Hey kids.
'Cos that's what you are.
So it's all sunny and junk (at, like, 19:00) and I've just had my dinner, so I'm feeling all nice and satisfied. Sweet.
Like Armadillo Boy! Champion of Dime bars everywhere.
Let's all go in for some of that feeling happy junk, y'ken? There's loads to do so about. For those of you having fun, there's that. And for those of you not, there's those who are. Which is nearly as good, though it does tend to cut through you like knives. And my website (www.megasad.freeserve.co.uk)! Turns out I can hand it in as my final A-Level computing coursework! Just gotta learn pesky new XML and completely remake it in that! Which'll be great.
Crunchy, if you will.
You care! Of course you care!
Carebears, let's eat a wherry!
So what's up with... um... the... er... so I've got nothing more to say ^_^
Sh'yeah right! And I'm a cross country skier!
Yes I have!
I know you were worried.
So I'm gonna assume that most of you have seen The Shawshank Redemption. Those of you that haven't, go watch it now. Now. If you don't have a copy I can lend you one. Anyway. The point. In said sweet film there's this part where this guy who's been in prison for most of his life finally gets out on parole. This guy's been in there since he was like twenty and now he's in his eighties. Anyway, he can't handle it. Being free has been all he's dreamt about all the time he was inside. But now he's free and everything's changed since when he was young and he kills himself. Because he was institutionalised.
I think that was the word. Feel free to correct me.
Why do I mention this? 'Cos leaving school scares the shit out of me. It's not the work, obviously. Work blows chunks. But what would I do if I didn't go to school? Well, sleep, obviously. But I can't do that when A-Levels are over. I'll have to (a) get a job or (b) go to university.
University's the most likely. Three more years of pissing around? I think so.
Fuck that. I can't be arsed to write any more. The point I was gonna so eloquently make is that life is scary. Which you all knew anyway. Redundant am I?! Or just institutionalised...
Though at least I don't have a pet bird...
Hey! Something else which is totally kewl, I've suspected this for a long time but could never be arsed to check it out. What am I talking about? Why, my e-mail address! You don't have to type caleb@megasad.freeserve.co.uk! Nay, you can type whateveryouwant@megasad.freeserve.co.uk! So you all probably knew this already as well. But it's so sweet! you _ vicious _ murdering _ fucked _ up _ shit _ eating _ hateful _ cock _ sucking _ evil _ tyrant _ bitch _ of _ a _ whore _ from _ hell@megasad.freeserve.co.uk? It works! Ah, I am an extremely happy bunny!
Not crunchy before any of you say anything.
In fact I'm such a happy bunny, I feel some spontaneous personal messages coming on!

- Cass - Cheers for not subjecting us to the address of mentioned site
- David (not Hyde Pierce) - I'm never going to remember your new e-mail address. Sorry. I know! E-mail me it!
- Henry - So I'll bring in Leon on Monday.
- Ian - So I couldn't be arsed to read that Chinese e-mail thang.
- John - Thanks for all that junk. I'll get around to reading it one day.
- Sticky Dicky (you know you love it really) - Remember to bring in From Dusk Till Dawn on Monday, y'ken?
- Shohan - 'Kay, so that e-mail was muy pointless. Thanks.

And I'm so not gonna write messages for the rest of you. Why? Ah, therein lies a tale my boy. Tell us, tell us! Okay. Long ago, in a land far away...
Get ready to be sedimentally disturbed.
~
A Mega Sad Digression. You know the drill. His name is Frank.
    "Hey, Scott! Where'd you put the matches?"
    "Up my arse! Where do you think, dipshit? There're in the cupboard."
    "Oh, yeah. Thanks. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten."
    "What you doing?"
    "Counting matches."
    "Indeed. Why?"
    "'Cos you can only fit ten in a mouse and I don't want to hurt Mickey."
    "As you will be...?"
    "Filling his orifices with matches and then lighting them."
    "Because..."
    "I'm a sad, lonely gimp who loves setting fire to things. And torturing small animals."
    "Fair enough. You want some help?"
    "Yeah, thanks. You can help me grease them up."
    "What?"
    "So that they slide into Mickey more easily. I don't want him getting splinters or anything!"
    "Hoom."
    "Yup."
    "Yup."
    "Mm-hmm."
    "Mm-hmm."
    "Another pizza?"
    "I think so."
    "Meat feast?"
    "Nothing less."
    "Sweet. I'll go get Mickey."
    "And the pizza?"
    "Here you go."
    "Cheers."
    "Here Mickey. Here boy."
    "You let him roam free?"
    "But of course."
    "Very nice of you."
    "I like to think so. Ah, here he is."
    "Hi, Mickey."
    "Hi, Scott."
    "You ready, Mickey?"
    "Sure am, chief."
    "Right. Bend over, please."
    "Yup."
    "Yup."
    "Yup."
    "Oh, that's nice chief. Thanks for greasing them up this time."
    "Not a problem, Mickey. Scott helped."
    "Thanks, Scott."
    "That's okay, Mickey."
    "That the last of them, chief?"
    "Sure is, Mickey."
    "And now what?"
    "Now I light them, Scott."
    "And you're kewl with this, Mickey?"
    "Sure am, Scott."
    "Well, that's okay then."
    "Yup."
    "Yup."
    "Yup."
    "You got a lighter on you, Scott?"
    "Of course."
    "Could I borrow it?"
    "Undoubtedly."
    "Well?"
    "'Well?'?"
    "May I please borrow your lighter, Scott?"
    "It doesn't cost anything. Here you go."
    "Cheers. You ready, Mickey?"
    "Sure am, chief."
    "Well, here we go then."
    "Yup."
    "Yup."
    "Yup."
    "Ooh, that sure does smell nice."
    "I know."
    "Kinda like bacon."
    "You want bacon, Scott?"
    "No, I was just saying Mickey smells like bacon."
    "Oh."
    "Right."
    "Glad that's cleared up then."
    "Was there a point to this, chief?"
    "What, Mickey?"
    "Well, I think we're meant to be part of a story or some such junk."
    "Oh dear."
    "Oh dear, Scott."
    "Why 'Oh dear'?"
    "Because I've lost the plot."
    "Where?"
    "There."
    "There?"
    "There on the stair."
    "A little mouse with clogs on?"
    "Quite so. They were my mum's."
    "The stairs?"
    "No, the clogs."
    "Oh."
    "Uh-huh."
    "Why haven't you written more messages to your friends then?"
    "Well, Scott, I've been too busy playing with Mickey."
    "I see."
    "Yes."
    "Tomorrow?"
    "Sure. Bye."
    "Bye. Bye, Mickey."
    "Bye, Scott. I sure like Scott, chief."
    "You do?"
    "I do."
    "Tasty."
    "Bacon, chief?"
    "Quite."
    "I thought so."
    "Goodnight, Mickey."
    "Goodnight, chief. Sleep tight"
    "Don't let the bedbugs bite?"
    "Unless you like that sort of thing."
    "I don't."
    "Ah."
    "Goodnight then."
    "Yes, goodnight."
Please feel free to send me money in appreciation of my literary prowess.
~
Please?
Hmm. That really was a waste of time. Ah well. It's not as bad as www.jamcredits.com. That's just sick.
Jam. Thursdays, 10:30pm on Channel 4. Nice and twisted.
Do any of you know what's happened to www.freenetname.co.uk? I went there, but there's nothing there. If they no longer exist then registering www.crunchybunny.co.uk may cost actual money. Stinky.
And don't any of you dare register this before me. Unless you give it to me. In which case, please do.
I believe I must go now.
But I do not believe that I can fry. So there.
Later,
Caleb
As ever, if you've read these white messages, please let me know. Else I'll feel all unloved etc.