|Reading these suicide pages you will find people seeking help and people offering their help. Some witness about suicide from real life experience, others who play along with me would pretend it's a children's game. Some make sick and cruel jokes about it, and angry people blame me for even mentioning the subject. You might also want to read my favourite answers. If you want your answer to be included here, fill in the form.|
What is the best way to kill yourself when you're under 13?
Quelle est la meilleure forme de suicide pour les moins de 13 ans?
|31 Aug 2003||Lucy Cortina||I can't get away from it!
I'm on a special lesbian-detox, and what happens? I see Madonna snogging Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera on my mini portable battery operated TV last night.
It's all so disturbing to me. I reported Felicia last week and she got sent to a special home because she attempted to commit suicide after I told her I didn't love her. I might go in and see visit her now. I might take her a few copies of Housewives Without The Husband, to cheer her up.
And maybe a copy of the latest newspaper.
There's a lovely picture of Christina Aguilera turning up at the VMA awards, dressed as a pink feather duster.
That should cheer her up.
|18 Aug 2003||Felicia on Economical Spending||My stress of Arnold being the next governor is hazy. But for all you know he may be good. Some American born citizens become judgmental by assuming Arnold Schwarzenegger will win through popular vote in the recall election and be a terrible California State Governor.
For one thing as far as math skills, Arnold counts his safe and swiss accounts daily from the residual incomes of blockbuster Terminator hits along with Olympia Gold Medals, including his connection to the Kennedy Dynasty. Compared to California Governor Gray Davis, American born, whom thirty-six years ago rolled in beach sand and moonlighted kisses with Cybil "Maddie Hayes" Sheppard. If we, the born Americans were all trained in math to be highly efficient with the rest of the World, there will be no economic budget crisis, less suicides, wealth in the land, and less frivolous governmental spending on IKEA furniture from Washington D.C. to the White House.
Though I myself am not able to handle the balancing of governmental accounts assets, which will involve millions of dollars, I too can be overwhelmed and say, Well I'll let the government take care of it, they can figure it out.
Well, that's what one accountant did and that is why the senate is spending money the accountant stashed away because he or she had no time to deal with it. As a result, new furniture from Ikea and Apple computer monitors get expedited to the White House. Later Arnold gets elected from the total recall vote, fixes up the economic deficit with his honed math skills and Swiss accounts, his face gets engraved on fifty cent coins, taxes are refurbished, exercise tapes on health and beauty are distributed to each household along with pumping iron pills, and we are at world peace all over again.
Thank you God. Arnold is here to save the world from economic destruction and I am running out of lottery money, badly.
Please support the Felicia Floresca Organization of the Economically Deprived at 1600 Pennsylvania Washington D.C.
Assign it in attention to the accountant in charge of the Bush weaponry fund.
Money orders only please and send it through Federal Express, overnight delivery.
|05 Aug 2003||Lucy Cortina||Wow Mouchette, 2 holidays. Who is paying for the babe-filled trips to Barbados? I expect you have a day-job as a pornstar or something.
Meanwhile, for Lucy, it was one of those nights.
I had invited my bezzie mate Felicia over for a girly evening, so she hoisted her hefty new bosoms over to my place. It was a bit of a a squeeze getting her through the door, but we managed.
We had the Doritos out and Pachamama wine. In approx 40 minutes time we would be as trollied as skunks and doing dares involving root vegetables.
"Look at my new bag!!!" trilled Felicia. I stared at it. It was sort of pink and frilly, with a leather strap.
"What about it?" I said, which was when Felicia grabbed my head and shoved my nose right into the bag. After regaining my composure, I stared at the bag for a long time, as I knew that you have to let Felicia have her way or she gets a bit ratty and can steal your underwear.
So I kept staring at the pink bag.
It looked like a lesbian overnight bag.
Uh oh, I had thought too soon. At that moment, Felicia said "I love you Lucy!!! I love you!" and tried to kiss me.
I managed to fend her off with a french baguette in the end (french men make very nice baguettes, as Mouchette should well know).
Once she was out of my front door, she started making a fuss out in the street, but people probably dismissed her as a drunk coming home from a heavy night at the corner pub. She kept yelling and yelling in the street, asking me to look outside or open a window for her.
But nothing in the world would make me open my glistening curtains to her.
The moral? Lucy doesn't do lesbianism.
|14 Jul 2003||Chris||I'm back! You thought that I commited suicicide, I didn't! I don't know why but I'm still alive. Last time I wrote something for my friends at Mouchette was at sometime in April! Oh what a long time. I tried to live without Mouchette and without thinking about suicide but I ended up here again and in these hot summer months suicide is very much almost at the top of the agenda!
Summer is really with us again and along with all of the excellent things that the long hot months bring such as barbecues, beers by the beach, busy bars and restaurants and long drinks during the long hot evenings, come the usual (for me anyway) disastrous things. What do I mean? Well, for instance, every year I buy a new pair of swimming shorts and every year I look less like like the guy in the brochure illustrating them. It doesn't matter what I do I can't make my legs look good in a pair of shorts. Which leads me to the next problem...
A suntan! For some reason unknown to the modern scientific world my body refuses to tan, I just turn a vivid, ugly pink then go back to my normal sickly pallor. Every summer I have arguments with sexy girls about the fact that I try to spend at least several hours in the sun at the weekend in my vain attempt to get a healthy colour, while ten minutes at the beach is about their limit. They turn a gorgerous golden brown while I remain a patchwork of varying shades of pink. Which leads me to my next problem...
Tummies! Everyone is obsessed by their stomach during the summer, I for one have now practically perfected the art of speaking while sucking in my belly button till it almost meets my spine, so if you encounter a little guy at the beach who looks as if he is critically constipated and is speaking in short gasps, don't worry, it's only me trying to pretend that I am Brad Pitt!
To make matters worse and even summer (where I should be enjoying my holidays) more suicidal I have to put up with the regular beach perverts and freaks. Where do these guys go for the winter months? Wherever it is they are back again every June through October gracing our beaches with their antics. You know the chaps I mean, they are to be found not more than two metres away from any attractive female on the beach (under eighty and in possession of a pulse qualifies as attractive in their book apparently) staring fixedly at her while practising their juggling under their towel, at least that's what it looks like they are up to anyweay! And can anyone tell me why it is that in these times of gender equality women don't behave like this when they see young men at the beach? I've certainly never been pestered but I imagine my ugly pink legs sticking out of the baggy shorts, my hopeless suntan and my growing tummy are explanation enough for that lack of attention.
I come up with only two real solutions. The first one is suicide! The second is, (now that I've heard from Felicia that Lucy has become a surgeon), surgery, you know, just take away some fat, create some built up body and somehow some sexy tan. The last idea (which is not a solution at all) is like Kurt Cobain said "I am ugly but (at least) so are you"
P.S I cannot give an e-mail address right now because of some problems.
See you all in hell, at a surgeon or disgustingly on the beach!
|08 Jul 2003||Felicia had a breast implant done.||You know, I was always wondering about Lucy Cortina and Billy the Freak. I read all of Lucy's posts. Then I read Billy's. Yes, Madame Lucy, I am but nosey rather than big busted and I'm one of your greatest admirers who wished to have replicas of your wondrous casabas.
One night I was looking at the SPICE channel for a good hour. I analyzed it and realized that all these entertainers had breasts enlargements the size of cantaloupes with marshmallow-like qualities. Most of the girls were lesbians I suppose, so if I stared long enough, no doubt, I think I might be lesbian; However, I like men at the same time, especially the ones with effeminate qualities like Clay Aiken of American Idol. (Sorry Clay, you kind of stick out like Barry Manillow in the crowd. But I bought the front cover of you for the Rolling Stone. I still love you though.)
Well anyways, one day, I took a trip to a breast surgeon. Paperwork had to get filled out and I was wondering if I had insurance coverage for extensive cosmetic surgery. In the charts, I was advised if the surgeon can suck out the fat from my tummy and stick it in my chest or use that silicone stuff that Demi Moore and Carmen Elektra uses. I decided to go for the works. In a display case, I saw the silicone models and picked up each one to feel the texture. One felt cushy like a slipper sea urchin. It wiggled like jello and it slid out of my hand into the plastic case. The second one felt like a sandwich bag filled with silly putty. It just felt so artificial and pokey. The third one felt like a silk glove, so I chose that one. It balanced so perfectly in place. After my selection, the doctor got a marking pen and placed circles and lines all over my upper chest, and I was given chart diagrams for particular breast sizes. Staring in the mirror for a long amount of time, I looked like the directional chart for a football game strategy itinerary.
That final day came when the anesthesiologist put the triangular orifice over my teeny flat nose and mouth. Under my hospital gown, my boobs were covered. A breathing respirator was to my left, and a needle was placed in my right arm. The anesthesiologist directed me to count from 100 backwards. I did.
100...99...98....(my head started buzzing and everybody sounded like children on helium.)
(Then lights out.)
I slightly woke up again and felt my head circling from nausea. There was Lucy Cortina standing before me in doctor garb. OMIGAWD!!! She's a doctor. She took her doctor hat and facemask off and whispered in a sweet voice;
"Now Felicia. Abracadabra! You now have wondrous casabas!"
An hour later, I was then wheeled to the recovery room to have relief from the surgery. Three weeks later it was time to have the stitches removed. Bandages were still in place and lights all pointed to my chest. Dr. Cortina removed the bandages and removed the stitches, and later I stared into the mirror. My mouth flew open wide.
- to be continued till next week.
|07 Jul 2003||Felicia, your daily advisor.||One night, my heart was pattering so fast because I thought of this one guy, who I thought, digged me. Then I kept rewinded the thought in my head, the bittersweet words he spoke: " I was just using you for sex." Now just thinking about this would make anyone feel like ending it all. In short, some of you would say, "That's really fucked up! Chuck the bastard!!"
You know that thought...
It's like having a water hose stuck in your left nostril with water pressure on full power. Of course, literally, it would help you wash those awful thoughts away, and actually you would end your life by drowning, which I don't recommend.
Rejection is a daily cycle of life in which we all have to accept. We cannot force anybody to love us any more or any less. If things always happened our way, we would disturb the "natural order" as quoted by our dear old friend, Shakespeare. The world would be utter chaos if things always happened our way. If we tried killing ourselves, we would take life into our own hands, and cause a disturbance in this world.
If you tell yourself that you don't matter, it would be the same as telling me that I don't matter. We have a purpose to this society whether it would be negative or positive.
Don't contemplate that portal to self destruction. Why? Because down the road there may be something in store for you that you will really miss.
...And that would be finding YOU.
|18 Jun 2003||Felicia On LIFE||I soon discovered at age 13, life would begin at 18. At 18, after losing my virginity, I actually thought life in blissful matrimony would happen until I was 25. Ten years later I grew older and had a mind of my own, never married, never had any children, and went out with guys who decided to remain at the maturity level of13 years or younger who have no clue in reading books on better relationships and sex tips Though one can sure ace as fellow mastermind on Dungeons and Dragons, pretend in being some secret agent of a Matrix or governmental conspiracy, remain planted behind the boob tube, conquer video games, drool at porno flicks, guzzle down several bottles of Budweiser and reefers all in one shot
all in the presence of being taken cared of by a significant other, or their mommy. Oh yeah, dating a computer freak who downloads on newest movies never yet seen on film with a barely naked eye, only to be watched rather than waste matinee or evening price. You finally meet the right one and think the world of them, knowing that they are married. You thought they would be wonderful in bed, yet find that they are lousy, when they think that the second round is too soon, and actually found that foreplay was more on your court and you were the teaser. Then you reminisce on the 26 year old homeboy that kept pumping you till you were tired even trying, when you keep wondering where they get all that energy from, and the previous homebody before that who was only out for your buckaroos. Alas, you break it off for no apparent reason because you were starting to feel like an A-holes Nancy. Not to forget, the time you almost got busted with your pants down, smoking reefers with a guy nine years younger than you, and having your bum exposed to California Highway Patrol. Then you have a cavity search and the Johns look at your teeth thinking you are a crack addict, only finding out that you have calcium deficiency and you feel like a blithering idiot. A young cop folds his hands and rolls his eyes up his head stating, "Oh please! Stop your drama!" Then he looks at your chest. Then you get proposed to by a guy you feel most comfortable but not so in love with and you think about the married guy when you are doing the horizontal polka. Then you keep wondering about how the Osbornes can have their daughter sing a re-hash of Madonnas Papa dont Preach.
And you contemplate committing suicide?
GAWD!!! I survived. If I can survive through all this shinola... then so can you.
|14 Jun 2003||the gay punk||hi just a girl. thank ?god? that i still have people like you to cling on to.
friday the 13th is such the shit. as i thought, hey, i'd smash my head in the toilet in remembrance of the elusive derrick, all of that was stopped.
the fucking guy was there.
i was like, shit, you fucker stop playing games with me, you don't exist. but he was there. and we sort of had this conversation (in a group of people, please don't hate me because i am popular in school, i am popular in school as a freak!) the coppers are still gonna take him away though, but that's for NEXT WEEK!!! oh, lucy, just a girl, and will, and felicia i am so happy!! i still had the chance to see him.
i didn't tell him that i loved him though.
|06 Jun 2003||just a girl||Happy Birthday Felicia... :)|
|05 Jun 2003||Lucy Cortina||Too true Felicia. Every day is your birthday, and everyday is a day for boobies.
Weekend is for cocks.
|04 Jun 2003||Felicia has a birthday but it was missed.||Yesterday was my birthday. I did what any girl did. I read through the board of emails talking to my friends. I invited them all to my pool party two weeks ago, but nobody came. It was just another busy workday, I suppose. I told nobody at work because I did not want to reveal to them my age. Saddened as can be I was not only reminded about my old age, but then I started thinking of life, and how cruel it can be. Then I thought about the day, when I almost threw in the towel, and how it would help to recover by the help of a good friend, Thanks a million, Lucy!!! Though I wish that I can turn back the clock just once to my younger 21 year old self and piddle my life away on Lady Godiva Bon Bons. I figured a day at the health spa would do me the trick.
Folks... My birthday advice to everybody. It is a lonely, lonely world out there. Strive to be happy by treating yourself to the little things in this world that can make your life better, rather than dwell on the negative aspects of reasoning.
To all the techies out there:
We are not living in "The Matrix" for it is only fiction.
Life is what you make it and everyday is your birthday.
|03 Jun 2003||Lucy Cortina||A friend of mine was discussing with me last night, apart from "boobies", forms of suicide. She thinks that getting a gun and shooting yourself will work. Then she paused and said, "But won't you go to jail for attempting to murder... YOURSELF?!" Stupid, stupid, I know!
Then her mummy said "You would be locked up in a secure mental hospital".
So there's my answer, huh.
Oh Felicia, how I feel for you. But I won't be feeling for your boobies. It's always been said that the American population (bar actors/resses, popstars and TV presenters) are officially obese. Obese boobies, however, is a great thing. It's a pity that Icecream wasn't injected into them instead.
When I was anorexic and my arms got very thin, I just replied: "Missy Elliott sat on them!"
As for Billy, alas.
Face down chanting "...and then they hit me!" (meaning my.. er, 'bombs') in a pub is no doubt his current location.
|02 Jun 2003||Felicia was rescued by Lucy||It has been exposed. The #1 killer of the brain is excessive television with numerous amounts of reality shows involving "contests with boobies", The subliminal messages in those shows during commercial breaks are quite harmful. You see skinny attractive youths on cell phones, bandashering their silicone filled boom booms and bare midrift tubbies. Some of the teenage girls say, "Look at me! Look at me! I can flash my cute pertly titties! ( I see Lucy doing the same on the sidelines here.)" Of course the little boys get horny, and here I am feeling, very, very, "without". It so bothersome sometimes as I turn off the set and head of to the market to purchase a pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream after a brief commercial. On the way home, I pull out a drawer, peel the ice cream lid and start scooping. Then I start crying.... and then I start scooping, because my boobs aren't big enough. I head up the stairs and look in my drawer of "not nots" and "what nots" then all of a sudden, out of the drawer appeared a set of water boobies that Lucy Cortina bought for me last Christmas. I sniffed it slowly since it still had the scent of plastic, placed it beneath my bra, pushed up my boom booms and shook again to the rap song of "Baby Got Rack!"
As daring as I was, I drove to the record store wearing a tight top and curvy belly midrift pants. The guys did stop and stare... Yes... I saw a set of long, longs, across the way. The cashier at the front of the store rung up my cd and all he stared at was my breasts. I then looked up and found he was handsome and hand a long, long.
It was then that he asked me out for coffee.
Thanks, Lucy Cortina, SS Double Agent 00,
I love you!!!! Thanks for saving my life...
By the way, what's up with Billy the Freak?
|22 May 2003||Felicia - Your advice person||2-May 2003 -
Response to Liz.
Thirteen is a young age to think of suicide. But no matter, young or old, you should not think about this. Being a teenager is horrible, nonetheless. You are going through changes, mingling with peers, having to live to everyone's standards by being popular. Visualize yourself in the next five years after you graduate from High School and realize at such a precious age you have so much to look forward to. As for me, which was twenty two years ago, I had to struggle to get by in Junior High dealing with pesky 8th graders. It was horrible having to school everyday without the support of parents or peers. I was completely on my own, until I got involved in a music program with the school marching band. Yes, so it may seem geeky to some folks, and I am not advising you to join a marching band on the account of me, but there are so many programs to get involved in your school and so much counseling sessions to go to. Am I asking you to seek the assistance of professional help? No. But there are cheaper alternatives to deal with better subjects that involve outdoor activities or more.
Suicide is not the answer. It's only a false solution.
|21 May 2003||Felicia is dilly dallying||Absent Minded me.
Ravishing through a tinker box full of sots I encounted an item that I have long forgotten... a box of macaroni with boobie shapes, weenies, and tiny butts. (No kidding!) And there will little bugs embedded on them. Ewwwwk! Gross! As I decided to toss them, into the garbage can they went. As I sashayed upstairs into the swimming pool, there were bugs, mosquitoes mind you everywhere! I screeched again as the varmints floated against the surface, awaiting to suck me dry. The heat beamed on the ground making the concrete hot to walk on. Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! As I skimmied down the stairs, like a scittish waif, away from the bugs and the rays in the background, Elton John's song "The Bitch is back" was lingering in the soundwaves of a small, small radio. Thank God for MP3's, I didn't need to change a song. My player played on a remote through an FM transmitter. Thank God for this neat technology.
Through the hot torrid heat of my Cabana, I finally stepped on a poor slug. How sad it is to step on such a slimey thing that siezes to live. The slug had no choise to contemplate its demise.
So it is the beginning of Spring.
|16 May 2003||Felicia the unexpected||Felicia's useless facts:
Rosey O'Donnell is not gay.
(She was a manic depressive to begin with.)
The laughing cow on the butter box did not laugh just for posing. She had her udders tickled.
The Cadbury Bunny didn't lay eggs, but gave birth to marshmallow bunny peeps.
Tom Arnold did not marry Rosanne for money, but who would believe that one.
On higher elevations, cookies don't bake the same as lower elevation cookies. They puff up and burn, then you toss them.
Drinking your own pee is not insanitary or is it? Well it does come out of your own body. (I was told this and it grossed me out, so I might as well share this with you anyway.)
To be vain is okay. To be overly vain is the same. To be too vain, is bad. Overly? What the heck, who cares?
All "Gothic" people love black only. Not true. I wear black all the time just to hide my "very gross" veins.
Bras in the beginning were first used as sling shot weapons. The cave woman that slingshot her prey for the lazy cave husband, was distracted by her shaking boobs, used the slingshot as backup to prevent herself from tripping.
When you want revenge on a one night stand philanderer, buy a pregnancy test kit. Mark the window indicator with a red pen, tell him that your pregnant. Wait nine months later, feign having a baby, and collect child support from that dumb ass twat. Ooooh! That's bad. For best results, if the incident happened around July, wait till the beginning of April and say out loud, "April Fools!"
This Mouchette site was set up by an org of Cirque Du Soleil mimes.
No offense to my friends. Have a nice evening.
-Not the end-
|12 May 2003||Felicia in PMS mode||Hmphf! Snotty celebs on my recent website. No offense to you Lucy. It's these prima donnas have already gotten their boob jobs and I have none. They are fashioning up their Shakira like qualities and shaking their small, small asses. Left and warmed out like a melted crayon. Farted out like a can of pinto beans, thrown in a bleached pool and making my blonde highlights look green. Where's the deodorant?!! GADS!! There is none! I'm out of pads, I ran out of tampons!!!
Help! Help! Someone drank my last can of TAB cola!!!
|07 May 2003||Felicia-Your health guru||A cure for deep depression everybody, try it it works.
-Heat up a kettle of water.
-Make a cup of Genmai cha tea.
-Fill a tub up with green tea bath salts
-Soak and forget your worries and troubles of the world
-Do not listen to anything, just deep silence
-Light a candle by the tub, indulge the beauty of the flame and relax.
Do this for the next couple of weeks and find positive results. You will forget you ever wanted to kill yourself.
- Great for all ages.
|03 May 2003||Felicia||Want excercise? Get a wet doggie.
There I was, tired with frustration and observing the wet dog. Clint! I yelled out. The dog was trying out my patience again, running frantically in circles around the pool. It was as though he was a helpless child that dropped a prized toy in the bottom of the pool. Actually it was one of those red Kongs; a rubber-like ball the shape of a pyramid shaped Devo hat. I wondered, now where can I locate that pool net? I checked the sauna room, nothing; I checked the room that operated the Jacuzzi pump with heater and sauna jets, nothing. More impatient, my brain lost all sense of memory and then a light bulb appeared on my head. Check behind the Cabana, and alas! There it was! I went down the steps by the Cabana and dragged a long pole, about ten feet long to the edge of the pool. With determination I eyed the kong at the bottom of the pool, penetrating the net all the way down by the drain. Instantaneously, I tried to scoop the Kong with the net, but it fell over despite the great effort. Augh!! I grunted in exasperation. Running back and forth around the pool, flowers, Jacuzzi rocks, while stampeding over me, like a wet elephant, as I lay to get the Kong, Clint, jumped into the shallow part of the pool and got wet. It was as though a bear with wet fur was frolicking around the lake for its prey. Out of frustration Clint stopped and eyed the Kong, coming up with the net, from the bottom of the pool. I gently glided the Kong to the shallow part of the pool within Clints distance. There he began prodding his face into the pool from the ledge, and using paws trying to scoop the Kong up.
And for the third time it fell to the bottom of the pool again.
With the fourth attempt out of frustration I grabbed the Kong myself and threw it down the pebbled stairs. Forgetting to close the slide door as Clint ran into the house with wet and muddy paws on beige white carpet, I sighed temporary relief, then closed the gate on a cold chilly evening.
So much for previous carpet steam cleaning and wet dog.
|02 May 2003||Felicia-Your Advisor, The Next Dear Ann Landers||Dear Depressed 24/7
You know, if you feel you are leery about being infected and money is not the option at the moment, please go to the nearest Planned Parenthood center for a diagnosis. This will clear your conscience through your horrible crisis, and give you back your sense of self worth. Violence in the streets is ever so prevalent in this world as well as at home. Feeling entrapped or entrapment, the feeling of being caught between the devil and the deep blue sea can drive one to deep depression. I support you through your hardship with sincerity. Please be gentle to yourself, and for the both of us, give yourself a hug. Realize that with every gray cloud in the sky, there is a silver lining.
As for the life of your two year old, please understand that contemplating on killing yourself is not a solution. A two year old needs his or her mother. A two year old without a mother is the greatest sadness in the world. Whether or not you have a disease, doesnt mean life should end. If you are unable to handle life in general, seek the help of a friend or close relative. If all options are unavailable, come back to this site and have a talk with me, or talk to a suicide crisis center, because living the pain of living life on your own can be very scary. Hold strong to your convictions that all misery will soon pass and believed that things could only change for the better only if you allow it to
Being isolated from friends who believe you have something contagious were not friends to begin with. A friend is one who sticks by you no matter what the circumstance is. Make new friends; get involved in organizations that support the less unfortunate. I found that volunteer work helping others has opened my eyes to other possibilities, and gave me additional help by just word of mouth, especially with your circumstance. If this is not for you and you feel there is never time, suicide should not be your option. Stare the fear out and have faith in yourself. Dont believe the negative jargon that you hear, but stay with the positive. Stay away from negative people from now on.
This is not the end, but the beginning.
- Sincerely - Felicia