I have no idea what it is about summer time but whatever it is, I become a desperate, attention-craving man-hungry fiend. This summer some guy from myspace hunted me down on another social networking site, using my first name and searching through countless profiles. I was surprised that he found me and sadly, stupid enough to accept his friend request. I should have seen a bright red sign that said "stalker alert," but instead, feeling depressed about my classmate's death and unbearably lonely yet fertile, I chatted with him.
I like to take risque photos so that when I am 90 years old, I can say, hey, look when I was 30 my breasts were pretty nice. I sent him a pic after he sent me a few photos of his manhood. That turned out to be a mistake. While my face isn't visible, you can tell just by the shape of my boobs that it very well may be me. :0
Then he told me was married and even scarier, affiliated with some government forces. As a paranoid schizophrenic, I really freak out whenever someone with a close relationship to Uncle Sam wants to snuggle with me. It makes me think of male Mata Hari spies and honey traps. This is paradoxical because I am eternally indebted to said Uncle Sam for paying my way through college and taking a chance rehabilitating a broken down paranoid schizophrenic. Despite my utmost loyalty (and I am not just saying that because Uncle Sam is reading this), I fear their minions. Not as much as I fear hackers or hedge-fund managers, but pretty close. So I tried breaking it off. The more I tried to shoo him away, the more insistent he got that he chat with me during his work hours. Finally, I demanded his real phone number and then he finally left me alone.
Now I have no idea what he is going to do with my artsy nude photographs. Well, it could be worse, it could be a photograph of me doing drugs, that's illegal. So, at least I can say, "yes, I used poor taste, but no, it was not illegal."
Now I am a paranoid ball of anxiety.
I like to take risque photos so that when I am 90 years old, I can say, hey, look when I was 30 my breasts were pretty nice. I sent him a pic after he sent me a few photos of his manhood. That turned out to be a mistake. While my face isn't visible, you can tell just by the shape of my boobs that it very well may be me. :0
Then he told me was married and even scarier, affiliated with some government forces. As a paranoid schizophrenic, I really freak out whenever someone with a close relationship to Uncle Sam wants to snuggle with me. It makes me think of male Mata Hari spies and honey traps. This is paradoxical because I am eternally indebted to said Uncle Sam for paying my way through college and taking a chance rehabilitating a broken down paranoid schizophrenic. Despite my utmost loyalty (and I am not just saying that because Uncle Sam is reading this), I fear their minions. Not as much as I fear hackers or hedge-fund managers, but pretty close. So I tried breaking it off. The more I tried to shoo him away, the more insistent he got that he chat with me during his work hours. Finally, I demanded his real phone number and then he finally left me alone.
Now I have no idea what he is going to do with my artsy nude photographs. Well, it could be worse, it could be a photograph of me doing drugs, that's illegal. So, at least I can say, "yes, I used poor taste, but no, it was not illegal."
Now I am a paranoid ball of anxiety.
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