Tender Kenversations

Ken Krekeler : What if saving my life meant drinking your own pee? Would you do it? COULD you do it?

Blond Girl1 : Yes I could.
Blond Girl1 : i dont know if i would

Ken Krekeler : What if it was MY pee?

Ken Krekeler : (I have to know, it's for a school project)

Blond Girl1 : maybe not
Blond Girl1 : yours

Ken Krekeler : It's not a little bit, it's a big ol' gallon. Big ol' jug-o-pee.

Blond Girl1 : well no then
Blond Girl1 : thats a bit much

Ken Krekeler : well, hey, that's fine, hey. glad to know where you stand. glad to know it.

Blond Girl1 : plus unsanitary

Ken Krekeler : my pee, though? I piss excellence

Blond Girl1 : have you tried it

Ken Krekeler : No, but I have imagined it many times, and it would be a lucious cider warmth which tickled the palate in shades of deep violet and ocre

Blond Girl1 : oh really

Ken Krekeler : anyway, you're kinda grossing me out with this, so I'm gonna go now

(Three minutes elapse.)

Ken Krekeler : hey do you still have the conversation we just had?
Ken Krekeler : like to copy and paste

Blond Girl1 : yes

Ken Krekeler : okay um, can you copy and paste that and send it to me?

Ken Krekeler : i'm like not even kidding

Blond Girl1 : to ur email

Ken Krekeler : yes yes

Blond Girl1 : or aim

Ken Krekeler : email. kentopia@ameritech.net

Blond Girl1 : ok

Ken Krekeler : also I'll be using your face picture on my website briefly
Ken Krekeler : just you know fyi

Blond Girl1 : ok
Blond Girl1 : why

Ken Krekeler : ha! so trusting. excellent. SEND ME THE THINGY

Blond Girl1 : ok
Blond Girl1 : ok
Blond Girl1 : i sent it

Ken Krekeler : I'm awaiting its arrival. Ken Krekeler appreciates your co-operation!

(Nine seconds elapse.)

Ken Krekeler : fucking bullshit's not coming!
Ken Krekeler : okay, send it over AIM. it's important!

My Girlfriend's Pizza

I'm going to eat my girlfriend's pizza.

In my bed, she sleeps, safe and sound from the world. She is peaceful and serene. All wrapped up in dirty sheets.

And while she slumbers, I will sneak ever so loudly downstairs, where the pizza she purchased with her own money waits patiently for me. Waiting to be put in my belly, to be ravenously consumed and forgotten in minutes.

I will not move the box. Oh, no. It will remain in the fridge. My girlfriend will have to remove the box, feel its weight, before any suspicion is aroused. Then, hungry and confused, she will open the pizza box to find it empty. Empty! Save for the disgusting cheesy remnants of what remains, a legacy to a most delicious meal.

And then, as this shock hits her, as she reels with anger and depression, I will appear in the doorway, cloaked in the same dirty sheets she slept in. I will appear, and I will point, and I will laugh! I will laugh at her. HA! HA HA HA! HA HA HA HA HA HA! YOU FOOL! YOU THOUGHT YOU'D EAT THAT PIZZA, BUT I ATE IT INSTEAD! ME! KEN! HA HA HA! SUCH A FOOL YOU ARE! WHAT A FOOL! FOOOOOOOOL!

I'm not sure what my day will consist of after that. I haven't thought ahead. But already, I can feel the wheels turning.