Saturday, December 04, 2004

It's Grouphug Time Again

God, The Corsair loves to get his Grouphug on, especially around the holiday season when the frenzied fragile voices become more desperate, harried, cracked, and the confessions veer into more juicy zones, deep red zones suffused with (air quotes) "flavor." The Corsair always feels like one of the angels in Wings of Desire, overhearing the frail thoughts of mortals whe he reads it, which is beaucoup cool. Here's a girl, if indeed it is not a fake, who should not read the National Enquirer story below, "Im belimic (sic)). I dont even know how to spell it. Everyday my mum calls me fat and i cant stand it. I like know all the techniques on how do to it the best. Hopefully one day i will get out of this sick famine."

Twice before has The Corsair really gotten into the meat of these confessions -- or pseudoconfessions? -- and, to be frank, they all seem like kids between 14 and 25, if they are even real. At least The Corsair hopes they are, or America really is as David Lynch portrayed it, teeming with sinister underdeveloped freaks.

This one appears to come from a genuine high school kid, who says, "Everytime i ask my dad about Bloody Sunday in Derry in the north of Ireland he starts crying. I don't know why."

If only they were all so innocuous ...

Ah, like this incredibly sick missive, no doubt dislodged from the remote regions of a fetid, festering, hostile mind, a thought fairly launches at you from across a menacing room, like a suckerpunch to the chops --"when i have sex with my b/f i think about Carmine Gotti ill fcuk his brains out."

Or, from this budding UN Under-Secretary General for Humanitarian Affairs:

"During the last period of the day, study hall, in 8th grade, my friend took a piss in a milk carton while he was in the boy's bathroom. We set the carton in front of the doorway so some little chulo would kick it over thinking he was badass.

"Well, some stupid little chulos did come and kick it over, but then a retard stepped in it. I felt bad. I was watching them the whole time.

"I said 'Don't!' but he was retarded and stepped in it regardless. Oh, well. Don't smoke crack when you're pregnant, I guess is the moral."

You'll note the compassionate use of the term "retard," and that not-too-distant-in-the-future vocation in internationalism, suggested, or so slyly, by the use of "chulos."

High caliber minds all.

Or, descending into the sick (The Corsair takes a deep breath, wades in ..), "when i was little i used to play dress-up and put on a show for my friends and family... i'm now a 48 year old woman "happily" married with 5 kids. i still truly enjoy indulging in wearing my tu-tu and high heels, dancing infront of the mirror.....most of the time topless. problem is, no one comes to watch the show anymore."

Oh, it only gets worse; why fight it, though -- it's so addictive.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

As a writer, I adore grouphug. Many stories were once grouphug seeds.

Though the majority of the confessions are fictitious, you've got to admire the sheer insanity, as well as the brilliant way others get suckered into trying to "save" some of these souls through counseling or Jesus Christ.