The Story of PBoD

The following is a background to how I got my gamer tag/name: Pink Bunny Of Death, or PBoD for short. It was first published in part during my junior year of high school, when I was a part of Yearbook class. It occurred as a "fake advertisement" story in the ads section in order to entice readers to look at the ads. Since then (1997), I've used the Pink Bunny Of Death as my username for everything from Counter-Strike to Halo to StarCraft 2. This is how it all started:

A fluffy bunny flopped his ears and ate. Nothing paid him mind as he frolicked amongst innocence and flowers. The darkness of the dirt didn't bother to contrast with the whiteness of his fur, because he was just so freaking cute. When your tail hole is a sumptuously swaying cottonball, you've got the whole world wrapped around it.

Amongst the fluffy floppy frolicking of joy and peace came a bloody serpent. No really, the snake was bloody. I don't know why. The little bounds of rabbit feet came plummeting down accidentally, luckily escorting part of the snake's body to Shangri La and the other half to Elysium, instantly. The bunny's wet nose snuggled against the bloody snake as best he could to seek signs of life. He nudged, he poked, he thumped the Earth down one hop at a time; but it appeared to be of no use.

Suddenly without warning, a split tongue slashed its way toward our bleached puddle-jumper. The snake coiled and sprung out chasing the swaying cottonball. With his furry innocence now pricked by the taint of pink, he bounded to help from a nearby giant hoe. The hoe swung down violently against the food below, fueled by the male vengeance of a domestic dispute regarding toilet seats. The bunny cried out with all the voice of his ears and feet, which unfortunately, was understood as a "WWWCCHHHAAAAAAIIIIII!!!!" by the would-be rescuer.

The next blow by the hoe was of a different sort, involving teeth and a blade of death aimed at his vital organs. Fearing for the innocence of his swaying cottonball, our hero leapt into action to defend himself. An unfortunate birth defect had replaced the once-white bunny's herbivoric two front teeth with those of a canine vampire, which resulted in severe persecution during his Junior Hop years. The misfortune continued as the man mistook the fluffy pink vampire bunny's fleeing hop toward his face as a reason to die. The man's long shadow shrunk to none near instantly, before the bunny even landed to twitch his whiskers on the ground beside him.

The two lay still. The bunny, wondering what the violent sex act just happened. The man, dead, with the toilet seat status and the hoe no longer an issue. But wait! The hook, I mean, the hoe! Well the hoe fell on the snake and the snake died.

This is the end and beginning tale of the terrible, veracious, monstrous, hideous, ultimately inconceivable Pink Bunny Of Death.

No, my Yearbook wouldn't print cuss words. Yes, this is the original, circa 1997.
Hope you enjoyed it.

It's One of Those Times

1:13 AM, Saturday, October 8th 2011. I'm awake. In fact, I'm still awake. A nap came earlier, but that information is meant to distract you from why I'm awake. I just dropped out of school, threatened myself with moving back to my hometown with my parents, and generally initiated my demotion from adult to teenager. Perhaps I'll get a job delivering pizza again, who knows.

The truth is that I planned on not getting any sleep tonight, just so I could write and smoke under the stars and enjoy the quietness of nobody and nothing. Long story short, I was pretty much forced to quit school because I missed my 3 out of 4 midterms due to Army shit, none of my professors allowed me to make them up (even though they knew ahead of time that I'd be on active duty during the midterms), and I cannot even hope to pass those 3 classes with an "F" on the midterm. So I don't have anything to do tomorrow, why not stay up all fucking night?!!

And drink. And play online video games against Koreans who have nothing better to do (yes, I've actually been doing this for the past 4 hours or so). And scare skunks in my backyard by flicking cigarettes at them. And microwave popcorn. And listen to classical music. And obnoxiously serenade my neighbors with my guitar/singing American Idol audition on my back porch. And pop bubble wrap. And vacuum. And throw glass bottles down my back alley. And take out my gun to shoot at that offensive police helicopter noise.... nah, that's not a good idea. I'm still in control, just going a bit crazy.

Sociologists call this a "paradigm shift." Psychologists call this "self-talk." Christians call this "prayer." Teachers call this an "ah ha!" moment. Buddhists call this "meditation." Scientists call this a "discovery." Mathematicians call this a "proof." Philosophers call this "thinking." I'm the first and the last of that list, a thinking paradigm shift of a philosociopherologist or something. I'm 30 years old, unemployed (kinda), and I'm moving back in with my parents. Without adding details, that's a drastically fucked up change.

So cheers to you all present; my wall thermostat, my bookshelf full of books, my refrigerator, my cardboard box of whatever or empty, my Wii remote, my broken/dismantled old hard drive, my venetian blinds... I'll be awake for as long as you all so long as I can enjoy your inanimate peace.

Let's just stay awake to space.

Immediate Thought I tell myself:
"I'm not doing good enough."

Underlying Principle:
I am not good enough. I don't deserve approval, appreciation, or affection. I deserve only judgment, criticism, and resentment. I can logically and wholeheartedly reject all positive feedback of my good character, worth, performance, behavior, feelings, thoughts, and life goals/accomplishments. Nothing good comes of me.

Truth:
I am doing good enough for everyone, including my parents who never thought I could be a good person. Now my parents love me. No one else cares if I'm good enough because no one pays that much attention to me. No one knows enough about me to judge, criticize, or resent me. I remain hidden so I can do only good to others.

Applicable Thoughts:
If I focus on only my internal thoughts/feedback of my actions, then I am a fucking saint sent from the highest level of heaven. I'm doing my best, which is more than good enough.

Truthful Mistakes of Thought

Immediate Thought I tell myself:
"Every mistake I make is a failure."

Underlying Principle:
I am a failure because I make mistakes. I can only feel good about my mistakes if I make none. I am either perfect or I'm a failure.

Truth:
I'll never not mistakes. Mistakes are temporary but fixing them is permanent. Failure is always a lie of permanence. No one is ever a failure, including you. No one is ever perfect, including you. Failure is not a consequence of mistakes.

Applicable Thoughts:
When I make mistakes I can fix them without ever being a failure. I can accept mistakes. I don't need to fix all of my past mistakes because no one is perfect. I don't need to worry about future failures due to lack of preparation ("current" mistakes) because they haven't happened yet and I can still do something, even if that something isn't a complete success.



     You see that shit? I make my own therapy. Over the past 10 months I've withdrawn myself from 6 of my 8 prescription medications, without ever seeing a doctor about it. Why didn't I see or talk to a doctor while I stopped taking these medications? Because not only wouldn't they allow me to do so, they actually tried to lock me up in a psych ward/"recovery program" for telling them to fuck off. Ever been forced to rapidly flee your doctor's office as they were calling the police because you weren't taking their medication? That was 10 months ago you arrogant dumbass smart people; yes I'm still alive, yes I still drink alcohol, yes I still smoke, no I don't exercise... and by the way I haven't felt this good in a long long time.

     Fuck psychologists, psychiatrists, therapists, counselors, social workers, doctors, and all of you assholes that think you know the mental aspects of a brain. Isn't it ironic and hypocritical for any person with a brain to claim to be an authority on thought because they think they know the mental aspects of a brain? Go fuck yourselves.*










*Consult your physician's physician before reading the above information. Possible side effects might include: lack of pursuit of mental health care, disregard for professionals, loatheful hatred of prescription medication, apathy toward advice from people who think they know more about you than you, wanton belief in the legalization of all mind-altering substances, cease payment for health insurance, and other known and unknown allergies. If you experience any of these symptoms, call 911 immediately because you didn't go to medical school so you suck at your own health. You'll never be happy without a doctor's approval.