signed fictitious

[rone]

Via bryant:

Invent a memory of me and post it in the comments. It can be anything you want, so long as it's something that's never happened. Then, of course, post this to your journal and see what people would like to remember of you, only the universe failed to cooperate in making it happen so they had to make it up instead.

Comments

[daakroth.livejournal.com]

We first met when you bumped into me at the local Sex Emporium and handed me a small pink envelope with just "Wait one hour then open" on it and you ran off.

I stood there like a fool for a while wondering why a total stranger would want to pass me a pink envelope. Shrugging it off to one of those weird "incidents" people hear about happening at the sex stores, I go outside and walk around the city for a hour, then opened the envelope.

Inside was an autographed burlesque picture by kamiandrews and a note attached to it.

The note said "I know you have a LJ account. I know THINGS about you. Go read my LJ." and it was signed by "ronebofh"

I was scared. I went home and sat on my futon for a day or two, I don't quite remember, but I remember my wife asking if I was ok. I muttered something to this effect "There's someone out there stalking me."

To this date, I still don't know why it all happened.

[ronebofh.livejournal.com]

What part of "invent a memory" don't you understand?? I hope my wife isn't reading this.

[daakroth.livejournal.com]

The horrors and the nightmares has begun again.

I can't tell the difference between reality and unreality.

GODDAMNIT, quit stalking me. I don't know what you want from me. Please go away.

Don't make me go weep in a dark corner of my small closet like a brutalized puppy.

[erikred.livejournal.com]

There are days in the Hole that seem like weeks. Then there are weeks that seem like days. They don't feed you regularly. I know. I once counted during the interval. Got to 14,544 once. Then 3,503 before the next meal. It's supposed to break down your resistance, so you're more likely to answer their questions when they interrogate you.

I was close to breaking down. That's natural, really. They keep you in the dark and ignore you long enough, and you lose it. No shame in that. Everyone needs some sort of contact. I'd been without contact for as long as I cared to remember.

That's why, when the tapping first began, I couldn't believe it. I thought I'd gone mad. An eon in this dark Hole with no human contact, no communication, my throat sore from humming to myself all the time; what else could a tapping sound be at that point but an auditory hallucination?

I tried to ignore it even as I tried to make sense of it. It was certainly morse code. It ran for a bit, then stopped, then repeated. Finally, I gave up on trying to ignore it. I listened carefully to the taps and tried to remember how the code went.

"G-O-O-D"

"M-O-R-N-I-N-G"

"D-O"

"Y-O-U"

"H-A-P-P-E-N"

"T-O"

"H-A-V-E"

"A"

"C-U-P"

"O-F"

"S-U-G-A-R"

"R-O-N-E-B-O-F-H"

I laughed until I cried, and when they came for me, I told them everything.

[ronebofh.livejournal.com]

And i had to have my coffee black for the 8145th day in a row. Thanks for nothing.

[erikred.livejournal.com]

The Revolution will not be sugarcoated, comrade.

[serene-orange.livejournal.com]

Well, it is a funny story. I was down at the nudie booths (as I often am)... enjoying the show. The girl looked all used up and bruised. Yick. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice some movement. There is a glory hole there. I see someone with a tool frantically making the hole larger..and larger.. soon it is big enough to fit a fist through. I am thinking, "Gross.. who gets fisted through a glory hole!?!" Then you started to feed through your dick. No wonder you had to widen the hole. It was like a giant sea cucumber!!! I wished I had a camera to take pics, one one will ever beleive the resemblence between your dick and Popeye's forearm. I had nothing to fit that, so I thumped you soundly on the head of it and told you to put that silly thing away. Man... like the sighting of the loch ness monster, or big foot or something. Noone will ever believe me.

[eviltofu.livejournal.com]

The results came back positive. You're pregnant.

[ronebofh.livejournal.com]

You'll be happy to know that the fetus escaped, stole a rusty cleaver, and is looking for you, bent on revenge.

[eviltofu.livejournal.com]

But I'm not the father!

[kodi]

When I first saw you wearing the "Ask me about my fistula" tee shirt, I figured it was a set-up. Once I looked up the definition of "fistula," I knew it was a joke. I was so sick of playing the straight man; I resolved to figure out the punchline. I struggled for a year, long after you stopped wearing the shirt.

When I finally gave up and asked, you must have assumed that I had spent a year steeling myself for your response. You were right, of course - but the response I was prepared for was not what I received at all.

Anyway, I've recovered now, and yes - I would like to touch it.

[ronebofh.livejournal.com]

I'm sad to say that fistulas are too last-millenium for me. My bodymod choice has since changed to replacing my skeleton with transparent aluminum parts. I like to impress the neighbor's kids by shining a flashlight through my shin.

[lots42.livejournal.com]

I still don't know why you sent me the Polaroid of Kibo's butt

[ronebofh.livejournal.com]

So that wasn't you who told me that you sought the Fountain of Youth?

[mskala.livejournal.com]

Trouble down at the computer club. I walked into the back room, noted without surprise that I was by thirty years the youngest person present, and took in the scene: V., sitting in a dangerously overloaded office chair like a ton of mud, staring at the screen of the old 386 with an expression of grim determination on her fat features, and a circle of elderly men standing around watching her. One whispered to me "She's looking for the To: address."

I tried to reason with her. I told her that Usenet doesn't have To: addresses. I told her that if you want to send a message to someone specific instead of the newsgroup, you send it as email. I told her that if you want to respond in public to someone else's article, your newsreader creates an attribution line. Nothing worked. Strange, disconnected phrases bubbled up from somewhere within the bulk - "...worked with my QWK reader five years ago..."; "...Usenet is all Americanized anyway..."; "...don't understand this Linux thing...". Finally I got fed up and told her that if she didn't move her ass pretty soon it was going to become permanently stuck in the chair; but even that didn't have any noticeable effect.

So I got everybody else out of there, secured the room, and sent in ronebofh with a bottle of Tic-Tack.

[mdyesowitch.livejournal.com]

When we walked in, we knew all eyes were drawn to us. Hoppie was wearing his usual tight jeans and his "Are you sure you want to post this to ALL of USENET?" T-shirt, and me in a glittering green gown with my hair, waves of red, gloriously unbound, and my earrings glittering like so many diamonds surrounding so many emeralds. You glowered. You walked over and introduced yourself, hugging hoppie like an old lover. You quickly separated him from me and took him off to ply him with beers, remembering that I hate the smell of beer, and would be less likely to hang around that way. It's okay. Have you petty revenges. Enjoy them. He's mine now.

[kerri9494.livejournal.com]

Neighborhood barbecues had always been sort of, well, boring for me. I never really knew what to say to people, and could rarely match residents with their actual homes. But when I saw you standing there at the grill, flipping your kielbasa, I knew that you were the one.

The one who kept me up all night because of all the goddamned sex noises coming out of your bedroom window.

Get a frickin' air conditioner or something, will you?

When I went stag to my senior prom,

[vardissakheli.livejournal.com]

I was trying really hard to pick up chyxxorz when their boyfriends got up to talk to other people, but every time this suave waiter d00d kept intervening. Even though he was only 10 years old, he looked so debonair in that half-vest and projected such consummate cool that the gurls just couldn't keep their eyes off him. I walked home that night, too embarrassed to squeeze into my big sister's Audi Fox, as he flitted from limo to limo, making every hawt babe's date shiver as he decided which one to eject from the car.

[therobbergirl.livejournal.com]

There was this one time at band camp when I suggested that we play something else, maybe something just arranged by Souza.

You picked up a pair of bongos, sidled up to the front, and proceeded to drum a story called Eight Ball that holds me to this day.

And that's when the C.H.U.D.s got me.

[eejitalmuppet.livejournal.com]

We were at soccer training and you broke a finger while playing in goal. You insisted that it didn't matter, and completed the session, grey-faced and sweating profusely.

Then I told you that _Flip Your Wig_ is my favourite Hüsker Dü album and you punched me with your injured hand.