Thursday, December 8, 2011


Tomorrow, I will have had this blog for a year.

Woopty fucking do.

As you might've pieced together, I got shot in the leg the other day. See, I got this email. It was from a girl, saying she'd gotten a bouquet, asking for our help.

We didn't want the guys following us to know about it, so we didn't post anything to our blogs about going to help her.

It turns out there was no girl. Never fucking was. Just a trap. They were waiting for us.

I'm not sure how many there are. This blog seems to indicate there's just four of them but maybe those are just the leaders. Maybe there're footsoldiers. Maybe these four are agents of some obscure fucking puppet masters somewhere.

All I know is, whether Penny really doesn't remember or if she does, no one gets that info. No one. Even with a fucking reason. If she really has some big Fear-making or Fear-forming or Fear-freeing secret somewhere in her crazy head, then I'd sooner die than let anyone have it.

Fuck, I don't even think it'd be safe with me. If there was power like that, who would you trust it to? I know like fucking half of you just said "Not Penny". I know I did.

But the thing is, she might be the best fucking choice. I can't get her to talk about it--she outright fucking refuses to let one fucking word escape her lips on the topic except to profess ignorance. Fuck, Alice can't get her to talk about it. She insists she doesn't know but I can tell it's not true. We can all fucking tell it's not true.

Christ, I'm in over my fucking head. These people have stated they're willing to fake Smiley attacks and to frame Smiley. You know the MO of a Fear and it's not hard to fucking copy them, not if you're real fucking good at what you do.

Anyway, happy fucking one-year anniversary of being totally fucked.


  1. Happy anniversary may the information never leave the minds of those who came upon the knowledge.

  2. H͔͍̜͈̦̻appy anniversary, happy ann͉͉iversary, happy anniversary-------♪♪ Hap-py an-ni-vers-ary♫̿ͬ҉̕♪

    I raise a gla͏̧ss to many more years of fear and running and free entertainmȩͣͩ͌ͮ̈́nt to come.

    St̷a̸y ͢f̷ro͝sty.̕