When I write a parody it is done with the utmost respect.  And with that said… away we go.

His face was so close his breathing was fogging up the computer screen.  He adjusted his pants to allow his privates to fit more comfortably.  He was too stunned to do anything at the moment.  He had just read the greatest piece of work ever written, or so his dementia allowed him to believe.

Stanley was a lost soul.  All he ever wanted was to be loved.  That, of course, was impossible.  He was a computer geek, not too handsome (more to the point, downright ugly), any girl with a brain in her head would divert her eyes quickly upon glancing at him.

It is a common misconception that one can fall in love with another through knowing another’s personality.  Don’t give me that look!

For the past week, Stan had been reading the works of a girl on .  She was a good writer, make no mistake about it.  But her writing was nothing to obsess over.  Unless the obsessed was a computer geek with nothing better to do.

After reading the latest steamy story by StarGirl2000, Stan opened up a word document to continue his unbearably boring logs of his life.

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Dear Journal,

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He liked writing the heading because writing journal instead of diary made him feel like more of a man.  In fact, he was a true to form pansy.

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            I have met the love of my life…  Well, kinda.  She’s a girl on my favorite website.  She’s so gorgeous.  Not that I know.  She doesn’t have her picture up on the internet and she’d never send one to me.  But I have dreamt of her.  Last night I had the wettest dream of my life and…

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            We’re going to skip a few lines, which merely describe his incredible orgasm.  Yeah, it gets kind of sick.  Honestly, if I hadn’t told you this guy was a guy, you’d think he was a she, wouldn’t you?  Oh, yes you would!

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            Furthermore, I love her writing.  She writes such pretty stories.  They’re mostly about hot sex!  I love sex.  I wish I knew what it was like.  She makes it seem so…so…so hot!  I love her.

            She reviews my stories sometimes.  She doesn’t like them.  She says I obsess too much over sex.  I love sex.  I wish I knew what it was like.

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Now the protagonist has been introduced!  Hurrah!

Ooooh.  Look, another journal entry.  Let’s take a look, shall we?

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Dear Journal,

            She gave me another review today.  God, she makes me so horny.  My favorite words from her review were “don’t” “stop” “giving” “me” “more” “sex.”

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Let the record show that the actual review went like this:

“I want you to stop giving me reviews.  I don’t like your sick games.  All you talk about is sex.  That’s not even what ‘Moon Gypsies’ was about.  It was a biblical parable, for Christ’s sake!  If you ever review another one of my stories like you did that one I will report you to and get you kicked off.

ps. Shitty story.  I hope you die!”

Doesn’t that review just make you “so horny”?

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            I don’t know if it is healthy to be in love with a person I don’t know.  Perhaps I should stop dreaming of her and masturbating to her stories.  I wish I had more of a life.  I don’t want to risk having her find out I’m really in love with her.  I’m going to commit suicide now.  I’m sorry my love.  My StarGirl2000.  I shall fantasize of you for eternity.  Good bye.

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            Such a beautiful story kind of brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it?