are you where you are?

 

9. …for Marie Cardona

I touched a wet spot on my shorts and wiped snot from my nose with the same hand. It smelled like piss. Memories, like snippets of paper, Elmer’s glued into a jank and shredded collage of fucked up sexual developments was thrust into my face, echoing through my conscious. I was sucked into a glitched black hole and into my blurred and spaghetti past. I, like a ghost, saw myself in the third person. I am thirteen, buzz-cut, shorts around my ankles, boner and pillow beneath me. I am rubbing and rolling my hard dick around on my pillow. I keep looking back to make sure my door is locked. My fan screams as it turns back and forth, the sound covering up my humping.  I can hear Marie downstairs, my 23 year old babysitter. She is shuffling through the house, texting some dumbass with a crew cut and an ivy league sweatshirt. I hear a kitchen cabinet open. I get scared, but it excites me. I rub harder into the pillow. I yearn for another person, another human to share this with, to rub up against, their breath, skin, neck, nipples. God how I want to feel their sweat more than anything else. I take my hand and press the head of my dick into the pillow, hard, I let out a drip of pee. Oh god how I want to smell her pee. I shove my face into the wet mark and inhale like I’m huffing heaven. I get four deep breaths. The wooden stairs bend as feet thud up them. A hand reaches toward my door, I can sense it.

“Hey Cook?”

I feel my whole being drain out of my body like a whirlpool in a bathtub. The room appears in complete clarity.

I manage to push out a

“yeah, yes?”

“What are you doing in there?”

My eyelids sling open like the gaping fault of an earthquake. I feel as though someone has ripped off my skin..she knows, she knows it all, all of it, the pillow, the pee, god…I swallow.

“Nothing” I respond, trembling.

“ok” she says, with soft hesitation and haunting curiosity.

I lean back in my chair in my room in Hempstead. I look at my dead flowers, my notes from my ex-girlfriend, an empty jar of peanut butter, and the wet spot on my shorts. What “nothing” could I be doing now?


10. woke.

“As “South Park” has stated, “the world isn’t one big liberal arts college campus the reality is just the opposite.””

Horoscopes For The Week Of July 25th

By Jesse Saunders

Aries Mar 21- Apr 19

A fire sign through and through, Aries! The world shines brighter with you in it, your passion for life is an ever growing fire no man can put out. You will not be acquitted of those arson charges.

Taurus Apr 20-May 20

The world is your Oyster! A more adventurous social life is on the way! If you’ve been thinking about making a change now’s the time! Love is in the Air! Prepare for a new path to open up! Life is meaningless and you feel without purpose! Get ready for good news Taurus! Gather your friends and just let down your hair! Things are happening! If the news is good, it’s probably true! If you want to know how to best proceed with the glad tidings, please insert your credit or debit card number (and the 3-digit security code) below!

Gemini May 21 – Jun 20

No lie! A free psychics reading can be yours for the small price of 9.99 a minute! Find validation in the arms of our caring psychics, they know what’s happening this month, and so can you!

Cancer Jun 21 – Jul 22

Some past discretions are coming back to haunt you this month Cancer! The man you hit with your car in the summer of 2013, did survive and he knows your face. Your friends have fallen, and you don’t have the stamina to outrun a cold blooded killer, so maybe think about investing in a bike.

Leo Jul 23 – Aug 22

I don’t want to be weird about this, but I know you wore that shirt yesterday. You can totally get away with that, like I’m not judging you, but people definitely know. In other news financial aid is coming your way, so stay optimistic Leo and you’ll have new clothes and enough money to pay for a full psychic reading before you know it!

Virgo Aug 23 – Sep 22

Your patience is running low. You totally get it but no one else does! Are they crazy? What’s wrong with them? No I don’t think you’re in the wrong. No honestly they’re the ones being weird about it. I feel ya.

Can I interest you in some Amethyst? Might make ya feel better…

Libra Sep 23 – Oct 22

You owe me 30 dollars Libra, and I’m going to start charging interest. Good news though Libra if you get your shit together and start working you might be able to pay me back before we’re both in the grave.

Scorpio Oct 23- Nov 21

Get yourself tested.

Sagittarius Nov 22 – Dec 21

The tinder date will not go well. I know he seems cute, but we both know it’s probably not worth it. Not like the stars. We are forever.

Capricorn Dec 22 – Jan 19

Your ex is planning on changing their Netflix password Capricorn, you have but mere moments before you’ll lose your spot in your eighth Office rewatch binge.

Aquarius Jan 20 – Feb 18

Not trying to be rude or anything, but I kind of forgot you were a sign. As far as the stars are telling me, you don’t exist. Try our new “Validate my existence” package for only 19.99 and maybe the stars will become a little clearer, if you catch my meaning.

Pisces Feb 19 –Mar 20

I Have Not Forgotten.

My Marriage Became Better After This One Simple Trick Happened

My name is Gordon Nettles and I have decided to write to your magazine in response to a question you recently posed to us readers. I hope this brief anecdote is a helpful one.

– Gordon Nettles, a reader of your magazine.

After 17 years of marriage, very few things still feel fresh and exciting. That’s just the plain truth. Her cooking, my corny jokes, the son that we made – I mean they say that all things lose their luster in due time, and I surely take a great deal in my life for granted, I won’t argue that one bit, but there was a dim underlying frustration that told me this was even more than all that. I guess – I guess after a while I just really got the gist of it all, you know?   And that’s not a knock on my wonderful partner by any means; I made a son with her, and though I’ve never had a total grasp on what that process entails, I do think it says a lot. But it was these feelings of marital contentedness – of complacency, really –  that spoke to the way that routine becomes nature when given enough time. They spoke to the way that two people can become so intertwined in themselves and each other that they forget there’s a whole world out there, a world of new experiences and new memories and, yes, even a son who needs to eat and be spoken to. Our situation may not seem startling at all to you – hell, it probably sounds ideal – but there’s something disorienting about that kind of love, a love so stunning that it’s almost paralytic.

My old man always told me that any lasting relationship is going to have its ups and downs, and for the most part he was right. But things had been going straight for so long that I was beginning to fall asleep at the wheel. Pop often warned me, “You gotta love your lady right or she’ll go find someone that does. But you will take care of him. You will make him disappear and I will help.”

Now if it wasn’t obvious enough to this point, I’ll make it clear: I’m more of a lover than a fighter. Don’t get me wrong now, I’m still pretty much your typical guy. I love action movies, driving a car, spitting at WWE villains through my TV, all that stuff; but I’ve never been the competitive, overachiever type. I’ve never been the show-off or the tough guy. That’s never been my style and, hey, I’m okay with that. I like who I am. My wife likes who I am. And yet …I couldn’t help but feel like my old man’s dark proverbs might finally do a marriage some good. At some point I was going to have to fight for her again – maybe not for her love, but for her desire. For her yearning. Even if I was satisfied, I couldn’t be sure that Maureen really was.

That, kind readers, was the genesis of my plan, a plan I hatched to not just save my marriage or my sex life, but to save what was left of my pride. Though I know I may seem a saint, I’ll be the first to admit that my concern was largely self-serving. I was becoming a broken man, and with every new advancement made in the detachable showerhead industry, I came closer to shattering. Like I said, it was never a question of love. It was simply a question of everything else.

After more than a few years of going strong, it became obvious that we’d built a world of our own, and I don’t just mean a quaint home in a homogenous and conveniently inaccessible suburb. Sure, our respective professions afforded us our share of comforts; her work as a PR consultant put food on the table and a couple cars in the garage, while my work as a garage salesman certainly didn’t hurt us when it came to having a place to put the cars my wife bought. It went much deeper than that, though. We’d created a world within our dreams that felt like true asylum from everything but each other. It was refuge sought in memories re-lived on loop, like some kind of living scrapbook taking the shape of both her childhood home and my grandmother’s hospice care center (This combination was not always pleasing). We hadn’t just romanticized a private paradise devoid of financial pressure and petty arguing – we’d made it real. It was an instant escape at our fingertips whenever we needed it, and for a while things almost felt perfect. And I mean, how couldn’t they? Who wouldn’t want what we were so close to losing ourselves in. No more aging. No more yielding to the ceaseless demands of a world that’s gonna keep turning regardless of what we choose to do. No more doping ourselves up every morning with caffeine, just to make it through another day of placating that sniffling littlesnurglenur(Editor’s Note: We figured here was as good a point as any to state that the author of this submission had no intention whatsoever of loosely co-opting the plot of Inception for his own emotional needs. If at any point that seemed to be the case, or if it even seemed like he’d recently watched the Academy Award-winning film by Christopher Nolan, you were mistaken and very wrong and we must remind you that we would never publish plagiarism. That being said, we ask that you ignore any inconsistencies you might think you’ve found in this now-abridged piece. What we’re really asking for here is simply some patience and understanding. Truthfully, this guy…he’s been going through some stuff. I personally can’t even imagine how tough it has to be to spend 17 years sharing the same bed with the same nagging bitch[2nd Editor’s Note: Look, everyone messes up sometimes. Everyone. We are all human. We are all capable of error. Please keep that in mind as you continue reading this submission at its most legally permissible juncture. Thank you.]) a;dlkfjad;fj;adlkjf;ladjf;kajd;lfkja akjdfkja ……..so if I’m being totally honest then yes, I did have some questions. There was some stuff that just didn’t quite add up for me. But with Maureen, I’ve never been afraid to ask questions. I’ve never been afraid to be wrong. The possibility of my worth diminishing in her eyes has never once crossed my mind. And, once she explained that there isn’t an actual egg inside of women that causes their bellies to get big and round during pregnancy, I was able to finally hug my son without fear of the unknown. It was moments like those, moments that seemed to happen almost daily, that left me feeling obligated to love her in every way I knew how.

In stoking the embers of my lover’s weathered loins, I knew I would need to be both spontaneous and near-perfect in my plan’s execution. The evening of our love life’s rebirth began rather typically, as the wifey and I snuggled up on the couch watching one of her most favorite treats, Magic Mike: XXL. I took the liberty of popping open a bottle of Merlot and decided to treat this particular movie night as a bit of an occasion, if only because I know what good looking men’s big swinging dicks do to my Maureen. (They turn her on). Now, I’ve never been a prude by any means. Anyone that knows me knows I’m a big fan of some good old fashioned S-E-X. I’m talking i-n-t-e-r-c-o-u-r-s-e w-i-t-h m-y w-i-f-e. The mere thought of it never fails to get me going. But I knew that Maureen needed more than the ho-hum cums we’d been concocting for a decade-plus. As someone who once thought about making money with an English degree, she had subtle yet direct ways of hinting at her desires to not just spice things up a little bit, but to truly revitalize what had plainly become a relationship built more on comfort than passion.  I’ll admit, I liked things a the way they were. Maybe that was my age talking or just my selfish male nature, but I was happy.  And I didn’t feel like I’d necessarily lost my spark either; I knew was no spring chicken, and I was certainly no longer a Hugo the Large and Heavy Cock, but I still had my share of moves to break out when the time came. I’m talkin’ Missionary, Dog Style, Reverse Missionary, Going In Kinda From The Side, and some more too. I didn’t just have the classics lined up, no, no, no. I had the Greatest Hits.

Hugo big chicken

Without getting too explicit about the nature of our lovemaking, let me just say that I feel I entered Maureen on multiple levels. To use an old saying from my parents’ day, “Our bodies made whoopie, while our souls engaged in a dance akin to fucking.” We explored each other to such incredible depths that, well, it’s rather hard to explain. It was like we were inside each other…and then, somehow, we were able to go one step further. In a way it was a lot like that fabulous movie Incepion a;dfj adjfk;ldajkf ad;lfjal;kdjfa a;ldkfj;lakdjf adlkfja;ld ad;flkjad;lkfj ad;lfja;ldkjf a;ldkfjl;kadjfa a;dfkja;ldkf a;dflkajd;l aflkd;alkfdj af;lkdakfdj al;dfkl adflk al;ksdfa;jd;lkfja;lkdjf akdf;lkja dslk;fj ak;ldsfadklf a;dfj;kals dkflk ajdks;flkadfl al k;dsf akd;fkl ajdls;kflka as;dlfk; ad sj;lkfa;lksdjf kl;adslfkja;dkls fj;lkads ak;lsd jfl;kajds;lf;ld ak sdfj;klajsd ka;lsdjf akls    That movie really did change my life. She was – we were – insatiable, going round after round like two rival boxers who’d developed a grizzled respect for the other’s hardened, aching body. We took turns toying with each other, though I teased her fighting spirit out slowly but surely.  While our rapport was firmly established by the middle of the first go-round, it wasn’t until the third and final portion of our heated, herniated bout that I pulled out something I knew would send her over the top rope. I knew all along that if put my special way with words to use in enticing that thing which most men have relegated to their fantasies: a female orgasm. I was sure I could take her on an out of body ride through the heavens, but I knew I would need to believe in myself the way she believed in me. I also realized though that the boxing metaphors that often made sense to me and my penis might not translate so well.

“This sex we’re having right now….” I paused nervously, though continuing to pump with the urgency of a prepared cyclist with a flat tire on the poor side of town. She moaned encouragingly. “This sex we’re having right now is fucking, it’s like a fucking figure skating competition!”

“Oh my god!” she cried out. “Your grasp of symbolism”

“You’re doing a – you’re doing a one-foot Salchow and you’re preparing for me to jump throw you into a Half-Axel landing.”

“Oh yes I fucking am” she growled. I was twenty-two again, a sand-haired demigod with the madman libido of a Warren G. Harding or Leonardo Dicccaaappprrriiiiooooooooooo. I was building confidence and momentum, and I could tell Maureen wanted to join in as well.

“How would you like to finish of your routine?” I asked, holding her stare as I humped with the rhythmic mechanics of our son’s knock-off hoverboard.

“…Hurricanrana…” she gasped, “…please perform a Hurricanrana on me. Please lift me off the mat and drop me once more with a Stone Cold Stunner.” Now she was speaking my language, and it was sending me to a place I had been fighting myself not to visit since I woke up that morning: the land of where an orgasm is about to happen and does. I was approaching that place in such a hurry, though,that I feared I would not be able to deliver the much-deserved knockout blow on my wife. For her sake and mine I couldn’t stop, but I had to think fast. I knew I couldn’t hold back much longer, so as a last ditch effort to save face with the intellectual I’d be dealing with post-coitus, I aimed for one final left hook.

“Get ready, baby,” I warned, with the confidence of an airline pilot attempting to land on a makeshift runway that’s also the Super Bowl.

“Oh no, please, I’m so close, just a little bit – “

“I’m sorry, honey, but Santa’s coming early this year… and it’s looking like we’re gonna have…Christmas in July.” They say every great wordsmith finds the perfect climax sooner or later, and sure enough I had found mine. Though I had just poured my soul out to her, and into her, I was almost too scared to open my eyes; when I eventually did, I was dumbfounded. Expecting an admittedly-familiar look of sympathetic disappointment, I was shocked to find Maureen, mouth agape, lost in a similar euphoric daze as the one I had just been released from.

“You…actually did it….” she mumbled, her voice weaker than I’d ever heard. “You turned that phrase so…perfectly…you gave me an actual..orgasm…I could…feel it…you are the…ideal man..” her words fell out slowly, and I hung on every breathless syllable. Regaining her composure, she continued: “You have not just stimulated me sexually, my husband, but intellectually as well. Your ability to turn an unsatisfying sexual experience into a stunning example of man’s duality means that I will never divorce you and take your hard-earned money of which there is a lot. But if I do, I promise to take our son. You will never see him again.” The love I felt in her words shook me to my core, so much so that I either orgasmed again or became very dehydrated. Either way, the humidity beneath that comforter left my junk smelling ghoulish.

In 17 years of marriage a lot of compliments are delivered and a lot of kisses are shared, but the respect and admiration I felt from Maureen in that moment was the greatest honor I’ve ever felt in my life. To know that a woman needed me, to know that I’m still a sexual being with the ability to take control of a situation and take care of my wife’s needs – words can hardly explain that kind of pride. So, Men’s Health Magazine, if you really want to hear from married men about what sex means to them, I’ll break it down for you as simply as I can:  Respect. A sense of importance achieved through performing simple, common tasks sporadically. The ability to make my wife cum. As a man in his 40’s, these are the things that matter to me. These things are all I have.

Hard Work Pays Off: Hofstra University Secures Presidential Debate Without Taking Anyone’s Life

By Zachary Johnson

Wright State University announced yesterday that they would be withdrawing from hosting the first presidential debate of the 2016 election year, thereby releasing the slot to Hofstra University. “Incredible,” said a representative for Hofstra. “It was so kind of the folks at Wright State to think of us, and the well-being of their families, in making this decision. We’re simply overjoyed!”

A shaking, visibly pale Wright State University President David Hopkins cited rising security concerns as one of the reasons for WSU pulling out of the debate. Nonsense caught up with President Hopkins as he sat alone in his office, staring out the window and jumping every time his phone rang.

“I-it’s so un-f-fortunate that we c-couldn’t hold the debate, but at the least we’re glad to help out our g-g-good f-friends at Hofstra,” Hopkins said, wringing his hands.

Hopkins reportedly met with Hofstra President Stuart Rabinowitz and a large entourage of tough-talkin’, rough-ridin’, no-nonsense beefcakes in his office on Monday. When asked about the meeting, Hopkins sat straight up in his chair, let in-and-out three large breaths, and kissed the cross around his neck before responding:

“Stuart and I are o-old friends.”

At press time, President Rabinowitz escorted this reporter into his office and, lying on his rose-colored divan, had this to say:

“The true American dream is free enterprise. Ya hear me, kid? The Peters, Pauls, and Marys of this world ain’t never gonna understand that. When I was a wee lady-boy lad like yourself, my father, may he rest in peace, told me that the only thing standing in the way of what I wanted were all the people around me. And I ain’t never known America to be anything else than just that: getting what you want, whatever means necessary.”

The President then had this reporter escorted out of his office, but not before gifting Nonsense a free portrait of WSU President David Hopkins, with drywall flakes still fresh on the back of the frame. smalllogo

6 Things You NEED To Stop Doing At Starbucks, According To An Employee

By Zachary Johnson

If you like walking down streets, you surely have felt the irrational paranoia that a hungry sea beast with a crown and two tails is watching you from inside of a lighted storefront sign, waiting for the right moment to pounce upon you. Chances are, you’re correct; this is the marker for popular coffee shop chain, Starbucks, and the brilliance of caging a rare and majestic beast in a glass prison outside each store location is part of what makes the company so great! But if you haven’t worked for the great and powerful Starbucks, you don’t know the bowel-clenching terror you might induce in the paid workers by accidentally doing one of the things on this list that I wrote at work.

1. Expecting That You Can Order A Coffee Or Something To Eat

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Gif credit: gifemotions.tumblr.com

The goals of a coffee shop and Starbucks are very different. A coffee shop is a place where you can buy things, Starbucks is a place where people sit and wait for death to come while I get paid to watch.

2. Making The Noise At Me With Your Face Mouth

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Gif credit: giphy.com

Stop that. Step back from the register and get out of line. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been here? I’ve been standing in this spot shirking my responsibilities for 3 hours now, I’m incredibly stressed out and n o w   y o u ‘ r e   h e r e.

3. Being Specific About Wanting Me To Do Something

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Gif credit: giphy.com

I’m at work, dude. If you are thirsty and in need of coffee, that’s fine, it smells like that here. But if you’re planning on asking me to brew it for you or serve it to you or whatever the hell stupid shit, please don’t. Make the job of the employee easier by just sitting down, and being satisfied with the aroma of coffee as it dances wistfully between your nose-pits.

 

4. Touching Papa Starbucks’s 1st Place Korean War Trophy, Or Telling Him That Surviving Vietnam Was Worse

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Gif credit: chron.com

We know—The Korean War will never be as popular to discuss the horrors of as the Vietnam War, but Papa’s trophy makes him very happy. Touching the trophy, or proclaiming that the Vietnam War was much more of an atrocity isn’t going to change the fact that this isn’t Dunkin’ Donuts.

 

5. Asking To See The Key To The City of Albany

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Gif credit: giphy.com

The mayor of Albany takes the key for a walk pretty often. Just because he chose me, a person fine with complaining about stupid shit in a listicle under the guise of an unpaid “journalism career”, to carry around his dumb key sometimes doesn’t mean I’ve got to show it to you. Also, don’t ask me to smell it. I wouldn’t hide it from you if it had an interesting smell in any way so just be patient until it develops one.

6. Requesting That I Give Away Some Of This Money We Made Today Instead Of Just Burning It Out Back

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Gif credit: giphy.com

Yes, I burn all of the profits we make every day. Yes, my boss doesn’t know. I know all of these things, and I know that it’s a waste, but that doesn’t mean you get to try and take advantage of that. Plenty of people like you come out back to my big oil drum fire every day asking for money because I’m “just going to burn it anyway.” Get a fucking job and earn some yourself you piece of shit!

To put it simply, this job is supposed to be easy for me because I don’t actually need the paycheck to live each week—I’ve got parents for that. Don’t overcomplicate things for me.

Zachary Johnson is a food lover ❤ and unpaid intern at Nonsense’s very own “Knife Institution”, a branch of our #brand aimed at pleasing assholes like you with mundane listicles about food or some shit. Zach hopes to work for a real company one day, like BuzzFeed 😘

I Really Need Someone Who Is Reading This To Buy Me A Sink

By Quin Asselin

 

Hey, how are ya? My name is Brenda Stephenson. You may have heard of my cousin, the author Neal Stephenson. No? That’s fine cause that isn’t the point. The point here is: I need a sink and one of you should give it to me. Check on your local Craigslist for, “Sinks for Sale!” it only takes a few minutes. Then when you find one, send it my way.

I formerly lived a life in the small town of Douglas, Massachusetts. It’s a nice small town where everyone knows each other, with a little general store in the center of town, and a single gas station where the prices are way too high. It’s a place I’d love to go back to someday. Sadly, I’ll never be able to go back there… not without a sink at least. Hell, not even a kitchen sink. If you can get me a bathroom sink, I’d be willing to try it out.

Why not go to Lowe’s and get myself a sink? Good question. After all, it sounds perfectly reasonable for me to stretch my slowly withering legs; waltz over to the Kittie-Cat cookie jar, my world’s last vestige of comfort; and take out the final two-hundred-fourteen dollars I have to my name to buy that sink and return all to normal. So why not go ahead and do that? In response I say: Mind your own goddamn sink and get me a business. Buying a sink sounds simple. Don’t get me wrong it certainly is for someone in your circumstances, but for me, it’s just not possible.

Sorry for the curse word. I used to be better than this. Notice how I didn’t edit out that line with a swear in it? That’s how rough and tumble the world has made me since I’ve left my home. Really anything that’s metal and can hold water is what I want. I’m not picky. I’m a bright gal, I can pass it off as a sink to these people. The point is I need some kind of sink. Any kind of help-sink and I’d be so grateful.

Even the best of us make some mistakes in life and while I’m by no means the best, these people will do things to me that even the worst people don’t deserve. I used to have a cute little beagle that my late husband insisted on naming Dennis, you know after “Dennis the Menace” (I tried to say no but he wouldn’t have it). Funnily enough two weeks ago I narrowly escaped three vicious Rottweilers and I used to think they were so pretty too.

Look at this girl:

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She’s so sweet isn’t she? That’s my niece, Ashley is her name. She is on the local cheerleading team in a small Massachusetts town similar to the one I used to call home. She’s on the Honor Roll for Pete’s sake! I’ll never be able to see her again. Why? Because I need a sink from one of you readers. I don’t know where this will find its place but please… Perhaps you could get a series of shovels and other gardening tools right? Then take all of those and put them together to make a sink bowl. All I need after that is some water and a stick to pass of as the faucet.

Just one sink can change a human’s life unimaginably. I need just one simple mechanism that can hold water in a sink mimicking fashion. We all are a little down on our luck sometimes, but without a sink, these people are gonna find me and I’ll never be able to pick myself back up. Think I’m crazy? Well think again because it’s true, these people are maniacs and will stop at nothing to get their retribution. All I need is one simple sink and it will all go away. I don’t need anything but the kitchen sink. My life is in your hands.