Defining Moments of My Life
AutoPilot's and wannabeeeeees

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AutoPilot's and wannabeeeeees
10.21.04 6:28 p.m.

Hello, I'm AutoPilot. I'm Joey's subconscious, and I'm not imaginary. I'm fucking real. I'm sort of like an "existential detective" if you know what I mean. I'm everything Joey is trying to be: hot, sexy, leggy, intelligent, and thin. The cool thing about me is that I'm already all of those things, so I have no problem having sex with cute guys, and I don't have to lie about their large erections. Also, I don't have to make food for drunk asses in the middle of the night; rather, proletarians like Joey make food for MY drunk ass. I have a master's degree in political science, but I mainly live off the income of my wealthy family in the Hollywood Hills. I take life by the balls and kick them hard - i.e. - I always get my way. You see, that's why I give such good advice to Joey. I'm kind of her personal trainer in more than one way, and I do it all for free. I'm not sure why I chose this sorry-ass "phatgrrl" to help. Maybe it's because I like to see her suffer. But maybe it's because she 'might' actually turn out alright, and then I get to take all the credit! (But I do like to watch her suffer.) Some day when Joey grows up, she won't need me anymore; either because she will have become an alcoholic or junky, or because she will have found a satisfying way to live (a boring) life. Maybe, if she's lucky, she can be my real friend. If only Joey could just be me....

AutoPilot


Always remember to quit while you're ahead.

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About Me
I am a bipolar genius, child abuse & addiction survivor, who is now a single mother who works 70 hours a week and has had gastric-bypass weight loss surgery a year ago. Wish me luck cuz I need it!!!

Examples of My Insanity
Dead On Mental Health Quiz
Tuna Noodle Casserole Story
Explaining Myselves
Biting Off Redneck's Finger
Got So Crazy Scratched Til I Bled
How I Found Nirvana
Leaving Lon After 7 Years
Bad Luck On 3 July 4ths
Random Craziness (FBI Please Disregard)
How I Ended Up A Junky
Almost Getting Raped by a Marine
Typical Weekend in Ohio
How Cobain Saved My Life


How long could we maintain? I wondered. How long until one of us starts raving and jabbering at this boy? What will he think then? This same lonely desert was the last known home of the Manson family; will he make that grim connection when my attorney starts screaming about bats and huge manta rays coming down on the car? If so, well, we'll just have to cut his head off and bury him somewhere, 'cause it goes without saying that we can't turn him loose. He'd report us at once to some kind of outback Nazi law enforcement agency and they'll run us down like dogs. Jesus, did I say that? Or just think it? Was I talking? Did they hear me?


AFTER


WHAT'S MY NAME?!?