The Alien Conspiracy

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What disability-related experience do you remember with particular amusement?

Name: Michael Feir
Email: michaelfeir@compuserve.com
Date: 08 Sep 2000
Time: 14:03:14
Remote User:

Story

Many years ago, when I was eight or nine, I had no idea what the word "morality" meant. I realize what a different life I led then, and that this difference was one of the few which is likely common to all of us. I can be certain that all of you understand how easy it was to quash that "little voice," as my father used to call it, that told you that what you were doing was "bad!" I can be certain that all of us have done things which we later partially, but not totally, wish we hadn't. Since we've all partaken in the folly of youth, I can let that reason for participation in the "alien conspiracy" rest.

I admit freely here that there was a dose of malice in what we did to the hopelessly gullible fellow I'll introduce to you shortly. However, you must understand that this was completely over-shadowed by a sense of fun and adventure. None of us meant for things to go as horribly wrong as they did. Also, note that I don't write this as any kind of apology or defense. Our actions were cruel and unfair no matter which way you think about it. This is a confession of a sort, but I seek no atonement. There can be none. For as long as I live, I'll go on laughing at the trick I helped perpetrate. My laughter, however, will always be tempered by guilt.

Before you can properly appreciate and/or cringe at this conspiracy I mentioned, you must have some understanding of what insanity life could be in the institution for the blind where I spent the first two and a half years of the school days which I have any recollection of. This place was one of the few boarding schools for the blind in North America. I lived close enough so that I could go home on a bus for weekends, but many students basically spent most of their younger years there, weekends and all. The effect of this was that one's conception of "real life" became largely based on life within the school. Everyone understood what it was like to be blind, since most people there actually were. Very few students, at least in my dormitory and classes, had any vision at all. The ultimate effect of this, as far as pulling pranks went, was that you could get away with just about anything if you were careful that none of the sighted staff were around to see you do it. One of the favourite pranks was to swap someone's seat for a garbage can for them to sit in.

Rubber bands were fired at will, even in small classes. The only restriction was that you had to wait until there was other noise in the room. This noise would provide the cover which would prevent people from easily localizing the small snap made by the launching of these annoying projectiles. Voices were routinely changed to protect the guilty.

I once had a class firmly convinced that I was their female supply teacher. They were actually doing work before I coughed and ruined the whole thing.

Braille, as essential and beneficial as it is, was also a major source of grief to the unsuspecting and gullible. No matter who writes it, Braille, unlike print, is always identical. There were countless ways to put this simple fact to spectacular advantage. One of the most devastating was to forge a note from the principle informing the unfortunate victim that he or she had to report to the office and be ready to face any number of punishments. I fell prey to two of these very official and terrifying notes before learning that the P.A. system was used to summon students to the place of supposed dread. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that the office got upwards of three or four unexpected and uninvited quivering visitors per week.

Now, you have some sense of the common kinds of mischief that went on there. As you struggle to fully absorb the implications of what a day could be like if enough people chose you as their victim, I'll begin to explain higher forms of mischief.

At last, the time has come for John, my crackpot of a room-mate, to make his appearance. I know now that John was and still is mentally retarded. Back then, I had no idea what that actually meant and merely regarded him as particularly gullible and stupid. Most of my circle of friends felt much the same way about him, as did some of the older kids who made use of the play-room. All kinds of ingenious schemes were devised to torture and terrify this poor young loner.

One mean teenager with particularly lofty delusions of grandeur had John firmly convinced that he was God himself. John would be minding his own business, building a tower from the large plastic blocks kept in the large playroom. This was John's favourite activity, and he wasn't too bad at it. If the thunderous crash of their destruction is anything to go by, his towers usually grew fairly high. After he had finished, John would always step back in order to rest and either sonically or mentally admire his work. No sooner had he taken this fateful step, then a loud crash would be heard by all present. Before we could laugh at John for his supposed clumsiness, a deep voice would bellow: "Thou shalt not build!" This mischievous and soft-footed teen would quietly sneak close to John, knock over his tower, make his declaration and then step quickly and silently away. After a few seconds, he would calmly approach John and inform him that he had broken one of the ten commandments. Opening a book which he claimed was a Bible, he proceeded to recite to John all ten commandments, with the obvious revision of one of them. John would get down on his knees (on those few occasions when he didn't land squarely on his ass) and begin hysterically stammering out what passed for a prayer for forgiveness.

The main reason why I doubt that this was a Holy Book at all, other than the decidedly uncharitable way this trickster went about inspiring holy terror, was that the Bible in Braille consists of around twenty-five large volumes. The sound of the pages turning was wrong for a volume of this type. The pages were just too thin. Overall, I'm drawn to the conclusion that this tome, though ponderous, was nothing more vital to salvation than a copy of the phone book.

Another older girl, gifted or cursed with a particularly wicked voice, had John firmly convinced that she was a wicked witch. She would have fit perfectly into the Wizard of Oz. John was fairly careless with the few belongings he had and was always losing or forgetting about them. The major exception to this frivolous disposition was an old stuffed dog of which he was very fond and proud. If John displeased or annoyed this woman in any way, or, if she were merely in a spiteful mood, she would utter those famous and fear-inspiring words: "I'll get you, my pretty, and you're little dog, too!"

John would clutch his dog tightly, if he happened to be holding it, or run quickly to his room and grab it if he wasn't. Someone would usually find him sniffling in some corner, guarding his stuffed faithful companion.

The musical lament sung by the Scarecrow was constantly being piped up around him. People would whistle, hum, or just sing it outright. I don't think he ever realized the cruelty in this. He would sing snatches of it cheerfully enough himself from time to time.

We used to sneak up behind him and lightly hit him on the back, telling him that the sky was falling. He'd run off to hide under the nearest thing he could find, yelling: "The sky is falling!" at the top of his lungs. Why objects would somehow fall silently through the roof of the building, not to mention the floors above us, without causing some kind of damage, or being stopped by these obstacles, never seemed to occur to him. The fact that no one else ever seemed to be hit by small pieces of sky never seemed to trouble him, either.

To try and convince each other of the absolutely unbelievable wasn't all that uncommon in those days. The only uncommon element in this was that with John, you didn't even have to try and convince him. He'd readily believe just about everything.

Eventually, we all grew bored with the idea of a falling sky, and my friends and I decided it was high time to pull a wholly new and wondrous prank, the likes of which John had never experienced. There were four of us sitting in a quiet corner of Robert's room, calmly discussing the most absurd ideas we could think of. Could we make him think the school was on fire? Probably, but we all saw how that one could potentially get out of hand. It was actually fairly possible. It was also lacking in originality. The fire alarm would be pulled by some prankster or other at least twice a term. Could we convince him that he was going to be arrested for some imagined crime or other? Probably not. None of our voices were sufficiently authoritarian to sound like those of actual police. The problem of height occurred to us as well. Everyone knows that cops are supposed to be big and tall. At age twelve, Henry was the oldest and had the most cop-like build, being a fairly athletic sort of guy. It actually might have worked if something could have been done about his as yet childish voice.

Several other ideas were discussed and dismissed in their turn before the grand scheme of making John think that our school was to be the site of an alien invasion occurred to Robert. Robert was by far the most well-read of us. He was always using big words. However, he was always willing to explain them, so no one held it against him.

We began to work on the concept and found that each of us could contribute to the plan. Henry had a CNIB tape player which we could put in one of the cupboards we had to store our personal effects. James had a number of tapes with sound effects on them and also had a highly prized "double-decker," which could be used to copy things from one tape to another. Robert could explain the large words and the essentials of alien existence to whoever was chosen to play the part. Of course, that chosen one (drafted being somewhat closer to the truth) was me. After all, I was his room-mate. Robert was as well, but he had to do most of the thinking. That got him off the hook.

Initially, our plan was to keep the illusion going for as long as we could, coming up with new ideas for it as we went along. We had a sense that, like the falling sky, we'd eventually find the prospect of an alien invasion to be rather tedious and have to come up with another idea. We'd end it all by finally showing John how it was done and have a good laugh at his expense. So went the plan. Vague and skeletal as it was, we eagerly put it into action. I don't believe any of us knew that ominous saying about best-laid plans being laid waste.

Over the course of the next month, we slowly worked on John's natural resistance to the idea that I, a here-to-fore fairly normal room-mate, was anything but a kid two or three years older than himself. We soon discovered that John had no idea what an alien was or even what outer space was supposed to be. I now realize that Robert and Henry were probably the only two of us who actually had anything like a proper notion of these concepts. James and I had only those notions which come from listening to cartoons like Battle of the Planets. Space, we thought, was a really big place just teaming with strange monsters, neat-sounding ships and those wonderfully sinister "intergalactic villains" Robert was always going on about.

For the most part, James had shied away from pulling pranks on John, so it was decided that he would be trusted more than the rest of us. Therefore, James should be the one to explain these basic concepts to John and to "figure out" that I was an alien. None of us envied him this role. Explaining anything to John was no one's idea of a good time. We had all heard a well-meaning but short-tempered member of the staff make a disastrous attempt to explain the use of a knife and fork to him. The staffer was driven to absolute fury, and John was so stressed that he had flung a knife across the dining room. Although not especially sharp, the handles of the knives we used were heavy enough to cause more than a little pain. The knife had landed harmlessly on the floor, but could have easily hit any number of people.

James spent the first week or so filling John in on the basics and telling him about those evil "intergalactic villains!" He was fairly good at it, and ,by the end of the week, John started asking me timid questions about aliens and space. Were all aliens actually bad? Why was space so big? Were there many monsters out there? So many questions, and so little certainty.

In the meantime, Robert was coaching me on how to "talk alien." As it happened, he was a Star Trek fan and told me about the famous Mr. Spock, and his "Vulcan mind melt." Even Robert's understanding of things was off the mark on occasion. This was a fortuitous error for him to have made. To have one's brain melted! What could be more "totally gross!" What would it be like? Seeing the potential usefulness of adding a dash of terror to John's existence, we worked out what such an experience would be like. You'll learn the horrors that presented themselves to our misguided minds in due course. He taught me such words as "in-ter-plan-etary," "hyperspace," and dozens of others. I had known that we lived on a planet, so "interplanetary" wasn't too hard to explain. Saying it without sounding uncertain of my ability to pronounce the word was a different matter entirely. Neither of us really knew what hyperspace was, but we both concluded that it sounded like a "real cool fast way to go places."

The month rolled on, and as it did, more pieces of our illusion were put into play. James played his part beautifully, ending up seeming to force me to confess my Vulcan origin and the impending invasion. Why a scout from the planet Vulcan would confess such top secret information to a scrawny little kid like James never concerned us in the least. Fortunately, John never questioned such "minor details."

James: "So! You are an alien! Where are you from?" Mike: "Ninety-two Harvard Road...Er!... Vulcan! Yah! That was it!" and: James: "What's your favourite food?" Mike: "Frosted Fla...er...Human brains!"

That tape player, so thoughtfully provided by Henry and so skillfully provided with strange sounds by the efforts of Robert and James, became a central piece to our operations. There were sounds for all kinds of things. Whenever John came into the room and I happened to be in my cupboard, I'd turn on a taped sound of the Star Trek transporter beam. I'd then step out of the cupboard and greet him with a "Hello, Earthling!" – which was about as spooky as I could make it with my all-too-human high squeak of a voice.

When brushing my hair in the mornings, I'd put on the sound of a hair dryer at twice normal speed. That was one of the great things about those nifty CNIB players. You could change the playing speed, and, for a special thrill, you could play things backwards if you flipped the tape over and threw a switch into the right position. It was amazing how many totally innocent and beneficial things we managed to find devious uses for. A dog's bark became the growl of a pet space monster when played at slow speed. A children's book of fairy tales, played at slow speed and backwards, became my commander who would want to talk with me on occasion. One student at the school was fond of breaking windows for some reason. We recorded one of his destructive acts and played it at high speed, telling John that it was a garbage smasher.

As un-patriotic as it was, I took the Canadian national anthem. Playing it backwards at an absurdly slow speed, I stood solemnly at attention for the whole thing. Well, as solemnly as was possible while trying desperately not to laugh. I told him it was my "interplanetary anthem" and hoped that I was using both words properly. The anthem was my idea, so we didn't have the reassurance of having it sanctioned by Robert. I've paid dearly for that flash of wickedness. I've never been able to hear the national anthem without grinning at the very least.

It still amazes me how long we kept the prank going, despite numerous extremely close calls and tense moments. All of us realized that, if the wrong people discovered what we were doing, punishment would be fairly severe. Being anything but perfect, we all made mistakes which might have, or even should have, tipped off someone as crazy as John to the truth. I made all kinds of errors in my speeches and ravings like the ones presented above. The tapes we used for sounds were not always blanks and sound effects would often be followed by bits of music or stories before someone thought of stopping the player.

All good things, and even bad ones, must come to an end though. For us, things fell to pieces very suddenly and unexpectedly.

I had just transported into my room, having finished sending my intergalactic report card for the day. I made a show of smacking my lips as if I had just been snacking on asteroids. (Lame? Extremely, but Robert couldn't think of any space foods, so we went with them because they sounded like something you'd pass around at parties. I think Robert knew that they were rocks, but I suspect he had as little of an idea of their potential size as I had.) Of course, being human, my mouth was empty and I had merely run back from classes. I had begun to habitually try and get to my room before John did in order to have some fun with this whole alien thing each day.

"Hello, foolish mortal!" Robert had just taught me those two words. I had no clue what they meant but thought they sounded wonderfully sinister.

"Hi, Michaelalien!" John tended to join his words when even remotely nervous. "Is the vasion today? You don't have your braimelter on you, do yuh?" Unlike many other concepts we threw at him, this one had some staying power. For days, we had kept him terrified of having his brain melted.

"I have it right here!" How could I miss an opportunity like that? At this point, I pulled out the toy space-gun which was, to John if no one else, my brain-melter. "You know what happens when your brain gets melted, don't you?" I shook the space-gun at this point, so that it made a small click as if being loaded. The click had more of an effect on him than any words Robert or I could have cobbled up.

"Please don'melt my brain! Need it!" Yes, reader, the obvious question "What for?" did occur to me, but I couldn't think of a sufficiently witty way to put it to him so I grudgingly let it go. Instead, I launched into the tortured tale of the melted brain.

"You're thinking along, and suddenly, your brain gets really really hot! It gets all crispy around the edges. Then, it starts to bubble in the middle. And then, it all turns into this big slimy blob. And then, the blob falls down into the back of your throat, and you choke on it and die!" I ended this speech with the most wicked-sounding laugh I could muster.

John was at the ragged edge of what passed for his sanity. I knew this intuitively, even before he began to whimper a bit. I knew it, and even savoured it for the few seconds I had before all hell broke loose. Despite the fact that it would have been an act of betrayal towards my faithful comrades in arms, I was very sorely tempted to say something like: "Guess what, John? It's brain-melting time!", and fire off the space-gun. That would doubtless have caused him an instant's worth of the purest terror to be found this side of Hell, but, his brain not being melted, this impulsive act would have shattered the illusion beyond easy repair. I'd have to somehow acquire a different space gun. These were highly valued and carefully guarded items. What happened instead was infinitely worse.

"They're here!" the shriek of mock terror came in from the hallway. I had never heard the voice before, nor have I ever been able to figure out who it was who wrecked our plans so thoroughly. The scream was immediately followed by the sounds of a fierce space battle from one of those read-along Star Wars tapes. Ships and laser blasts seemed to whiz down the length of the hallway past our room. Whoever decided to join our conspiracy had set up a pair of stereo speakers in excellent positions. Had it not been for the musical score that accompanied the furious exchange of fire, I might have been halfway convinced.

John could have won a gold medal for high-jumping had he been able to leap as high as he did just then on a regular basis. I heard his head hit part of the ceiling of our room. I'm uncertain whether the part that he hit was lower than the rest of it, but regardless, it was still an incredibly high jump for little tykes like us. He then ran wildly out of the room at a pace which would have put the road-runner to shame. He was yelling: "They're here! They'll melt-our-brains! We're hi-i-storeeee!" I don't know where he got hold of that word, but suspect it was either Robert or Henry, both western fans, who might have used it while threatening him with my supposedly awesome powers.

It took a moment for me to gather my somewhat scattered wits, but, after that, I was right behind him all the way. Heedless of the doors he rammed open by sheer force of impact, he charged onward through the fortunately empty hallway. Except for Robert and Henry, we were all too young to carry canes at the time. It didn't matter that things had just gone to hell in a split second. For the brief moments while we were in the hall, I was able to laugh unreservedly at the results of our little conspiracy for the only time in my life. I laughed at the sheer cruel farce of it all, as I puffed along behind him. I thought of what an absolute lunatic he sounded like. I laughed at the relief I felt that my part was over at last. I laughed at how all our efforts were thrown off kilter by the only member of our audience that I ever learned about. Someone had appreciated the sheer insanity of what we were doing enough to want to partake in it himself! It was downright vindicating in a way.

During this time, I had lost all track of time and space. I had absolutely no idea where we were going. This didn't really trouble me much until we actually got there. The principal's office isn't typically on a prankster's list of prime destinations you know. Nonetheless, there I stood.

"Ms. Smith! Ms. Smith! There's a vasion goin'on! Aliens! They'll melt-our-brains!"

In the two and a half years I attended that school, I don't think I ever heard Ms. Smith or any other staff member caught quite so thoroughly off-guard. She burst out into a cackle which made me feel like my hairs were standing on end. The next sound I heard was John thumping on the floor. I'm not certain whether he fainted or passed out.

I didn't run into him for the rest of that day. That was when I began to feel guilty for my actions. I knew the axe was about to fall, and I wasn't disappointed in this belief. I think it goes without saying that I told all.

I didn't even think twice about giving her the names of my three partners in crime. Surprisingly enough, they never held it against me. Considering the heaps of trouble we all got into over our little caper, this was nothing short of miraculous. The punishment we were subjected to sunk the smiles off our faces like the iceberg sunk the Titanic. And yet, it didn't completely destroy the comic power of what we had done. All of us could still laugh at the whole thing, even at the worst of times.

I guess one of the reasons why we could do this was that John didn't seem to be all that traumatized by it in the long run. After a fairly shaky couple of days, he was back to his usual gullible but fairly cheerful self. Nothing ever seemed to make a lasting impact on him. There were times when I almost envied him his innocence.

Two years ago, I met up with John at a lodge for blind people situated on Lake Joseph. He's still a cheerful and gullible fellow, and his marbles continue to illude him. I had to tell him what my name was at least half a dozen times during each of our conversations. I didn't take this personally. Despite a four-year relationship, his girlfriend had to do the very same thing. He didn't remember me at all – nor the cruel trick we had played on him.

Over the years, I've found that the "alien conspiracy," as Robert ended up coining our enterprise, has left me a rather mixed legacy. As I grew older, kinder and somewhat wiser, I've learned what a cruel thing it was to be a part of. Even though I'm certain now that we made no truly lasting impression on him, it doesn't lessen the guilt and shame. We took advantage of an innocent and entirely too gullible person.

In contrast, I have also found that there was a lot more comedy to be enjoyed in the whole episode than we found in it at the time. The old reasons for my guilt-ridden mirth are still just as valid as ever they were. I'll never forget his shriek of absolute terror and the way he ran screaming down the hallway. James was the most unlikely space hero imaginable. I was an absolutely pathetic excuse for an intergalactic villain. Despite this, it all worked out anyway. I laugh at all the hilarious slips we made, which never quite had the disastrous effect on our plans that we thought they would during one horrified instant after another. I laugh at our ingenuity, and at all the crazy, misguided notions we put into play. We all had such a stupendous sense of control.

It's funny how one guy with a stereo managed to rob us of it completely and escape unknown and unscathed. He turned our prank into the stuff of legends but kept his own obscurity.

John himself seems not to remember it at all, but apparently the story has been passed along. I've had several blind youngsters whom I had never met before come up to me and say: "You're not the Mike in the Alien Conspiracy, are you?" My affirmative answers to this are somewhat less full of pride and good cheer than they seem to expect. But, then, the story they know has been twisted somewhat. They know the fun of it, but not the whole of it. To them, the "Alien Conspiracy" was the pinnacle of all pranks.

I have no doubt that it has now fallen from its position of greatness but am convinced that I'll meet people eager for the "whole story," 20 years from now. I'll give it to them, too, but they'll have to take the grit along with the glory.

With the exception of my own name, I've changed the names of everyone else involved in this incident. I have a number of reasons for writing this down, but causing the various participants any more pain and embarrassment than they've gone through already isn't one of them.

The institution to which I refer has doubtless changed drastically since I left. I doubt very much that any practical joke quite as cruel or prolonged could happen nowadays. For one thing, more students are visually impaired rather than totally blind. It's a lot harder to keep something like what we did secret when people can see what you're doing.

Also, I have yet to meet anyone quite as impressionable as our young victim was. As far as I've been able to tell, no one except that one person who joined in the fun knew how long we kept the prank going or how terrified John actually was. The whole episode spanned about a month's time.

I've always had mixed feelings about this whole episode in my life. I thought that by writing about the "Alien Conspiracy," I could sort out my feelings concerning it. Ultimately, what I've come to realize is that it's only natural to have mixed feelings. Anything else would almost be abnormal. I have yet to meet anyone who hasn't found reason to laugh at the misfortunes of others from time to time. The simple truth is that remorse and mirth aren't always mutually exclusive. One of the two almost always dominates, but neither can ever entirely eclipse the other in a case like this.

As I've alluded to earlier, the whole enterprise had a kind of magical and adventurous quality to it, which I'll freely admit to cherishing to a degree. Sop it up, reader. I can insist on you enjoying this if at all possible.

While I'm still fairly youthful, I'm anything but carefree. I have yet to hear of anyone being involved in a prank as detailed or blessed with sheer luck as this one was. It just seemed to fly along, despite the countless ways there were for our antics to be brought to a screeching halt.

Yes, it was quite cruel. I could never go along with anything remotely as mean as this prank was now. Like any other young school-boy, I was ignorant. So were my partners in crime. It was an immoral experiment in psychology. What could we make this nutty guy believe? How far could we bend his reality? I think we all had a sense that what we were doing was mean. I certainly did, but, for me, it seemed about equal to hiding someone's toy on them, or smearing toothpaste on somebody's pillow. Only afterwards did I attain any real sense of how reprehensible our actions were.

Despite this sense of wrong-doing, I still find myself unable to hear the Canadian national anthem without grinning at the very least. Thinking about how the whole thing fell apart still evokes quite a chuckle. My pity for our hapless victim doesn't lessen my sense of amazement, nor render me incapable of finding amusement in the whole affair.

Now that I've written it all down, I realize that one of my reasons for doing so was simply to share a good story. I've told it orally on frequent occasions but never as fully as I've managed to set things down here.

Why should this story be told? Well, for one thing, if it does nothing else, I hope it will convince you that us blind folks aren't really as marginal as is sometimes thought. We're not all musicians, bumbling fools, incredibly deep and wise, nor as free from the propensity for youthful mischief as some would all too easily believe. I can't count the number of times I've been accused of "never doing anything wrong in school." Given the opportunity, we can be just as helpful, and just as harmful as anyone else.

You've doubtless read stories of remarkable achievements of people like Helen Keller or Louis Braille. Well, here's an achievement which certainly qualifies as remarkable in its way. This remarkability is dwarfed, however, by the remarkability of its being recorded. I've read tons of books about sighted children getting into all kinds of strange mischief. However, other than reading Tom Sullivan's biography at around age 18, where he recounts some of the capers he got involved in, I never read about any blind kids pulling pranks.

Another reason for writing this is simply to re-experience a slice of youth in a form that I can share with others. That's right, reader. This is neither a comedy nor a tragedy. There are morals in this story, but you'll also find what fun it can be to partake in a practical joke. It's an episode of my life, which, like most lives, doesn't come with all of its ingredients laid out in separate piles. I invite you to share in my amusement and laugh.

You'll find lots of absurdity here, certainly enough for a derisive snort or two. Or, be emerged in pity for poor John. Weep at the barbaric cruelty of this tale of malevolent exploitation. Take either of these paths, and you'll almost certainly stumble, for neither is true. I'm neither jester nor monster. I'm simply a person, with elements of both of these extremes in my nature. I hope none of you have gotten this far without cracking up in helpless laughter and also feeling at least a tinge of pity.

I suppose that's my whole point in a nut-shell. Life isn't even. We all stumble our way through it, blundering around each twist and turn. Basically, I hope that you enjoy this romp through my youth. I want you to feel, if possible, the sense of wonder and fellowship which I experienced. There is magic here, a very important and special kind of magic. However, I also hope that you feel some small portion of the pity and unease at your mirth that I have over the years. Perhaps, you'll even think twice before engaging in a prank of your own. I am by no means advocating a life of sainthood here. There's always room for the odd practical joke or slightly dastardly deed. Life wouldn't be half so interesting without them. Just be certain that you consider the consequences of your actions.

I've suffered the odd twinge of guilt along the way, but, on the whole, I've immensely enjoyed solving the puzzle of how to recount this properly. Time after time, I've gotten the sense that people miss one side or the other of the equation. Either they grasp the amusement in its entirety and miss the darker side altogether, or they find it impossible to understand how I could find anything to laugh about. I can only hope that you, my reader, have come closer to my experience than either of these positions.

Ultimately, empathy is why I wrote this all down. Experience a part of what made me who I am. Have a taste of the uneasy laughter I've enjoyed. The ability to empathize is all too rare, particularly among the young. I find it ironic that this ability is often only gained due to the lack of it in others. With that parting thought, I leave you to your own deviousness.

Augeas heard help howling drops falling deep.

Name: Tbunixrg
Email: sidonumo@zsdfg.com
Date: 20 Apr 2008
Time: 05:34:29
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Name: FaisseDip
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Date: 28 Feb 2008
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