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