Okay, so here's the thing.  You don't know me.  Some of you might have come here and read about Precious and the things I like to do in my life, but you know what?  You aren't a part of my life.  You don't mean as much to me as I mean to you.  I mean, you love me.  YOu fucking love me and that's okay.  I understand that.  You can't help that.  It's like I've been whispering in your ear forever now about how great I am and you know that I am and you just want to make me happy.

Here's the problem.  You don't make me happy anymore.  Sure, the email was fun at first and the guestbook is really cute, but some of you are crossing a line that was written in bone.

Just because you've gotten advice from Catherine it doesn't mean that you can give me advice on how to kill her.  I may have thought about ways to kill her here on this very page, but you aren't the serial killer here.  Even if you are a serial killer?  YOu aren't her serial killer.  I'm the only one that's going to kill CAtherine at the end of this, so you better back up, you know what I"m saying?

See, what the happening had, I got an email from someone saying that I was abusing Precious by leaving her in the car when I went to pick up my dry cleaning.  You have no idea how much I love this dog.  I love the holy fucking shit out of this dog.  This dog means more to me than you'll ever ever ever ever ever ever ever know.  And just because you've seen a picture of PRecious doesn't give you the right to tell me how to treat her.  YOu only know trhe Precious I've shown you.  HOw would you know the temperature that day in the car, anyway?  You don't.  YOu weren't there.   You only see what I show you.

And none of you know Catherine or how CAtherine feels.  YOu see the Catherine that I allow to come through these pages.  And sure, I paint her to be pretty and helpless, trapped at the bottom of a well, getting fattened up for a slaughter for my winter coat, but do any of you know the truth?  You really don't.  YOu think you do, but you just don't.  YOu only see what I allow you to see.  Did you know that Catherine has a tattoo that Ive been trying to remove with bleach and an SOS pad for three weeks now because it's going to fuck up my hem?  You didn't know that.  Becaause I didn't tell you.  THat's how much you don't know shit.

YOu know, it's  enough that I just want to pull this entire site down.  Sure, it was great for a little while, but I can't believe you all haven't bought shirts or mousepads yet.  I mean, I worked really hard setting that store up for all of you.  Did you know that it's not as easy as a point and click?  I had to go into Photoshop for that mother fucker.  I didn't know what a damn DPI was.  I had to figure that shit out.  It took almost an hour to set up that store.  God.  Ungrateful.  You are all so ungrateful.

NOt all of you.  I shouldn't say that.  Some of youare great.  YOu know who you are, the great ones.  But some of you are infringing on my personality and my personal space.  Which one of you sent a dog bowl here?  Stop it.  And the one who emaileed asking if I could go out for drinks?  I'm a SERIAL KILLER.  I am holed up in my house HIDING FROMTHE POLICE.  I have a GIRL trapped in a WELL in my LIVING ROOM because I'm going to KILL HER and then SKIN HER FOR A COAT.  I trapped her in a van and then kidnapped her and took her here.  What could you possibly gain by dating me?

Wait.  ARe you a great big fat person?  BEcause then I'd like you to email again.  I meant to write back, I just lost your email.

I mean, how much of myself am I willing to share here?  HOw much of me should I show?  Am I strong enough to give you all of me, even my deepest thoughts and fears and be like, "This is me.  Do you still love me?"

God.  What if you stopped loving me?  You know, every time I think that maybe one of you doesn't love me anymore or unsubs from my notify list, I totally freak out and wonder what I did to personally offend you.  Was it the time I posted how to remove the skin from a foot without losing the toenails?  I took that entry down.  Enough of you complained.  But some of you I think just don't love me anymore.  ANd when that happens I want to do something bold and rash.  Or I want to make up lies or gossip or do something so you look at me again.  I need you to keep looking at me.  Do you not see the real me?

I've shown you all of me.  I've shown you nothing.  Sign my guestbook.