[07-16 23:55] jericho: zoo was too busy, so did the aquarium and the children’s museum
[07-16 23:59] K: how was that?
[07-16 23:59] jericho: aquarium was pretty neat. never been to the one here
[07-16 23:59] jericho: children’s museum is not a museum, rather a place for kids activities
[07-16 23:59] K: right
[07-16 23:59] jericho: was jealous of the kids because they could put on coats w/ hoods that made them look like squirrels
[07-16 23:59] K: 😀
[07-17 00:00] jericho: then i realized i’d be branded a ‘furry’ when my desire to dress as a squirrel has nothing to do with that
[07-17 00:00] K: so what is the squirrel thing, anyway? 🙂
[07-17 00:01] jericho: great little creatures, survivalists, adaptable, very clever and fantastic tails
[07-17 00:02] K: so ‘animal admiration’ but not, say, to the point of being a totem animal, spirit guide, etc?
[07-17 00:02] jericho: or sexually interested, right
[07-17 00:02] K: well yeah
[07-17 00:02] jericho: if a squirrel was my spirit guide, pretty sure i’d spend half my life on a grocery store isle w/ cans of planter’s nuts, wondering how i got there
At some point around 2008 I put together a box with a bunch of random shit laying around. Nothing of value, all stuff you question why you even kept it in the first place basically. Off it went to an unsuspecting victim/friend. From there, the box-of-shit was born. Since then, I have sent out hundreds of boxes or envelopes of shit. On occasion, people document what they receive with comedic flair. This is one of the boxes I received and wrote about. This was originally published on attrition.org.
Apparently, my address is too easy to get these days. It started in ’93 when a FOIA request about government sanctioned electro-shock therapy included it. Again in ’98 when the Congressional oversight committee included my address instead of theirs when mailing 800 “detainees” from Guam. Third time was in ’02 when some lawyer named ‘Megan’ decided my address should be on the Internets. Most recently, an un-sympathetic judge decided his court could ‘leak’ it to an ex who is still demanding money for “emotional trauma”. This time, who knows, but some crazy stalker found my address and voila, another box of shit arrived.
After playing twenty questions with the Postal Inspector regarding the apparent chicken blood, I quickly retreated to my lair.
As with any suspicious package or envelope from a government agency, I put it to the next test. My highly trained sniffer cat signals on dangerous packages by showing a single fang. No doubt here, whatever was in the box posed serious risk to this household. It would soon be all too clear…
Immediately obvious, the danger was the big purple thing with a psychotic eye that reminded me of the one legged hooker from DEF CON last year. At any second, I expected frakin laser beams to shoot out and demolish all around me. Cat whimpering and claws grating against hard wood floors further compounded my own fear.
The amount of shit crammed into this box was impressive. As I removed each item with biohazard gloves, I feared I would uncover something worse. Or at least, I feared I would uncover more of the purple beast. With each passing .. thing, the slow realization hit me that my stalker had constructed the perfect ‘Jericho rape kit’. A wave of horror met an uncomfortable bulge in my shorts; both scared and turned on, I kept going.
With everything spread before me, I could begin the deciphering of each item to better gauge my stalkers true intent.
Starting with a pair of leopard print feathery butt plugs (his and hers) is the best way to start a box of shit. Immediately followed by an aged roll of duct tape, my Jack Bauer interrogation fantasies were no doubt hours away! To fuel up for the night, a gourmet bowl of ramen would lead the night.
One stick of RAM was curious; I recently read that if I use a can of compressed air, I can freeze it and read the info! I bet it is loaded with hot porn and bondage sketches. A green hair pin to help better manage the “jungle below the belt” so that pleasure is not impeded. Dozens of colorful ninjas, each with a plastic parachute attached, that will double as protection and asphyxiation. Hopefully my stalker will let me try out to the new “Carradine” position everyone is buzzing out! Bottle caps leave clues that my stalker drinks a variety of beers, how very cultured. One ball of tin foil, perhaps a gag or a ‘bead’?! One happy meal hot wheel toy. Definite sex toy.
The “I ❤ Intercourse” cards may start us off with a game of strip go-fish as we ponder the sexuality of ‘Twilight’ sweethearts.
The biggest clue yet! All of the DEF CON stickers, surely my stalker must be the Dark Tangent! He’s had a man crush on me since DEF CON 2! Matches to light the candles, pez to lure me in like a sugar-addicted fat American child. The cute little assless chaps outfit is no doubt for some dress up role-play and “puppetry of the penis”, who we’ll call “Mr. Slave”. Whitening strips for that fresh minty flavor as my beloved stalker licks my teeth. One token for a video game or subway ride home, not sure which. As my stalker sends me on my way, I can write down my poetry in the provided notebook.
As with any properly played out fantasy, it is best to have medical treatment on hand. A variety of designer band-aids should patch up any injury except the spleen removal. Again, a DEF CON beer bottle opener attached to a DEF CON key chain? Oh, my beloved Dark Tangent, you sweet piece of stalker man flesh. One cheap pager, issued to any two-bit drug dealer or government employee, so that we can incorporate some POCSAG decoding kink into the mix. Last, a “Royal Elite” container with a clasp locking mechanism that I dare not open, lest I ruin my stalker’s surprise finish.
Finally, that purple .. beast. Torture device? Threesome partner? Win/win I say!