Tuesday, September 21, 2010


Here I am again. This time I have a foundation for a great story that I am writing. I go to my therapist and she wanted to hear it. As I told her, she kept nodding her funny shaped head and writing things down. I asked her what she was writing down. She retorted with a smile and a stupid answer which was I am taking notes of this for future sessions. What kind of answer is that? I was a little confused then it hit me. Everything that she writes down she brings up in a later session. I couldn’t believe that this sneak old bat was basically tricking me into talking about feeling and such. It’s so stupid. This lady was a conniving lady, but I wanted to know what she was writing down. I snatched the paper from her and I looked. She yelled at me demanding for it back. I told her in a minute I want to read what you are writing. On that sheet of paper she analyzed my story. There was a question at the end of it ‘Childhood problems with parents?’ I couldn’t believe that. I threw it back to her and stuck with my consistent story that there are no childhood problems are were not resolved as a kid. Fuck that. That’s all I had to say. ‘Tell me about your childhood’, she told me. I looked at her with a two eyed glare. ‘There’s nothing to tell. My childhood was perfect. I had everything that I needed.’ I sat back in the couch thing I was sitting in continuing to stare at her. I could tell she was feeling uncomfortable. The way I knew this was because she kept swallowing hard and playing with her pen in her fingers. It was more of a rolling motion between the pointer and middle fingers. In addition she was drinking a swallow of water every few seconds. She is supposed to be the therapist, and she is showing obvious signs of anxiety, emotion and wanting the hour to be done with. I glanced at the clock and saw that it only moved about 6 minutes. 54 minutes to go. I laughed and smiled at her. The one thing that she did that I knew I could use was that she kept shifting in the chair. Either she was uncomfortable or she had a really bad case of ass burn and she needed cream. So I suggested it to her, ‘Do you want some cream?’ She looked at me confused, so I explained myself. ‘You keep shifting in the chair so I just thought you had a bad case of ass burn.’ I looked at her with squinted eyes. Her face got so red. I loved it. I ate it up. She wants to analyze what I write I felt 2 people can analyze each other and find out who got uncomfortable first. It was a fun game. I won with that question. (Big smile. Therapist 0, me 1.) She could not believe that question and told me I made her uncomfortable. You know what I don’t care. She made me uncomfortable as well. I know I know you are saying 2 wrongs don’t make a right. Well you know what? I don’t give a fuck. She had it coming. So at this time she asked me what I wanted to talk about. I retorted with a question. ‘Why don’t we talk about your parents? Or your childhood.’ I guess I should have seen this one coming. She told me uh, what was it? That’s it. Go to hell. I responded with ‘After you.’ I smiled so big. That was when she got up and made a phone call in the other room. She came back with a folder, ‘Get out my office and don’t come back.’ So now I have to find another therapist. Can they do that? Can they tell you to leave? I thought we go to those people to get help and closure or something. But she straight up told me to leave. I took the file sat on the couch and started to read the file. There was a sheet in there that stated and I will try to quote as best I can. “Patient has many unsolved mental issues in accordance with schizophrenia, multi personalities, and suicidal tendencies. Patient is deemed as physical and mental threat to self.” I looked at the top of the sheet and it had my name. “What the fuck is this?” I asked her. She was standing behind the chair as if I was going to charge at her. Honestly people that happened one time. The therapist before the last one not counting her, seriously pisssed me the hell off. He told me that the reason why I hear voices is because my mind is so messed up from the abuse that my father did. Well that wasn’t so bad. Then he said I was better off if my mother hadn’t spread her whore legs and got pregnant. I grabbed the lamp threw it at him. It hit his face and busted his nose. Blood went everywhere. Just to show him how fucked up I was I traced the blood splatter with my middle finger. I looked at him while he was holding his nose and stuck the blood smeared finger in my mouth and tasted the blood. It was salty but the look on his face was priceless. Ah those were the good days. Anyway this chick thinks that I would do that to her. I don’t hit women for one, and for two, I would not hit a woman. But I swear to god if she was a he I would have threw that stapler at her. She has a lot to learn about being a therapist. Seriously she does. Anyway, I read more of the papers in the folder. There was another one with her hand writing saying that she is in fear of me. “Why the hell are you in fear of me?” I asked her. Ok, ok, I didn’t really ask her, I might have yelled at her. Oh, shut up. You can’t tell me that you never wanted to do that to a shrink before. As I asked her that she jumped a mile high. I couldn’t help but laugh so hard. She looked confused. I guess you had to be there to understand. Whatever. You know she really didn’t say anything after that, although she did give me $96.14. It came out of her purse. I left the office and waited in the car. I made a call myself. I waited for few hours in the car. My friend showed up and got in. “Here you go.” He pulled out a glock .45. I took it and did a sight check. “Not bad, man. Thanks for coming through.” He nodded, “No problem bro. Who is the target?” I pointed as she came out the office. I got out the car with the .45 and looked at her. She saw me and stopped dead in her tracks. The look on her face oh it was classic. I raised the gun squeezed the trigger. The first shot when in her arm, flesh wound barely grazed her. She started pleading with me. I laughed at her. I squeezed a second time. This time it punctured her leg. She fell to the ground. Covering her face as she pleaded with me, “Like your arm is going to stop a bullet.” Blood was steadily flowing like a little red river. Another time there was the sound of thunder from the gun. This one went into her foot. I wanted to make sure she suffered for the rest of her life. She needed to suffer for putting me and everyone else in the same position of making them feel like shit. I shot off three more rounds. One went straight through her foot, which was a fun one, seeing the bullet bounces off the asphalt of the parking lot. Blood spurt a little. The second in her knee cap. She is not going to walk anymore. I laughed at that one. The final one went into her other leg. I heard the sirens of the cops. My buddy took off like a chicken shit. Ii walked up to her knelt down, “stop crying you stupid bitch.” I put the gun to her neck and said to her, “bleed out and die. I will see you in hell like you told me earlier.” I squeezed the trigger. The shot grazed her neck, opening a constant flow of blood spurting out. “Drop the gun!” the cops yelled from behind me. I stood and watched as this therapist bled out. I saw the life being drained from her. “I’m not saying it again, drop the fucking gun!” I heard the cop behind me. I turned around and felt a sting on my shoulder. The gun dropped from my hand. I heard it hit the asphalt. Sounded like plastic on a wooden floor. As the cops came toward me I bent down to grab the gun with my other hand. At that time they rushed me, tackled me to the ground. Hand cuffed me. I saw a few of them run to that bitch. “Don’t help her!” I yelled as they put me in the police car. They threw me in. “What about my gunshot wound, goddammit!” I yelled inside the police car. Not sure if they heard me. Whatever though, it’s a flesh wound. I can’t feel it right now anyway. I saw the coroner show up moments later. I started laughing and singing “The bitch is dead. The bitch is dead. Good golly the evil bitch is dead.” When I got to the holding cell the cops booked me, fingerprinted me, and took my picture which I happily smiled for. Nothing really sunk in until sentencing. Not only did I get a guilty verdict, which was….that’s odd I can’t remember. Fuck it it’s been so long. As I stood there in front of the judge, who just happened to be female, I could feel the look on my face. It’s the same pathetic look that I see on television on that court channel. You know the one the guys do something get caught and busted. Yeah whatever, you need you watch more television. There are some good shows on there. At least look online for the shows. At any rate, I was standing there. The bitch of the judge asked the jury for a verdict. The person stood up. I stood up. And my idiot public pretender stood up and whispered to me in my ear, “It’s an open shut case. No jail time watch.” I nodded. Sweet, no jail time. I saw myself on the inside dance. “Guilty on all counts.” The juror said. I looked at my pretender. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Oh well kid, we tried.” And started to pack his briefcase, I head butted the bastard in the nose. Blood ran down. The bailiff darted over trying to contain me. I elbowed him in the face. He went down. What a pussy. I tackled the pretender and began hitting him with my hands together. Hey they were handcuffed. In the face breaking his glasses, the lens popped out. I hit him again. This time the frame went into his eye. The bailiff rushed me before I could slam the frame more into his eye, hopefully hitting him hard enough it rams into his brain. Apparently the bailiff called for backup because instead of one of them there were four. They wrestled me off and slammed me to the ground on my belly. Placing shackles on my ankles. One of them put his knee in my neck as they took the handcuffs off my wrists. As soon as they did that, I tried to get up; more pressure was upon my neck. I was pinned. I couldn’t move at all. They handcuffed my hands behind me, folded my legs up to my ass. Trust me I tried to kick but that pressure on my neck I couldn’t take it. At that moment I realized what they were doing. They were fucking hog tying me, again. Yeah that wasn’t the first time. I don’t have time to tell you ask me about that later. After successfully hogtying me, the judge yelled out a sentence of 35 years conclusive. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t do anything wrong. I had to add that to keep the stereotypical fa├žade of criminals. So now I write you this from inside Sing Sing Correctional Facility where I will spend the next 12 years. All that happened when I was 27. I am 50 now. I will not be getting out until I am 62. I hope you get this. You are my friend, you write me all the time. I hope this gets past the guards. I just wanted you to know what happened. So take care. I hope to hear from you soon. Oh and by the way, you think you could put some money on my books? I could really use some spread. And say hi to my mom, my sister and my kids. Thanks man. Take care.

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