Lost Time

I have had to deal with a lot in the time that has past since this "public journal" has become inactive. The whole falsely-accusing-Jolene-of-being-a-male-prostitute-when-she-had-bailed-me-out-of-jail debacle has caused me to become quite reclusive. Apparently, in seeking approval from other females (who happened to also be potential "love" candidates) regarding the situation, I only destroyed my chances with them, along with my own "credibility as a decent human being." My violent reaction against Yolinda (throwing her silly paper weight that I stole through her apartment door lite) for suggesting this public diary as a methodical release of troubling thoughts through the "harmless" interface of the world wide web was also quite poorly received. Nonetheless, after the door incident, I rebelled against further therapy.

However, in my most recent episdoe, the judge ordered me to begin anew sessions with a therapist, one result of a sentancing in which I was found "guilty" of steeling a bicycle helmet from the local elementary school. My "lawyer" successfully argued that I receieve reduced sentancing due to the "fortunate" fact that the girl who "owned" the helmet was able to tackle me before I could escape. Who would have thought that unicorn helmets would be so inticing.

So that leads me to today. Therapy began with Yolinda and her first question just so happened to be "how is your diary?" Orders, orders, orders.

Ta-ta,

Darius

Amnesia

Last Thursday, I incurred a head injury (the result of an argument with a door) which restored memory that was lost in a previous head injury (the result of an argument with a helmet). Among the restored memories were this blog and the true identity of my cat.

The long famine of posts in this blog has helped me to identify the reasons for the anger built up inside. I found the following picture to be quite descriptive:

Idiot Syndrome

Miss Yolinda’s most recent diagnosis of my “psychological problems” is that I am plagued with a rare form of “idiot syndrome.” This, apparently, is a disease that can be found in many normal people, but reveals itself in varying degrees. She claims that my case is severe, and that so far there is no cure. She diagnosed me based on several discussions on my social interactions in the past weeks. She states her evidence as: extreme anxiety around seniors, spraying a raccoon hat with fake blood to make it look like a dead raccoon, inability to discern the appropriate time to disengage from group activities/conversations, trying desperately to make said disengagements dramatic and noteworthy, always failing at making said disengagements dramatic and noteworthy, sudden and rapid attraction to any unavailable female, obsession with impressing females through doomed methods (most often revealing my acute case of idiot syndrome)…

I consider this a shot in the arm! I think the first step to a cure is acknowledging that the disease exists. I'll teach Yolinda about idiot syndrome like she never knew before.

?,
Darius.

Many New Things

There is so much to write about. So much to say to keep you all up to date. Where do I start? First, my revenge against Rocky Valido. I hid a raccoon underneath my garbage dispenser as a surprise for his lonely evening shift. Raccoons are indeed smart, but you would be surprised what you can do with a shiny object and a sledgehammer. Or would you be surprised? I guess that depends entirely upon the reader. Secondly, I've been pursuing other women interests. Since Jolene has issued a restraining order and somehow fostered the continued growth of her mustache, I've decided that now is the time that I meet other women. So far things are not going as well as I hoped. I have ruled out the following three locations as plausible areas of finding women: abandoned warehouses, opera houses, and family trees. I know, the second of those seems extremely unlikely, but there is something to be said for a woman with a well trained diaphragm. At any rate, my pursuits continue. Part C, I am getting tired of my repetitive job. I figure I'm going to quit and start working as a nanny... or a day care specialist. Really this just merges with the second item, I imagine that there are hordes of desperate single mothers out there... I have an interview tomorrow. Lastly, Francis has disappeared. Last I heard from him, he mentioned something about Antarctica and a newfound obsession with the breeding grounds of the Emperor Penguin. Go figure.

Heart Heart Heart. Kiss. Kiss. Hug. Kiss.

Darius.

Lawyers, etc.

I am being required by law to set the record straight. Apparently, I will be sued for slander, libel, and calumny (who knew there were so many words for the same thing) if I do not correct the statements published about my former "girl" friend, Jolene. She is not a man. She does have a hairy upper lip, but she is not a man. She also was not in jail for prostitution charges, she came there to bail me out after the fiasco at the basketball game. Also, I am required to say that she did not attack me, she merely "defended" my attack by turning my charge into a pile driver (such an unoriginal move), which resulted in my extended parole, yada yada yada. Lastly, I am required to say that Jolene has broken contact with me and issued a restraining order, and that the judge has ordered continued visits with my psychiatrist who is also responsible for the existence of this blog. Thank you, Yolinda.

Arrest

I have received three individual notices from readers concerned with my lack of writing lately. It's a long story revealing embarassing facts of my life which I would rather not disclose. But, in the interest of my psychological improvement and emotional stamina, I will divulge. The story begins with me breaking up with Jolene. Have no sorry feelings for her, because she is a heartless man. Turns out, the hairy upper lip was actually a mustache. Distraught and despondent, I wandered into a high school basketball game and de-pants-ed the referee. This action was followed by me being tackled by the referee who proceeded to shove his whistle in my ear hole. The worst part about this was that his bottoms were still off. I was arrested and thrown in jail, but not before I could headbutt the officer and guarantee myself a longer stay. It turns out that Jolene was also thrown in jail on prostitution charges just an hour prior to my arrival. This made the situation increasingly awkward, and eventually escalated to an attack on my life and perhaps even my will to live.
Things have calmed down quite considerably since then. I have been released from prison on parol and am required to do regular community service. Live and learn, right?

Valentine's Day

Jolene and I had a Valentine's date last night. I made her a card that I spent lots of my precious time on, but she threw it back in my face. Apparently she doesn't like being compared to a dog. She told me she hates my face and she wishes I would fall down a concrete staircase with broken glass at the bottom. Things have been going kind of down hill since I told her I might just consider settling for her. I just wish she wouldn't cry so much when I try to tell her nice things.