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ERMERGERD. Note to Self

November 19, 2013

Remember to write The 21st Century Empath: “Deanna Troi”-ing to Keep it Real.

Also, remember to buy some more Post Its.

(This is what I’m amusing myself with in lieu of being heartsick over MTIA. It isn’t working.)

Also: Write a comedy sketch about a comedian/cutter at an open mic.

Comedian:
Hi, everyone. Thanks for coming out. Before I start, I just want to let you know a little something about something that’s happening with me so that things don’t get, like, “weird” later on.

See, I’m a cutter. [Looks into audience seriously.] Do you know what a cutter is? [The crowd offers both the affirmative and the negative. Comedian affects a prim reading voice]. A cutter is someone who hurts him or herself intentionally, most traditionally with a sharp instrument, though other types of self-injurious behavior exist, as well. [Returns to normal voice] Got it? Cutters. Hurt. Themselves. [whispers] for…fuuuuuuuuun. [Normal voice.] Yeah, think of that old Nine Inch Nails, “Hurt.” [Sings bad cover of the opening lines] “I…hurt myself…today…to see if I still feel/I…focus on the pain…the only thing that’s real.” [Normal voice]  Jesus Christ. Now you feel me, folks? Cutters are those faggoty motherfuckers who struggle with their feelings. [Sings] “I hurt myself today.” [Normal voice] Fuckin’ faggots. And fuck you, Trent Reznor. All you did was make it cool for nerds to be in your hometown’s marching band. [Annoying devil’s advocate voice.] Yes, but the Johnny Cash version was soooooo awesome. [Normal voice.] Ah, fuck Johnny Cash. Fuck ’em. How would Johnny Cash have been hurting himself when he recorded that cover? Giving himself a catheter? [Pause] Wait. [Pause] Isn’t that some kink thing, giving your partner a catheter? [Shrieky voice, flapping wrists] Oh my god!Why do I know that? Oh my god, why?! [Stops, coughs slightly into hand, resumes normal voice.]

So yeah, I’m a cutter. And also a faggot, fyi. Just so, you know, you know. Recently, my therapist said that I cut to flood myself with endorphins that make me feel good and help block out painful memories. [Sort of airhead voice] I don’t know what she means. I don’t notice anything missing. [Normal voice] Um… catheter kink? Hmmm… But, anyway, she wanted me to start wearing this elastic ponytail holder around my wrist and snap it when I felt like I needed to cut to help; she says it will help me break the habit but still give me the little endorphin rush. She also encouraged me to draw on myself with red marker when I felt like cutting. So, if I like, start plucking out what seems like it should be a heavy-metal version of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” on my wrist up here, you know, and trying to turn my marker into, like, a freaking shiv, don’t sweat it. It’s just me trying to curb my urge to gouge my own eyes out with spoons in front of you all because I’m nervous in front of crowds. [Panics] Oh my god! I can’t do this. My stage fright is too bad! Make me stop feeling embarrassed! Mommy, don’t make me do this in front of everyone!!  [Plucks ponytail holder vigorously a few times while whimpering. Stops. Straightens up, resumes normal voice.]  It ain’t no thang. [Pause]

Depending on crowd reaction:
[Crowd is silent] Comedian, laughing: Oh, guys, no! Chill!! That whole thing about cutters and shit, that’s just shtick for my set. I’m all good up here. Schtick! Jokes! [Crowd presumably relaxes, chuckles. Comedian pauses. Mutters, aside.] Actually, no. No, it wasn’t. I was asked for liability reasons to disclose all that to you before I went on with my set. [Comedian looks right and left as if looking for someone and then stage whispers.] It. Was. Boooooooottttttth.

(Damn, I’m worried about MTIA. I miss him terribly.)

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From → fiction, rants

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