88 lines
5.1 KiB
Plaintext
88 lines
5.1 KiB
Plaintext
s$
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$$ .d""b. .d""b. HOE E'ZINE #1038
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[-- $$""b. $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ss$$ "One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest Part II"
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ by, LatinMan
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ 03/16/00
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[-- $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
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$$ $$ "TssT" "TssT"
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Warning: The following t-file is based on a true story but the
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names and places have been changed to prevent any and all results that
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may occur after reading this. Also, for the plain fact of me not
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remembering half of the shit that happened because of being drugged most
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of the time. No crazy people were hurt in the making of this t-file.
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What's your sanity worth? Its not a question that many people
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ponder, but it's one that has haunted my life for the last few weeks. It
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all started up at my college, 4 days prior to my 20th birthday. I was on
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IRC idling as usual, watching all the mundane happenings in #teen and
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#NudeChristianNunsWhoDigHispanicGuys. I got my usual number of msgs sent
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to me from the various teenage girls and got dozens of "a/s/l" requests.
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Unfortunately, I soon found out they were all from girls who weren't even
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old enough to go outside past 9 o'clock. Suddenly, I realized that I was
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getting older by the minute. No longer was I a young virile latino
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teenager, but I was actually slowly becoming an "adult." Of course, this
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threw me into a deep depression. Where would I look for "IRC-cute"
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chicks to cybersex up, how could I go on; all questions that plagued my
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mind.
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I knew I needed some serious help, so I decided to visit my
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family's doctor. While sitting in the lobby reading an old issue of
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"Seventeen" as the Spice Girls invaded my mind with their group sex
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anthem "Wannabe," I devised a plan for the ultimate joke to play on my
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doctor. I once heard that the worst thing to say to a doctor was that you
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were contemplating hurting yourself, so why not shock the poor jewish man
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with this? So once I entered Dr. Needlebaum's office, I sat down
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solemnly and recited the "terrible" happenings of the past few days. As
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I told him how I contemplated sticking a toothbrush in my eye every time
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I brushed my teeth or how I tried to cut my wrist with a piece of paper
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whenever I had the chance. To my dismay, this didn't seem to affect him
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one bit. He just sat and listened to everything I said, and excused
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himself afterwards. Unfortunately, I didn't know that my lil story
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actually did work and he was calling the local psychiatric ward.
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Before I knew it, I was being strapped down to a damn stretcher
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and being wheeled out of the doctor's office, even after I tried to tell
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them the truth. The only thing my protests got me was a fucking needle
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in my arm to sedate me. My eyes rolled back into my head, as the lyrics
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to the Ramones "I Wanna Be Sedated" scrolled through my mind. I woke up
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laying horizontal trying to look past my heavy eyelids, blinking
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repeatedly to orientate myself. I was greeted with the site of a 7 foot,
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half naked guy standing like a lone indian nudist guard in front of me.
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His gown, which matched the one I now wore, was tied around his head.
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His tattooed body was covered in water for some god damn reason. Before
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I could say a word, I slowly drifted off into a drugged induced sleep. I
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woke up again to see some friggin chick sitting there, rocking herself
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back and forth in her chair chanting Pikachu like some freakish Pokemon
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cult member. She smiled as she sat beside me, for some odd reason. She
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petted a small Simba stuffed toy as she continued to chant Pikachu I
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tried not to look at her and just observed the room around me.
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All I saw to my left and right were the personifications of what
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being "crazy" is. I felt like I was stuck in the middle of some surreal
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dream that I had no way out of. I wasn't even allowed to have a damn
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pencil/pen/crayon or even a fucking piece of paper to get some writing
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down because I was "a threat to myself and those around me." So now
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because of my lil idea about fucking with my doctor, I was stuck in the
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center of some lunatic asylum, slowly becoming crazy by myself. It was
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difficult to keep my sanity, but I did so by retreating to the recesses
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of my mind that weren't tainted by the drugs they gave me. After a week
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of "treatment," I was released back into the world of the "sane." I now
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have a little list of precautions one must take when speaking to a doctor
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about your "mental health:"
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1. Don't even, and I repeat DO NOT EVEN, mention the fact of hurting
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yourself to a doctor, unless you really need a fix of sedative.
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2. Try to be as truthful as possible with your doctor, and if you can,
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try to ask for a psychiatrist, rather than your regular doctor.
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3. Don't let the Pikachu Lady eat your jello, because that fucking bitch
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hogs all the god damn puzzles at play time.
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4. Rinse and repeat.
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[-------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) HOE E'ZINE -- http://www.hoe.nu HOE #1038, BY LATINMAN - 3/16/00 ]
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