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Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Part 3 out of 3 of a Very True and (I Might Add) Fascinating Tale Which Clearly Fails to Capture the Precious Attention of Olivia

I had for three days been under the clutches of the wicked, incurably insane Anabelle Walker, and what I really missed most was my toothbrush. I've never even really liked my legs anyway. I was already thinking about just getting some new ones. And the thumb? Who really needs thumbs? You know who doesn't have two thumbs? Christian Bale. That's a fact.

Sure, every once and a while I got a little bothered by the I Got the Hungries. Sure, my stomach hurt. Sure, I thought I was at one point passing a kidney stone. Sure, I had a fever from morning till evening every day I was there. Sure, I knew I was staring death in the face and there was a very slim chance I was about to escape this. But what I missed most of all was my tooth brush. My breath was just awful, I tell ya. And it was starting to get embarrassing. Not that I cared too much what Anabelle thought of my breath, but the impression I make on people is very important to me. And I badly needed a toothbrush.

I suggested this to Anabelle on the morning of the fourth day.

"Anabelle?" I asked softly as she entered the room with some new pills. "Do you think it's possible that you could bring me a toothbrush? I'm just worried about cavities."

She just stared at me blankly. The darkness was behind her eyes again. Very calmly, without saying a word, she turned around and walked back out of the room.

When she came back in, several minutes later, she was holding a pair of rusty, old pliers.

"You're worried about cavities, huh, Mister Man?" she said, smiling slightly. "WELL HOW ABOUT I JUST TAKE OUT EVERY ONE OF YOUR COCKADOODIE TEETH?!"

As she advanced rapidly, I tried to decide if the case was worth pursuing further or if I should just forget about it now. By the look in her eyes, I decided she really was prepared to go medieval on me, and I decided--reluctantly--that it was a lost cause.

I said the one thing that could have possibly diffused the situation without risking my life or my pearly whites.

"Anabelle, wait!!!" I shouted. "I love you!"

She paused, then, and look confused. She looked as though she was daring to hope, but afraid to have her heart broken. I knew that look. It's the same look I wore on my face the first time an advertisement popped up on the side of the web page informing me that there were singles in my area who wanted to meet me.

"Really?" she asked cautiously.

"I love you, Anabelle. And I always have. It's always been you."

Her face lit up as she smiled. "I feel the same way, Christopher. I think the time has come. Tonight I'm going to put on my Liberace records. Oh, the house will be so full of romance! We'll have a candle-lit dinner, I'll fix meatloaf, everything is going to be perfect. Then I'll load my gun with the bullets. One for you. One for me."

"What about Dennis, the goldfish?" I asked, laughing nervously.

She blushed. "Dennis? Well, no. I, well, I sort of ate him," she said hurriedly, before adding, "Oh, Christopher, tonight is going to be so perfect. I knew this was how it was going to end all along. God, I love you so much."

Then she stood up to leave. Halfway to the door, she paused, turned around, and smiled again. "I have a surprise for you, this afternoon, if you think you're going to be up for it."

I forced a smile. "I can't wait."

She grinned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. I waited a few moments to make sure she was gone, and then flashed the bird at the door. (And by "the bird," I mean my middle finger.) I wasn't about to die. But I didn't have to worry. I had a plan.

I spent the rest of the morning and the early part of the afternoon working out the kinks in my plan, getting less and less confident that it was going to work but at the same time coming to terms with my fate with quiet acceptance. If this plan failed, I would die. That's all there was to it.

To my surprise, the door flew open at a little past noon and a tall, young policeman stood in the doorway, wearing sunglasses and with his hands on his hips. I nearly had a heart attack, but was immediately flooded with relief. I sat up in my bed.

"Officer, thank God you've rescued me!!! She's crazy! Anabelle Walker is crazy!!! She's been keeping me here against my will!!! Now get me out of this hell hole!!!"

He remained untroubled, smiling eerily and staring at me behind his sleek, designer sunglasses. I stared at him for a moment in confusion. Then he seized his sunglasses and tossed them to the side of the room.

"Did somebody call...Officer Nasty?" he asked, beginning to shake his hips and dance over to me from across the room.

As realisation dawned on me, I was filled with horror. I shook my head over and over again. "No. No no no no no. NO!!!!" I said.

He held out one hand to calm me and used the others to unbutton his shirt. "Please, don't worry, sir," he said in what I assume he thought to be a tough cop's voice. "I'm certified........IN SEX."

Just as he tossed aside his shirt and moved his hand toward his zipper, Anabelle crept up behind him and tapped him on the back. He turned around, and for the first time, I looked upon Anabelle Walker with relief.

"Just a minute, Leonard," she said.

"Officer Nasty," he corrected her, fingering his handcuffs idly.

"Christopher, I'm sorry, I should have explained," she said as I stared in disbelief at the both of them. "This is the surprise!"

"I don't understand," I admitted.

"Christopher, I understand that I, as a woman, am unable to fulfill your physical needs. I do love you, and I understand that if you are of that persuasion, then I am willing to do anything to make you happy. So that's why I hired Leonard here. I figured that I might as well give you that pleasure on your last day on earth," she said.

Finally I began to understand, and I was filled with fury.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" I yelled in frustation, before I could stop myself. "WHY DOES EVERYONE THINK I'M GAY?!"

The pair of them stared at me in confusion. "You're not gay?" Anabelle asked slowly.

"No, I'm not gay!!!!" I said furiously.

"Oh," Anabelle said. "Well, this is going to make dinner awkward."

And it was awkward. After leading a disappointed Officer Nasty AKA Leonard from the bedroom, she left to go fix dinner. It only took about fifteen minutes, actually, and so she helped me into the wheelchair and wheeled me out into the dining room, where there were two plates, a candle, and a pair of wine glasses.

After Anabelle said grace, I put my napkin in my lap and hesitantly began to eat. It was meatloaf, as promised, along with a side of applesauce and carrot sticks. We ate in silence for a few minutes until Anabelle finally poured the wine. It was all going according to plan.

"So," I said finally, clearing my throat. "What do you do in your free time? When you're not, you know, chopping off my legs and stuff?"

"Well," she said, taking a sip of wine. "I used to kill a lot of babies..."

I glanced up.

"...but I'm trying to cut down on that," she added.

I seized this as an opportunity for dinner conversation. "So is it, like, exclusively babies that you murder or is it, like, a combination of babies and adults?" I asked, taking another bite of meatloaf and trying my best to look intrigued.

"That's a good question," she said. "It's pretty much a combination of the two. In fact, most of the people I've brutally murdered are adults. I only killed the occasional baby during my career as a nurse. It's been two, maybe three years since I've actually killed any babies."

Another minute or two passed in silence. Anabelle had finished her glass of wine. I, on the other hand, hadn't taken a single sip from mine. Although I was nervous and scared, I eventually decided that it was time to carry out the final part of my plan.

"Anabelle, I'm afraid your time is up," I said, trying to sound as bad-ass as possible.

With that, I picked up my glass and threw the wine in her face.

"TAKE THAT, BIOTCH!!!!!!" I screamed.

I was seized by dread as I watched the wine splash on to her and nothing happen. She just grabbed her napkin and started sponging it off of her face and clothes. Oh, shit. This was NOT going according to plan.

"What'd you do that for?!" she demanded.

"Well...I...I was hoping you'd melt. That was sort of the plan," I admitted.

"Melt?" she asked, angry and confused. "Like the Wicked Witch of the West?"

"Yeah," I said, feeling foolish. "Kind of like that."

She dropped the napkin on the table and threw her hands up in despair, sighing heavily and shaking her head at me.

"You know, Christopher, I think it's best if you just go," she said frustratedly.

"Just go?" I repeated incredulously. "Really? You're just going to let me go?"

"Yes," she said. "At first I thought I really loved you and that it would be cool to make a suicide pact with you and die in your arms, but then I met you and you turned out to be a bit of a weirdo. You freak me out. And you shouldn't take that likely. You are really weird."

"Oh," I said. "Sorry."

"So I think it's best if you just go," she said, motioning to the door. Stunned, I stood up to leave. I started to walk out the door before I turned around.

"Hey, are you busy next weekend?" I asked nervously. "Maybe we could hang out or something."

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said sympathetically. "I really don't think you're my type. Let's just be friends."

I blushed furiously and stuffed my hands quickly into my pockets, feeling childish and idiotic. I walked out the door, said goodbye, and watched as she shut and locked the door behind me. I walked a little down the road, flagged down a cab, and rode the rest of the way back to Atlanta. And that was my weekend.

Even though I know that Anabelle Walker is out of my life, I still think about her sometimes. Namely when I can't reach orgasm. It took me a while to realise it, but Anabelle was really the only woman who has ever really paid attention to me. And, now that I think about it, I'd give two legs and a thumb to ANY woman who offers her love to me.

And so here I am, telling you my story, and staring at the moon. Somewhere out there, I know, is Anabelle Walker. I know it's likely that we'll never meet again, but I guess all I can do is bite back the tears and keep telling myself that there are other fish in the sea.

But I will never forget the days I spent with Anabell Walker.

THE END

_____________________________________________

Well, that's the end, folks. I hope you enjoyed hearing my story and can fully appreciate what I've been through. I can assure you that every word of it is completely true.

I better go to bed now. I just watched My Sister's Keeper and literally cried throughout the entire movie. I'm not even joking. I was crying in the first ten minutes. I'm dead serious. That is the saddest movie I've ever seen. I hugged my Winnie the Pooh pillow for at least forty five minutes after it ended. Finally it started to get uncomfortable, and politely requested that I leave.

I will say, though, that the poll has ended and I was very disappointed to have lost to Daniel Radcliffe by one vote. I feel betrayed by everybody here.

I also had an idea. Maybe I should write a blogger survey! If I did that, would you guys do it and send it on? Or is that a stupid idea? Am I really stupid? Do you guys think I'm pretty? I'm worthless, aren't I?

Cheers,
That Blond Guy

11 people secretly have a crush on me:

Bookish.Spazz said...

Ah, poor Christopher. Being rejected by Anabell must have been awful. I think writing a blogger survey would be the perfect thing to cheer yourself up! If you do write one up, I promise to help make it spread like an STD on a Naval battleship.

Also, the continuous stream of FUCK was quite distracting; however you should be pleased to know that I've already completed my homework, and I did it all without having to resort to anonymity. And I took screen shots, just in case you wanted proof. I'm a huge teacher's pet.

As toward you doubts about your self worth, intelligence, and appearance--- I think the answer lies within





a magic 8 ball.

Lemons Don't Make Lemonade said...

HERE'S A HUG! I cried throughout the whole damn movie too. It sucks and it didn't follow the book in many areas, but it IS tear-jerking.

Oh please, Christopher. You know I love you irrevocably and anyone who voted for D-Rad is a jackass.

*KISSES*

And I'm slightly disturbed/puzzled/curious/aroused by the "fucks" lining the right side of your blog.

What happened? Did you accidentally fall into your grandmother's vagina? Was your schlong between off by a crocodile? :O

That Bastard From Bellingham said...

Ah-huh...I...

I gotta agree, I was completely distracted by the stream of FUCK goin' on in the side bar.

Was it some kinda cathartic acting-out over reliving the whole Annabelle thing?

Still, MAN you can write! You shame me with your ability to actually finish a project.

thinkellen said...

Sorry, but:

How did he stand up and walk out of the door, exactly?

I apologize; I have a brain that picks up on these sort of things and won't let them go. >.<

Tegan said...

YOUR POSTS TAKE TOO LONG TO READ. THEY CONSUME SO MUCH OF MY LIFE xxx

That Blond Guy said...

Bookish.Spazz: It was awful. It was really embarrassing, and it totally came as a shock. I think a blogging survey really would put me back in a good mood.

Good, you did your homework! You get an A+!!! And what continuous stream of FUCK do you speak of? Are you feeling all right?

The last part of your comment made me LOLBC.

Lemons Don't Make Lemonade: I actually thought the movie was even better than the book. I don't like the way Piccoult concluded the book. And I whole-heartedly agree about Daniel Radcliffe!

"Fucks" lining the right side of my blog? What in the world are you talking about?

I don't know your name, so I think it would be cool if I started calling you "Lemon" for short. I think I'll do that now.

That Bastard From Bellingham: WHAT ARE YOU PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT? There was no such thing. All of you are crazy.

And thank you. It does not mean to say that ANYONE can write. It means to say that a good writer can be found in anyone.

YEAAAA CHRISTOPHER WITH THE RATATOUILLE REFERENCES!!!

thinkellen: I got healed by the bleedin' Messiah, ellen. Does that satisfy you?

Tegan: You hurt my feelings.

dirtycowgirl said...

Poor baby.

Sorry things didn't work out, come and spend this weekend with me - I'll book us a room at the Overlook Hotel, apparently it's nice this time of year.

DB said...

If you think the movie versions of My Sister's Keeper is sad, read the book. Both of them made me cry like a little baby, but with the book, oh my goodness. They are completely different.

Boyd said...

Too bad you and Annabelle had to split up...is Officer Nasty still available??

I couldn't find a stream of FUCKS, which was disappointing. I like profanity!

I would definitely attempt to pass a blogger survey around for you, even though I haven't done one in years!

RainboRevolver said...

Good God, man. To have gone through an ordeal like that and still be able to speak about it, what strength of character you have, my friend.

You're an inspiration to us all :)
If you wrote a survey, I'd do it... just saying.

Ash said...

Bitches be crazy, ay. Such a short statement, but so omplete in its summation...

Just kiddin' ladies.