The Influencer by Frederick K Foote – Warning – Adult content

Ahh, there you are, you little pervert. Shame on you for peeking between the cracks in my blinds. Go away voyeur before what you don’t see blinds you, cracks your mind wide open, drives you stone crazy. Go away, you bright-eyed bungler, you have given yourself away. There is nothing here for you to see.

Oh, you have heard from the others that I bare my luscious breasts, dance naked, and masturbate to music while eating a live chicken. Ha, that is so funny and absurd and absolutely true. But that was the old me of many, many, moons ago. You missed those shows. They will not be repeated. There are no reruns.

I should have syndicated those episodes. It is too late now. Tomorrow, tomorrow morning, I will be forced into an unhealthy mental institution so I can be with “my kind.” I don’t think I have a kind, but there I can receive unprofessional, inappropriate care, mistreatment, and suffer medical mismanagement.

You see, you snooze, you lose. You should have come earlier when I was sicker.

Oh, my God, how I will miss this place. I will even miss you peeping, prying, pimpled-faced prides of the public school system that are often confused with the waste management system. I was hoping to see you graduate from turds to six feet high piles of steaming shit. Alas, some things are not meant to be.

I know you will miss me, too. Please don’t cry, Argentina. There will be replacement entertainment for your Friday nights after the football games. I mean, don’t depend on others for your entertainment. You have plenty of drugs, guns, and raging hormones. You can create some masterful entertainment with that combination. Hell, I might even break out of my facility to check you out. Do me proud, okay?

And you won’t be the only ones to miss me. I feel so sorry for my father and my brothers and my older sister. Who will they fuck when I’m gone? Not my mother, Mary, for sure. They have worn that poor bitch out. Hey, maybe you can help out. You could be my stand-in until they get a permanent replacement. You look like the kind that might be interested in that opportunity. I mean, after all, you are here peeping through my window. Get off the sidelines. Get in the show. Be the show.

I’m a little anxious about my new home. My cousin Onyx says I will do just fine. She says that I will be an influencer up there. Wow! I’ve always wanted to be an influencer. I’m not sure what an influencer does or who they influence, but it sounds like a great gig. And Onyx says we get first-rate pharmaceutical quality drugs for personal use, sale, or trade. Onyx was only in there for three months, but she made 20k. She was really pissed when her insurance ran out and the doctors declared her cured.

I guess institutions can be relentlessly cruel. I was worried that the drugs might fuck up my mind. But Onyx says nobody really cares if you take the drugs. In fact, they prefer that you don’t, so they can order more drugs and higher dosages. Apparently, the doctors and administrators get some kind of kickback or something. It sounds like everybody who wants to is making some grand theft dough up there.

What? You want to know if I’m a witch? What kind of question is that? You need to be institutionalized if you are seriously asking those kinds of questions.

Get the fuck out of here. Why am I wasting my final few hours at home with you?

Hey, do you want to know who I really am? I will give you a hint. Last night my real father. My heavenly father came down to my bedroom. As I was giving him the full works blow job, he told me that I would be crucified in the institution, and I would be his second and final warning for all mankind. He said that after that there would be fireworks everywhere. He said you can run, but you can’t hide. He laughed so hard he shit his pants.

That’s what the crazy old cocksucker told me.

Does that give you a clue? No?

Okay, watch, see my halo, and I’m floating in the air—Hey, hey, don’t run off like that. Don’t be scared. HEY, these are just special effects. Come on back. Come on back, I’ll show you how they’re done.

Jesus Christ! Kids today can’t even take a joke.

Frederick K Foote

Image – Pixabay.com