It started as an ordinary day. Roxxy had bought me breakfast with her savings of coupons and vouchers from leaflets handed out in the city. I had borrowed a mailman outfit from her wardrobe, which I assume is just a left over costume from her acting career she occasionally mentions. Anyways I went to Jo Cs house as a mailman, delivering her mail, and giving her the nice letter that someone suggested I send her. I also decided that the other suggestion of a model replica of the penis of the doc from Back To The Future was appropriate, because the sheer randomness and quirkyness of it all would make her laugh and see how funny I am, at least according to all the Zooey Deschanel movies I've been watching with Roxxy lately.
Walking straight past the government guards stationed "inconspicuously" in their windowless vans, I opened the mailbox and a chill went down my spine as I read the other envelopes I was putting in there. Insurance bills and banking statements were ordinary enough, but one pink envelope was from a guy named Mark. Was someone else trying to replace me? I had to find out.
I pocketed the envelope and swiftly used the mail van to get home. I decided I enjoyed the handling of the mail van and that I would keep it, because the mail depot seems to have enough vans anyway. And it's not like they actually need to get anywhere in a rush, because all deliveries happen when it's not convenient for anyone involved.
Hopping onto the couch I opened the letter to discover a guy named Mark Toe creeping on Jo C. He even sent her pictures he took of her, and some receipts and bills he probably stole or something. What a freak. I decided to call up my friend Doug who used to work in the IT department of some building company back in my old city, before he was fired for hacking some kind of mainframe. Doug decided he would gladly help me find out more about Mark and see if Jo C was in danger.
Uggh the things we found. Part of me wishes we didn't have the technology to see any of this. On his blog, this guy had pictures of kids sitting on this guy in a red suit's lap. What a fucked up fetishist. He was also a terrible writer, and his blog was full of the most retarded musings I've ever read in my life. Not even like 12 year old Facebook status stupid, but even worse.
He writes a depressing blog post after another, telling people about how he shaves when he's sad about this girl he likes having a boyfriend. And he makes it sound like it was a life altering shave. As if when the blade touched his face, the heavens opened up, and Jesus himself showed him the meaning of life (which I already know, because this did happen to me once, which you would recall in my blog post). He also fucks up the English language worse than I once messed up a polar bear when I went to Sweden to hang out with this guy I was webcamming with on ChatRoulette. He then talks about how he listens to obscure music and is inherently superior because of it, which can only impress the ladies once they hear of his favourite band being something no one has ever even heard, and doesn't have a genre because "arbitrarily classifying music is like restricting it to a nazi death camp". Naturally, I'd agree, because when I say a song is a rock song, I'm basically like putting the band into a 4x4 room and turning on the gas to watch them slowly die in horrifying agony as part of my political regime of racial intolerance and supremacy.
This weirdo can't stay around Jo C for long. It wouldn't be long before he would spring her into one of his weird sexual fantasies and she'd forever lose her innocence. I guess this pseudo-intellectual hipster would be added to my list of people I'd have to keep an eye on to protect Jo C.
As I'm typing this, I can see someone outside the window to my apartment with binoculars looking up from his car. I'm not sure if he or she is looking at me but it's certainly suspicious. Come to think of it, I remember this car, but I can't remember from where... It's not a government vehicle, that's for sure. I'm gonna go check it out.