>Crime and Punishment
>Today as I cleaned the garage I came across a high school gem that only could have come from my family. It’s really no wonder I’m a crazy person. I don’t know exactly what I did wrong save that I lied. What did I lie about? Who knows. I lied about a lot of things back then out of necessity. So apparently this time, since I was always sitting at the computer anyway, my mother decided that I should choose my own punishment and that I should write a treatisie about it. And so I did. It’s not a poem but I think it’s hilarious, so I thought I’d share.
Lieing [sic] is bad. If i lie again I’ll get beat like a read-headed, freckled stepchild, and that won’t feel too swift, so, i won’t lie. I do value the life and all of the appendages of my body, contrary to popular belief. I don’t feel like beig torn limb from limb or having my brain turned to jell-o underneath the weight of my jailer’s van. Other than that, I don’t have a clue as to what i’m supposed to be doing right now, so I’m typing to take up space, becuase it’s obvious that my jailer wants this to have some substance in it and not just be one sentence long. That would be a waste of paper, now, wouldn’t it. I was supposed to choose my own punishment, and I have. I am now grounded and on phone restriction until December the 17th, on which I will be free from the chains that bind me to this incredibly boring establishment. The only exceptions are to go to school and rehearsals and performances for the play. Also, I should be allowed to talk to Steve once in person if I can, or on the phone if that’s not possible, as he is leaving or New MExico on the 18th and and I have known him for six years and I will never see him again most likely. I hate being here for more than the time it takes to sleep because this house drives me absolutely crazy, so I think it to be just punicshment to confine me here. Hopefully, all of my marbles will not roll away before it it time for my release, because, then, it would be rather assinine to release me anyways because I really wouldn’t care anymore where I was. I would be Labotomy [sic] Woman and spend my days in acatatonic state. My only fun would consist of trying to see how long hte drool string can get before it breaks, and my only friend will be a rock named Ed, because he wouldn’t care whether I talked back to him and answered all his questions or not, because he’d be just as brain-dead as I was.
Jesus Christ I was a fucking smart ass. I also apparently believed (as too many do) in rampant comma use and insane run-on sentences. But the best part is that at the end of this printed (from a DOS word processing program) diatribe of bullshit I typed lines for my mother or “The Professional Jailer” as I called her, and myself “The Prisoner” to sign and date. And the most amazing thing aobut this treatisie was that my mother actually signed and dated it on 11-28-93. So I guess from 11-28-93 through 12-17-93 my sarcastic ass was grounded.