Current Events > I will post in this topic once per day until Parappa returns.

(+) Yeah! (+)

Day 1: It's been a year since the last Parappa sighting. I wonder if he still thinks about us. We still yearn for him and yet maybe it's better he got out. This place changes a man. I opened a vegy topic earlier about some fictional crush humiliating him and stepping on his weiner or whatever. I thought to myself, "gee at least I'm not this fucking guy" and exited the topic.

But I still looked at the boobs. I looked. Parappa is somewhere else and probably thriving. Good for him. I wish I could follow his example but unfortunately I've anchored myself to this board for at least the next several hundred days with this very topic.

Parappa, please come back, you're my only hope to escape now.

Day 2: They say that when you lose something, the first thing you should do is retrace your steps. If you lose your wallet, go to the last place you bought something. So where was I during Parappa's last visit, 373 days ago?

I... you know what - that's a hard thing to ask somebody. Luckily I carry a robot in my pocket that logs my every move and thought. The future is a utopia. Flipping through my phone's camera roll to October 21, 2021 I find a pretty standard diagram of a pyramid scheme. Suddenly the memories came flooding back - and the shame. Granted, now I know the dangers of multi-level marketing schemes at the ripe old age of 30, but my inexperienced tender 29 year old self still had a lot to learn.

For about seven months prior to the fateful day of Parappa's disappearance, I had stopped drinking entirely. I had given a best man speech in the spring despite a crippling fear of public speaking and when I returned home, felt the urge to drink an entire 750 of nice bourbon and vibrate in a dark room. The next morning I had the worst chest pain I had ever experienced in my life and worried that my horrific binge drinking had finally fucked up my heart. I vowed to never drink again... until it turned out it was just acid reflux, but at that point I was committed.

Seven months later I realized that not drinking doesn't make you less sad if you don't work on yourself, so maybe I needed to stop blaming the alcohol and really look inward to arrive at the root of my problems. It sounded like a lot of work and self-awareness, so I decided to return to the old bread and butter and hit the bar. However, seven months removed from alcohol had dramatically lowered my tolerance and inhibitions. I woke up to my bank account $30,000 lighter due to a sizable payment to something called Pyramid Powder and a meeting on my calendar to pick up my first shipment from a distribution center four hours away.

I called the number on my phone that provided me the pick-up address and asked for my money back. Very confused, someone name Chad Hefty asked why I didn't want to be a part of Pyramid Powder despite my drunken enthusiasm. To win me over he texted a picture of a clear MLM distribution chain.

I told him, "Hey Chad, this kinda seems like it's a pyramid scheme. It's even in the name."
Chad replied, "It's only called Pyramid Powder because this protein powder has an innovative set of vitamins and nutrients that get you so yoked that your body starts to become triangular."

I was still skeptical, but as a perpetually clumsy person the possibility of never falling over again was too good of an opportunity to pass up. I drove four hours to the distribution center which turned out to be a failing auto body shop. Chad insisted I test the product out before I left so I could know what I was investing in. I agreed and asked for some water to mix the Pyramid Powder into, but Chad said "just bump it bro."

I swear I could hear my pupils dilate when I snorted the powder as Chad shrugged and said, "Sure you can bump it with your nose I guess." As Chad loosened his belt and scooped a heaping fingernail of PP before disappearing into the bathroom, I loaded my $30,000 investment into the car.

The instant effects of the powder came to fruition, as even the lightest touch on the accelerator pinned the pedal to the floor. I careened over the guard rail and rolled my vehicle nine times on the interstate only a mile and a half from the auto body shop. First responders ignored my cries of "please the vitamins first" and "how would you like to be your own boss" as they used the Jaws of Life to remove me from the burning wreckage. I don't know if it was my lapse in sobriety, the second degree burns, the multiple internal injuries, or watching my powdery dreams burn up into beautiful triangular clouds that caused me to sob openly on the highway, but I like to believe it was the last one.

373 days later, I am no longer sad, an alcoholic, nor gullible enough to go into business with Chad Hefty again. However, sometimes we must make sacrifices to see the ones we love again. Would I go through this all over again if it meant the return of my long lost Parappa?

The answer is yes of course, but I currently do not have $30,000 to invest in a pyramid scheme, as I used that money to buy a new car. Also Chad Hefty's number has been disconnected and a google search of his name only suggested that Chad Hefty is an alias of Vyacheslav Ibrahimov Tokhtakhunov who is currently serving multiple life sentences in a federal penitentiary.

I guess retracing your steps isn't always helpful. Sometimes reliving your trauma won't help you find someone who lives an ocean away who you've never met in person before. I'm still learning as I go, it's only Day 2 after all.

we follow each other on insta lol

Day 3: Is it that simple? Just reach out to him on Instagram? Surely it would be the most direct and efficient way to get this lanky Brit back onto the board.

But no, its not that simple. For years now my friends have told me theyve tagged me in a pic on Instagram, only for me to respond I dont have an Instagram. Im then provided proof that yeah, you have an Instagram you fucking dummy, but I refuse to believe it. Who is that? Thats not mine. Several minutes pass by until Im finally convinced, before I spend half an hour trying to log in with every email address and password combination I can possibly think of. This happens once every three months.

Maybe Im just destined to lose things. I lost Parappa. I lost my Instagram account. I lost $30,000 to the son of a Russian oligarch. My car insurance company informed me that the Monte Carlo that flipped nine times and became a sizzling fireball was a total loss. No problem, Ill just get a new Monte Carlo I thought before Chevrolet salesman Douglas rudely laughed in my face and informed me the Monte Carlo was discontinued in 2007.

I was too embarrassed to tell Douglas that I thought Id been driving a 2011 Monte Carlo for years. What the hell was I driving? Have I lost my mind?

https://gamefaqs.gamespot.com/a/user_image/9/8/1/AANZVmAAD1W1.jpg

Day 4: It's Halloween, so I suppose it's a good time to talk about fear. Yeah, I'm afraid Parappa won't return - that's a given let's move past it. I want to talk about real fears. Some real cut to the bone shit. Although one of my fears is that I'm afraid to open up about my fears, so this could prove very difficult, but I'll do my best.

It was a few Halloweens ago when I went to a party dressed as a doctor, since I already owned several pairs of scrubs. I just think they're comfortable and I like to wear them as jammies. This was pre-COVID when it was still funny to impersonate medical professionals, but I was a little scared someone would have a medical emergency in front of me.

The night was going fine until a pickup truck with a bed full of pumpkins parked out front. Three people dressed as elephants poured out of the cabin, but one of them was a slutty elephant because we live in hell and that was probably the only female option available. The slutty elephant sets up a monitor on the side of the bed while the others throw pumpkins onto the lawn.

Nobody had any idea who these people were.

The monitor starts playing a video of elephants at a local zoo squashing pumpkins with their feet, as the three human elephants start doing the same to the pumpkins strewn about the lawn. A sigh of relief washed over those who gathered outside. It seemed like a lot of effort for an admittedly subpar bit and we still didn't know these people, but what was happening made sense now.

At least it did until a fourth animal emerged from the truck. A person in a hippopotamus costume. The video on the monitor changed to a hippo and someone said, "Oh is the hippo gonna stomp on some now?" The costumed hippo stopped in the center of the lawn and tilted its head back. Each elephant had grabbed a fresh pumpkin and pointed to the monitor. On the screen, a real hippo opened its mouth, a zookeeper tossed a large pumpkin inside, and the hippo devoured it to the applause of the zoogoers.

"No, fuck no. No way," someone said. All attention turned back to the costumed hippo on the lawn, who had unhinged its jaw far wider than any human should be capable of while everyone was distracted. An elephant placed a pumpkin inside, the hippo's jaws clamped shut to the sound that resembled a fleshy gunshot. Pumpkin viscera sprayed over everyone as screams filled the air. The hippo opened its maw a second time and the slutty pumpkin reloaded. Its mouth snapped shut again, louder than the first time. Lights started turning on in every house on the street. A woman fainted into the nearby garden. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?!" several shouted out in disbelief. "'Please just go!" I yelled in desperation.

After the third gourd was obliterated, I sat in the grass and sobbed into my hands. I had never felt so utterly despondent and I wasn't the only one. Many others were doing the same. Even those who came to the party with their partner instead chose to mourn alone. The hippo human hybrid has destroyed all the love in our lives and our will to seek comfort in each other. The owner of the house emerged with a loaded gun and demanded the hippo and elephants leave. They packed up their equipment and went on their way without a word.

The party was dead. When I called an Uber to take me home, someone noted I hadn't started drinking yet. "I may be sober, but I am in no state to drive," I replied.
"Somebody call an ambulance!" a man called out.
"I'm pretty shook up, but I don't need to go to the hospital," I said. But it wasn't for me. The girl who fainted into the garden had hit her heard on a rock.
"Is anyone a doctor?" the man called out.
Looking down at my scrubs, I slinked back around the corner of the house and hid until my Uber arrived.

Okay, I'm sorry. I said real fears. It's just hard for me to open up. Even on an anonymous dying message board. I'm afraid of fireworks? Really any loud, booming noises. It's not super deep, but it's something. It makes 4th of July with my family difficult because they always like to watch fireworks on the beach. This past summer my aunt asked me why I get so freaked out, but as you may have picked up on, I'm afraid to talk openly about my fears.

So I lied and said it stems from my years of military service and watching my fellow soldiers get blown to bits. Fortunately, it's still kosher to impersonate military personnel. Unfortunately, there are couple marines in my family that actually happened to and I was yelled at for being insensitive. After every firework went off, I instinctively yelped like a frightened child, still clinging to my offensive wartime PTSD bit. But what could I do? Admit the real reason I was afraid of loud noises was because I watched a person dressed as a hippopotamus blow out every car window on the street with it's thundering orifice of rampant annihilation?

At that moment three elephants (two normal, one slutty) and a hippopotamus strode onto the beach holding three watermelons. When the beach was painted red, my family understood.

Shit. Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm sorry! The real shit. It's coming, I swear it's coming. My actual human fears. I just need to warm up to it. I'm afraid of wild animals. That's a real fear I have.

If you're thinking, "this is a clear ramp up to another elephant/hippo bit," you're right. Good catch. I'm afraid of comedy that doesn't come in threes. To overcome that, I could do this bit four times but I don't think I have the character space for that. I'd have to split this up into two posts and I said I'd post once a day. That'd fuck this whole thing up on Day 4.

I'm not really all that deep. I wish I had more interesting fears, but I don't. I'm not afraid that I don't have dope fears, that usually indicates some kind of trauma that I'm thankful isn't mine. I have a friend who is afraid of ladybugs. God, I bet I could riff about that for a while if that were me. I don't know. I'm afraid I'm not good enough, but everyone is sometimes. I used to be afraid people I loved didn't actually want to be around me, but I got over that. Everybody's got people that love 'em. I guess I'm afraid of dying, because I don't want to leave those people. I used to be afraid of dying a lot more. A quote from Outer Wilds really helped me. "The past is past now, but that's... y'know that's okay. It's never really gone completely. The future is always built on the past, even if we won't get to see it." We all die, and that's just the way it's supposed to be. I guess the fear I still have stems from my fear of the unknown. What comes after? What if I'm just trapped in a conscious mind, unable to move? I just sit in inky blackness for the rest of eternity with nothing but my own thoughts to keep me company?

Maybe that's not what happens. Maybe it's just over. I don't know. Not knowing is what drives me crazy. Maybe I take my final breath, close my eyes for the final time, and my heart monitor goes silent. Then when I open my eyes, I'm somewhere else. Not in a hospital bed or wherever I spent my final days, but in an endless void. Just me, three elephants, and a hippopotamus. And oh boy that fucker is hungry. There's an endless sea of large gourds and

Day 5: Every year I have the intention trying No Nut November, but every year I wake up on November 3rd realizing I've masturbated seven times already. This time I'm prepared. Although I have been talking to someone recently and if that gets more serious, I will abandon this immediately. I'm not too worried, I always find new and inventive ways to blow up my own spot. Then back to me, myself, and my very weak will to refrain from touching my own body.

Perhaps this is the sacrifice Parappa demands. If he returns to CE to waste his valuable time, I should have to give up something important. I can bring about his second coming via a coming ban.

It's been a long day. 22 hours and 15 minutes already. It's hard to think. I'm writing words like long, hard, and coming too frequently to only be on Day 1 of this challenge. Usually, before I write these, I clear my mind with a hard, long come, but obviously I couldn't today.

My mind is in a fog. Like a white, viscous fog. I feel like I'm filled toe to tip. I wonder what edging's all about? Maybe it's the tits. Ah fuck, don't say tits. Or fuck. If I'm edging and I make a mess accidentally, does that count? Does NNN give you a free whoopsie? Let's just call today's entry a wash. Maybe as I charge up on more loads it becomes easier and my brain can function tomorrow.

Day 6 (Day 2 of NNN): This is no good. Who would do this to themselves for 30 whole days? Why am I so hot all the time? My head is killing me. Both of them. I'm so irritable I'm nearing the point of outright aggression. And no, when I shouted to that elderly woman who was taking too long to turn into a side street that I would "weld her to the fucking road" that WASN'T aggressive because I don't even have welding tools. You fucking idiots.

See what I talking about? I'm running hot and mean. I even respond positively to other people being aggressive to me. Some woman at Starbucks told me to "fuck off asshole" when I politely requested she "fucking move please" as I went to grab my drink off the counter. I nearly nut in the goddamn store. Apparently when I haven't busted in two days I develop a mild humiliation fetish. I never wanted to know that shit. I don't wanna see how bad that gets out Day 8. I could be reenacting the ass to ass scene from Requiem for a Dream but not for drugs, just for the love of the game.

I went to the beach hoping the cold air and sea breeze would cool me off. Unfortunately I had no luck because the Earth is dying and it's 70 degrees in November. Sorry - Parappa if you're reading this, it's 21 degrees in November. I took a quick dip in the ocean and felt instant frigid relief. I stayed in the water until I was shivering before drying off and shuffling back to my car.

The respite didn't last long. I didn't even make it home before I was horny again. I pulled off the highway into a rest stop, clutched the steering wheel as hard as I could and screamed at the top of my lungs. Over and over again until my face burned my hands to the touch. The inside of my throat might have been bleeding. I took slow, controlled breaths in an attempt to calm down, but got distracted by another man's blood curdling shriek to my right.

I rolled down my window, pointed at the man and shouted, "Hey shut the FUCK up!"
He locked eyes with me and replied, "No you shut the FUCK up!"
"I will fucking dropkick you into next week you weaselly little shit."
"I will force feed you so much fucking gravel, my dude. You fucked with the wrong motherfucker today."
"I think I fucked with a weak little bitch is what I think."
"Oh yeah? I have a fucking gun."
"Then fucking shoot me."
"Where do you want it, fucko?"
"Shoot me in my fucking head you twisted little cock."
"I'll fucking do it."
"Oh yeah, you sick fuck?"
"Come fucking find out."
"You better not be wasting my fucking time."
"I will honest to god execute you cartel style and run over your corpse sixteen times until you're nothing but a pink fucking paste."
"Great. Let's fucking go then," I said as I unclicked my seatbelt.

We both stepped out of our cars, instantly noticing one another's raging erections. We stopped dead in our tracks and stared for a few moments. "So... Day 2, huh?" I asked.
"Day 2," the other man let out a sad sigh.
"What's the longest you've made it?" I asked.
"This long. Got any tips?"
I shook my head. "I was... fully ready to die just now."
"I'm sorry, man. I don't have a gun," he admits.
"So what was the plan?"
"I was hoping you had a hidden knife and that you would stab me in the leg, severing my femoral artery causing all the blood in my penis to leave and spill onto the pavement where I'd hopefully bleed out and die."
I smacked my lips and exhaled mournfully. "I don't have a knife."

We sat in a heavy silence for a while. Eventually I said, "I think I'm... gonna get going."
"Yeah."
"Hey good luck with the whole month and stuff."
"Yeah."
"I hope someone stabs you to death at a different rest stop."
The horny stranger wiped away a single tear. "Yeah."

I don't know how it gets any worse from here.

Day 7 (Day 3 of NNN): The walls are closing in and I don't know who I am anymore. I called out of work today. Sometimes minutes feel like hours, but other times I close my eyes for a second only to find out 45 minutes have passed. I'm fading in and out of clarity. My skin feels like it's on fire, but I can't stop shivering. I've sweat through three sets of sheets.

Today has been an endless cycle. Lay in bed until I've made a mansized sweat puddle, replace the bedsheets, crawl to the toilet to vomit uncontrollably, rinse and repeat. I don't know how I'm going to find sleep tonight. I could drink myself into a blackout but the second my inhibitions are lowered I will come. I've previously used marijuana edibles as a sleep aid, but that's not currently an option. The police considered Pyramid Powder a "dangerous amphetamine" and suspended my license after my encounter with Chad Hefty. Per the terms of my reinstatement, I'm required to take a drug test every month. My next test is tomorrow. I do not know how I will drag myself down to the collection site. Even if I do, they'll take one look at me and think I'm on something. They won't know what, but they'll all think "that guy is fucked up."

How do I explain it's cum poisoning? I guess that's tomorrow's problem. I've been hot swapping water bottles from the freezer to my penis to keep it flaccid. I haven't eaten since dinner yesterday. Is this my existence for the next 27 days? Surely not, I will likely die before that. I wonder how that horny stranger from yesterday is faring. I hope he's come... I hope he's come.

ShinyFinder posted...

we follow each other on insta lol

same lol. One of the few I talk to outside of here

Bro, I know you're a stand-up comedian and all but these bits are not it.