Please, help. I've fallen from heaven.

I don't know why I haven't posted this one sooner. But I do know why I left the church. It was a simple argument that tore the congregation as I knew it apart. The argument was over free-will vs. predestination. Simple. With an answer that anybody could see if they just looked. And there was one faction that said it was one way because of x,y and z verses. And there was another faction that stated that it was the other way because of p, y, q, and z verses. Things got very heated. That was when I realized that everything is simultaneously making up their own truths which, in turn, make up their own reality. Constantly. And this is the way that the universe exists. Predetermined or free-will? No. It's both. We will behave as we do behave within our capabilities and one of our capabilities as beings is to choose. So I started making up my own truth, too.

Please, help. I'm about to lose my head.

Watch the little hand... that bastard. It just goes, "tick, tick, tick" so very slowly. Keeping me confined here at me job. I don't know how much longer I can take this, I really don't. I am trying to keep my eyes shut and just lie here peacefully. "This is my job," I tell myself. "To lie here peacefully. Deep breaths. Deep breaths." But I really want to get up and running screaming. Anywhere! Anywhere but here. Please! God! Let me work at something I enjoy and feel fulfilled by.... God? ... God? These fuckers are going to shear my brain from body.

Please, help keep me from shooting up.

So this one is totally true. I wouldn't lie about this ever because I am your King and you are one of my loyal subjects. It's been something I've been wanting to get off my chest for a long time. I am so afraid of doctors. You have no idea how much it petrifies to even think about going to see someone in the medical profession. My mind makes up lots of good reasons why it's completely justified. a) Most of them are probably bought off by the pharmaceutical companies, essentially becoming pushers for whatever untested, quick-fix (with a long list of side effects) medications they come up with b) the more often a person is sick the more a doctor can make off of them and in a capitalist society it would make logical to do just short of all you can to keep raking in the dough c) I fr@¢king scared of getting poked by needles. I hate that feeling of little metal thing sliding under your skin. oh, puke! It's making me wiggle in my seat as I type.

On the Carrie and Ashley Show

Please, HELP!!! The Movie

In this fifteen minute animated sequence the mouse finds his way into a creepy looking shack in the middle of the night under a full moon on Friday the 13th. He knows he should not be here. The old man at the gate warned him to turn back but he was too curious, he had to push on. Seconds after the information is useful, lightning illuminates the message on the wall. "Please, help," it reads in blood. "The FacePlant will kill you." At that moment, the plant leaps off of the table and at the thoroughly suspecting mouse. The mouse lets out a shriek, not very manly but he's never been in this situation before. At least he doesn't have any drawers to mess. His pellets fall straight to the floor. Our hero's only chance is the swinging the rusty axe at his own face! The plant worm it's way down his throat and into his lungs. He's coughing and sputtering... is this the end...? "Wait," he thinks. "I kind of like this plant." Happy 4/20.

Please, help. I just like trouble.

That's not technically true. It's not the trouble I'm looking for, I just like to walk the line between what is reasonable and insane. All lot of interesting stuff happens out there in that gray area. Plus, generally it only looks risky. From my vantage point, I've worked out all the variables I need and have got it under control, thank you.

Please, help Henry Chinaski.

Some guy with a camera hunted now the drunken muse of the phony beat poet and author, Charles Bukowski. Due to books such as Post Office, Barfly, & Confessions of a Man Insane Enough to Live With the Beasts, Mister Chinaski has been ostracized from his native city of LA. "I couldn't take the ridicule any more," he slurs in unreleased footage. Henry isn't asking for any monetary sum from you or the Bukowski estate, just that his name be crossed out of every single existing copy of those books. So please, do your part.

http://tympanictheatre.org/

A present

It's my mom's birthday today. I am cheap and we aren't really speaking to each other right now but I wanted to get her a gift. So, I've been scouring the internet for days. Here it is:

Please, help... the ol' ball 'n' chain.

It's funny how things that you don't like about yourself can so slowly become your permanent habits. Like chewing your nails or smoking. "It's just this once and then I won't do it anymore," you say to yourself. But then you find yourself doing it more and more. And doing it even when you're not prompted by the outside stimulus that was making it happen before. Then notice by contrast how hard it is to keep good habits going? You can try and try to make something like going to the gym or eating better part of your routine but you slip up once or twice and nada. So here's my idea, make the things that are good for you like guilty pleasures. And punish yourself with things like chocolate and cigarettes.

Please help the bearpiraterobot find his treasure.

It's hard for pirate captains to find their lost treasure after losing legs.

Please, help. I think I have lost my perspective.

My mom tells this story about how when she was a little kid she used to go to her grandparents and play billiards on their pool table. She had the most and when it came time for them to move years later they asked if she wanted any of their stuff that they didn't need any more. My mom wanted the pool table but when she went to collect it she realized that it was a long time ago and the table was only big enough for her to play with if she was a little girl. This story is to illustrate that sometimes mothers do and think stupid things.

Please, help... the end of the road.

I graduated at the top of my class in high school. Does anybody give a flying f**k? Likewise, right now I'm the best employee at my job & I only care because it gives me some nice perks. But is it going to matter once I leave that place? Aren't we all just graduating from one college to the next, to the next. We get to the highest level and then have to start over on the lowest as we progress. Even if we become the ruling force on this planet, we're still stuck on a tiny little planet in the vast sea of space.