That's all she wrote

The good guys won, and I'm leaving with my new family. Don't know where we're going, (and I wouldn't tell you if I did ;) ) but since someone, someday might try to find us, I'm retiring this blog.

Thanks for everyone who helped.

This will end

Well, Pers, I'm sure you're going to read this. Your ex-masters at NLI will read this, I'm sure. They're still there, for all your macho posturing, they haven't gone away. They're even going and making announcements with the military.

How's it feel being the pet project, the one that doesn't matter? Was it worth it, giving up the job as their little pet to sleep in a carrion-filled warehouse? How's it feel knowing that they're eventually going to find you and put a silver bullet in that pea brain of yours? You managed to hijack an entire pack to follow you, and you still haven't grown enough of a set to face the bastards you're really angry at.

You'll never touch Morgan, or Kramer, or anyone else. You can't. And when her pack sees that you have no intention of avenging her, they'll leave. Just like I did. They don't need you.

No one does.

pwned

Well Geauga's finest has taken a half-dozen Hummer-driving goons into custody for B&E and various firearms violations.

Serves them right.

I got the law on my side, for once. And some friends for backup.

Welcome to my nightmare

My dad's dead.

I watched them pull his car out of the river. I had to identify the body.

I know you're reading this.

I know you're responsible.

Come and get me.

The end of things

Tony Denardo was attacked by some sort of wild animal some time late Sunday, early Monday last week. While I haven't been home, I've been able to find a newspaper or two. He's been in the hospital, on life support. Never woke up. At some point yesterday, while everyone was enjoying the fireworks, he died.

Whatever kind of douche he was, he didn't deserve this.

Are you out there?

So you've been watching me. Mailing cryptic packages. Are you having fun?

So are you one of the guys who tried to jump me Monday night? What are you trying to do, Tannhauser? What do you want? You said I'm not alone. . . Well, twenty guys show up on my front lawn and funny thing was, no one else was there.

Needless to say I'm not at the house anymore, and I'm not saying anything the bad guys don't know already. At this point, if you want to actually tell me something that might help me out, there's this comment feature. Use it.

Hello

Dad? You're reading this right? You need to call me.
I just woke up and I think something bad just happened.

What is this?

I knew something was off about that tracking number on that package. It was code, saying LOOK UNDER. I felt around the label, and one part felt a little thicker. I peel off the label and look:
There's another paper hidden under the label. Unfolded, it looks like this.

Here's a better look at it.

I've been staring at this for hours, and I have no frigging clue. The sun's down now, and I'm going to give in and try to get some sleep. I'm so tired, I almost don't care what happens anymore.

Through the Looking Glass

How can I actually write about this? I can't really. I'm sitting alone in my room, the only light coming from the glow of this monitor I'm staring at. I don't even know how long I've been in here. Haven't slept or eaten in three, maybe four days. Afraid to sleep. Ever since I met with. . .

I can't really say that here. Can't say much of anything here. The watchers are watching, aren't you? Then, again, would I be telling you anything you don't already know? Mind going in circles, I guess lack of sleep will to that to a person.

When the hell is my dad coming back? You reading this? I got some questions for you. Answer your cell phone. Do you know what I know about mom? About me?

The earring, I've taken it off. I'm staring at it right now, on the desk next to the PC. Shiny little silver cross, and poor little homophobic Tony has no clue what he was messing with.

God I need to sleep.

The WTFery Continues

Know that scene from Akira where Tetsuo wakes up in the hospital, starts tripping out, and starts seeing giant stuffed animals bleeding milk? I'm sorta feeling like that right about now.

Not only am I getting medieval German illustrations (and props to enaxor414 for identifying the freakish thing.) in FedEx packages with bogus tracking numbers, I'm now getting really screwy e-mails.

UPDATE: Got a couple more e-mails, and some things to think about.

Life is still screwing with me

So I get my computer/cellphone/etc back a week late because my Dad actually read my last blog post. Just my luck he's probably the only one reading this. . .

The good news:
I got the cast off a lot sooner than expected. First follow-up to check the bones are setting correctly, and the doctor says my hand’s in perfect shape. Different doc from the guy in the ER, and he kept talking about the last guy misreading the x-rays. I’ll take it, showering with that thing was a bitch.

The bad news:
I didn’t find out about it till this week, but Mr. Conroy decided to revise his class, slipping in a test while I was on suspension. Our wonderful school policy is no make-up of work missed while you’re suspended. And, guess what? That surprise test is just enough part of the grade that my big zero on it means I can’t pass now, even if I get 100% on the final this Friday. You can’t tell me that prick didn’t plan that. Now I’m looking at summer school. . .

And the weird news:
The pic below isn’t great (what can I say, my camera sucks) but this came in the mail for me. All I can say is WTF? If someone’s trying to freak me out, they’re doing a good job. Who FedExes something like this?



UPDATE: Just went up several notches on the creep meter: the tracking number is bogus, which means this didn’t come via FedEx. Someone hand-delivered the thing. What the hell?

This was the week from hell

I don't know where to begin with this crap.

After the last post, I start school Monday, like normal, and go to my third period World History class. As much as I like history, I'm going to have to say that Mr. Conroy (who was probably teaching class here when they were paying the faculty in beads and beaver pelts) has got to be the most rigid, arrogant, self-important a-hole to ever teach in Geauga County, or possibly in the whole state of Ohio. We were supposed to hand in a research paper on any pre-20th Century conflict, amounts to a third of our grade. Like an idiot, I wrote about what interested me. But apparently, Mr. Conroy had never heard of the Northern Crusade in the 13th Century, and the bastard calls me out in front of the whole class and accuses me of making it up.

Making it up. No, I'm not kidding. My response was something like, "Did you even look up anything in the bibliography?" Needless to say, he did not like my tone. I get sent to the office and I get a week's worth of detention. (Someone must have talked sense into Conroy though, because when I got my paper back there was a C on it, right next to a scribbled out F)

So I was not in the best of moods after school and this jock Tony decides to reprise his "Dick Salsa" joke. Is it any surprise I took a swing at him? He was surprised, but he managed to duck and I ended up punching a locker.

If you're wondering, that hurts. So I'm standing there cursing, holding a broken hand, facing a bent-in locker door, and I'm in so much pain I forget why I slammed my fist into this thing. This is the point that Tony (slow as he is in every sense of the term) decides to defend himself by slamming my face into the locker.

Long story short (too late) we both get handed suspensions, and my Dad gets a bill to fix the locker I punched. Needless to say, he was not pleased. So after we get back from the Emergency Room, my right hand in a cast, he explains how I'm losing my cell phone, my computer, and my TV privileges for the rest of the month.

So, I'm blogging this left handed from one of the library PC's while I'm supposed to be doing schoolwork.

As they say on the internets: FAIL.

Happy Birthday To Me

Another year older and still in the same place I was yesterday. Still the ass-end of nowhere here. Still the same institutional learning facility. Still the same crappy house. Still no car.

No, not having a party, my few friends in this hellhole are too emo to do a "birthday party." Now if I held a wake they'd be all over it with bad poetry that somehow made it all about them. . .

I'm not bitter.

Is it me? Or do I don't even fit in with the weirdos?

Today I just grit my teeth and drown out the world with my favorite song. (Hey I figured out how to embed video in this thing:)

I don't know if I agree with this

Your results:
You are Venom

Venom 75% Dark Phoenix 68% Apocalypse 66% Juggernaut 52% Two-Face 52% Dr. Doom 50% Mr. Freeze 49% Magneto 47% The Joker 41% Catwoman 39% Lex Luthor 35% Poison Ivy 35% Riddler 33% Kingpin 33% Green Goblin 32% Mystique 28%	Strength, disguise and adrenaline are your greatest weapons.
Click here to take the "Which Super Villain are you?" quiz...

I am not a condiment

Heard in the hall today: "What do you put on gay nachos?"
"Dick Salsa."

What kind of neanderthal brain malfunction makes someone think that's funny? Do these jock numbtards actually think they came up with something original? Do they think that someone named Rich Salza has never heard such wit before? In grade school? I heard better insults in kindergarten, from the special kids. These guys are just three hairs shy of dropping their pants to mark their territory. I bet if you asked them, they'd probably say Hermann von Salza was a backup drummer for Rammstein.

Idiots.