patricky

Well, this is my first journal entry ever.

It's like when I lost my virginity, only I'm not screaming or bleeding, and Mr. T is nowhere to be seen.

I am pantless right now though, so that's a bit of symmetry.

Anyway, to tell you all something completely fascinating, I'm still waiting for a final call back on a job. After 4 interviews, and a final contact saying just to wait until they can finalize a money offer... well, I'm still waiting.

Which is cool, because when I called up all the people who send me bills each month, they were only. too. happy to tell me that, no, they do not in fact give a shit.


Also, I wrote this really bad story as a parody of Hannibal Lecter/Clarice Starling Fanfic. You will, naturally, love it as you love your own dear children:


My awesum storie of Luv

"The romantics believed that the measure of man's desire was his need to devour the essence of the muse of his lust. I wish to explore the measure of my desire for you, agent Starling. Shall I go down... Clarice?"

Starling pushes his hands away firmly. "Fool me once, Hannibal. My father used to say that."

"Of course he did, Clarice. Homespun wisdom. The coin of the lesser mind, easily remembered, easily said, a seed to be planted in that most fertile earth... the child's mind." Lecter's eyes glitter in the shadows. "But you are not like him, are you, Clarice. His words did not take seed."

It wasn't a question. Clarice tugs down her dress, rifles her fingers through her hair. "I don't think I need to answer that question, Doctor Lecter."

Lecter smiles. "Neither do I. But answer this, agent Starling. How old were you when you discovered your mother fucking another man? After your father died."

"Hannibal. Don't."

"How old, Clarice. Twelve? Thirteen? A little older, a year younger than that, perhaps?"

"Doctor..."

"Answer the question, Clarice. Or I won't take you to Sizzler."

Clarice slams her hand down. "I was thirteen."

"And your mother was fucking. Fucking another man?"

"You bastard."

"Was she?"

"Yes, God dammit. I opened the door and they were fucking."

"And she was on top of him, yes? Writhing on top of him."

"Yes, doctor."

"And what else did you see, Clarice?"

"She was on top of him, moving. And I couldn't see his face." She pulls a cigarette from the pack on the bedside. Camels. The lighter shakes in her hands, throws white shadows across the room.

"His head was between her thighs, Clarice?"

Puff. "Yes."

"And was she screaming?"

Puff. "Yes. Yes she was."

"And her hips were pushing down, yes? Pushing him into the bed? And he was pawing at her, and you were frightened."

A long drag. "Yes."

"And what did you think, Clarice?"

Clarice chews her lip, and then spits the butt of the Camel at Lecter. He snaps it from the air, brings it to his own lips and licks at the wet tip. She reaches for another, then crushes the pack in her fingers. "I thought she was killing him, Hannibal. I thought she was killing him."

"And what did you do then?"

"I ran."

"But you still see it don't you? In your dreams."

"See what, doctor? What do I see?"

Lecter smiles, then reaches behind him and pulls a Camel hardpack from his back pocket. "I think you might need these."

"You bastard. You sadistic, fucking bastard. Tell me what I see!"

"The violence, Clarice." Hannibal stands, and strikes a match against his pants. "The violence of the clam."