DISCLAIMER: I don't own either president, the San Diego Soo, or The Giver. Nor do I own Holden Caulfield of The Catcher in the Rye fame. So don't sue me plzkthx.
"i've begun to notice that i'm beginning to talk like you."
"you just love me that much."
"or maybe you're beginning to talk like me. either way, we're beginning to sound alike."
"maybe we're beginning to sound like a third person. or maybe it's all a government conspiracy, and everyone in the world is starting to sound alike."
"cause they don't want us to be individual, and make all the ugly and dumb people feel bad."
"and soon we'll stop seeing colors."
"that's what I was going to say! stop stealing my thunder."
"see? they've already started."
"ohhhh and we'll never see that flash of white again.. from thunder. 'cause we'll have no colors."
"white is the absense of color, darling."
"you're the more articulate of us two. and obviously have the bigger brain. i's okay i have other aspects that are quite big."
"maybe it's just osmosis happening and your brain cells are being transferred to my brain. you know, like high concentration to low concentration."
"i'm beginning to think you talk faster than me. and that's why you steal my thunder."
"why do people never say "steal my lighting". i mean, i'd like lightning more than thunder."
"we should start a new fad"
"cause you can't do anything with thunder. it's just a large boom. i mean, i could fart and do that."
"i like booms."
"but lightning. you can't get that through farting."
"mhmm but when you orgasm. it booms."
"i think i should stop hitting the sauce."
"i like sauce. especially spaghetti sauce."
"you know what. we're pretty retarded. we put holden to shame. if someone wrote a book about us, people who tried to read it would like. kill themselves trying to follow along with our thought process."
"that would be so cool. we should write a book about us. except we should use fake names so people don't think we're losers."
"can i be vladimir?"
"only losers write autobiographies. like presidents."
"i read an autobiography about lincoln once. it was pretty boring."
"but i bet it had no lies in it. no wait.. that was the g wash."
"uh huh. i wonder if he wrote about his cherry tree."
"you know what? i heard that story was all a lie. and that some person wrote it afterwards and it never happened. psh. but cherries! my knot tying skills! mhmm i'm cool. and cherries are super yummy. i've decided. that cherries and peach rings are love. and strawberry daiquiries."
"mm hmm. i've always wanted to tie a cherry stem with my tongue. i tried it once when i was like nine, but i ended up almost choking. so i never really tried again."
"having those thoughts when you were nine eh? obviously started young."
"i was corrupt from the start."
"when you were born and the doctor slapped you on the butt. you probably enjoyed it. a little s&m there?"
"nahh. i was never into that whole handcuffs thing when i was little. they never really fit my wrists."
"cause you were anorexic weren't you? wow is THAT why you took up smoking? and those drugs?"
"mhmm partly that. and partly because i was scarred as a child. by watching a giraffe sodomize a rock. at the san diego zoo."
"ew. okay. there are three problems with what you just said. 1; that's just gross. 2; big words like sodomize are gross. 3; how big was the rock?"
"1; which is why it would scar me for life. 2; bigger words just mean more syllables to be hurt by. 3; not that big, but big enough to be sodomized by a giraffe. it's like two dogs fornicating in the middle of the street, and one dog is like a pit bull. and the other's a tiny poodle or something."
"okay. that's a bad mental picture. and eww can you picture it? cause i can. they would have ugly babies."
"a pit bull and a poodle or a giraffe and a rock?"
"could a giraffe and a rock have babies? maybe in the world where there are no colors, there will be no sense of living and dead. and giraffes and rocks could have babies. i have a dream! where one day a giraffe and a rock can walk into a store together. where we will not be separated based on the beating of our hearts."
"in your dream, the rock would have legs, right?"
"mhmm and he'd be a hottie alright."
"oh i'd imagine so."
"hey babyyyy. wanna rock my world?"
"i think i just threw up in my mouth. our minds are so messed up."
"yeah well so was holden's. and now he's famous."
"mhmm. we should go fuck up our lives so we can become famous too."
"the world will never know what hit them."
I bet you're wondering what the hell you've just stumbled upon.
The inner workings of the brilliant mind of my alter ego, Vladimir?
A conspiracy to take over the world and turn it into one like in The Giver?
Or just an inane and quirky online conversation between me and my sometimes lover/all time partner in crime?
If you chose either of the first two, you should seek psychiatric help.
Some parts of this conversation were edited to fix spelling mistakes, and some parts were taken out entirely. I couldn't be bothered to fix the grammer though (and who IMs people with perfect grammar anyways?) Nothing was added; all of the above were either said (typed) by me or bibblebabblebish. Which kind of worries me. Not much, though.