|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?
|07 Apr 2003||Lucy Cortina||As I sat eating breakfast this morning - 1 sausage ad 2 boiled eggs (*oh!*) - I had a sudden, and shocking moment of fearful realisation. My inflatables (breasts, that is - what else?) are ENORMOUS. I have become accustomed to sellotaping two bin bags together as a bra fow a while now, yet this is not what I see when the modern singers of today perform on music shows, like Christina Aguilera. That's because she doesn't have a bra - she never wears any clothes.
I flicked through my copy of Spanking Digest, but found nothing. So I picked up my latest copy of Incontinence Weekly and spotted the page I was looking for:
"Psychic Pam - able to read the cosmic breastial powers, and tell you things about yourself that you already know".
The phone number was £50 a minute, but as I was depertae (and I can foward the bill to Super Secret Spy Sex), I tapped in the number on my phone.
The tones for each number are different, so to amuse myself I tried playing "Frere Jacques" on the keypad, when suddenly a stern voice yelled "I am not able to read your breasts at the moment, I am dealing with a client named Pamela Anderson". Here we go I thought, I will be on this phone waiting all day if she's reading Pammy's tits. A tune started playing on the phone. It was Britney Spears' hit "Baby one more time". I ran into the cupbord, grabbed my old school uniform and did the dance moves to this incredible work-of-art of-a-song. By the time the psychic answered the phone, I was sweating like a waterfall and my breasts had already shrunk 3 sizes. And it hit me! They only needed a little of the gas inside them releasing! I guess you could call them little "breast farts". And the dancing had helped the wind escape. So, my breasts have farted, and shrunk, all because of a Britney Spears record (It shocked me too!). I guess I better follow the wise one and book myself into a clinic as soon as possible. No tits = no career. Although Britney is the biggest tit I have ever seen, so I guess that's a contraception. I mean contradiction!
There's never a happy end to a happy ending!
|03 Apr 2003||Lucy Cortina||I'm sorry Danny, but with my boobs, I don't want to..let's say "agitate" the situation. This is one mission Lucy's boobs will be taking a back-seat on.
Drunk, in the back of some dodgy Pakistani London-cabbie's taxi, yelling "Are youshh Osamshh Bin Binbag?"
|02 Apr 2003||Danny Keaton||Lucy, come in Lucy. This is the D Train calling Lucy Cortina. Ive been trapped in some kind of worm hole, the entire SSSS brigades boobs are enlarging! This strange natural wonder will spread to the earth realm unless i stop it. You must help me Lucy, to fight this evil for the sake of humanity!|
|01 Apr 2003||Lucy Cortina||INQUIRY INTO THE DEMISE OF "BILLY" AKA. TONY BLAIR:
He was indeed found slumped on the bathroom floor, surrounded by pill-bottles.
On closer inspection, the bottles were found to contain labelling of a suggestive nature: they were infact laxatives - 2 bottles of Ex-Lax, 2 bottles of Immodium plus, and one containing muscle growth powder.
This draws conclusion to the suspicions of many Americans, that indeed Bush *does* suffer from the fast-food binge-stick.
Billy had infact been ejected from George Dubya Bush's arse.
It does not, however, explain the reasons why Billy (Blair) leaped from the bathroom floor and proceeded to flap his arms like a chicken and yell "They're here! The weapons of mass destruction!"
We soon realised that he was not referring to Mrs SadMa'm Insane, who earlier this week had confessed, "I could tell you where my hubby's been hiding his weapon of mass destruction!"
He was infact referring to the 2 bulbous objects staring him in the face - my cleavage.
He escaped through the fire exit. Actually, he dived into the toilet.
We are tracking his movements using ultra-sensitive radar (a ribbed condom) and we believe he is currently residing in warm and moist Australian bush land (No, not Kylie Minogue or Nicole Kidman). We expect devastating fires to ignite anytime in the *coming* week.
The investigation continues...
Lucy Cortina, Agent 00 oh oh what a feeling! of the SSSS.
|29 Mar 2003||Lucy Cortina||Warm bosoms, I quite agree. That's why the likes of Fakey Britney Spears are such cold-harted bitches, you don't get the same guarantee when you shove pieces of cold slimey chicken into your goods.
Warm-blooded, warm-breasted, and a whole lotta ass :)
|24 Mar 2003||Lucy Cortina||There's nothing more that brings a tear to my bosom than hearing that my beauty (s) saved another soul, Felicia.
Let breasts continue to save lives, as were they designed for.
It's amazing that breasts can bring so much joy to this world.
Someone once said of Kylie Minogue: "You can't plan your career around your ass" (but you can plan your private life around it!)
But breasts are a whole different kettle of bras, they can rebuild this shattered world.
3 cheers for breasts!
|23 Mar 2003||Felicia - Your Guardian Angel in Disquise||My offered suggestion. The world is a mess. The only way you can get out of this deep blue funk is by breathing. I see and hear people saying that committing suicide is stupid and they never tell you why. Committing suicide is too much of an easy way out. It's about as simple as opening a can of soda and drinking it. When people ask how they should kill themselves, it is because they are afraid to even attempt it. I can offer all the solutions in how one can kill themselves and offer imaginative ideas in how you can do it in a "dramatic way". But that would defeat my purpose in helping you. You know, I was walking one morning on an unpaved sidewalk in a city we always call "the place that Frank left his heart at" and happened to look at the Golden Gate Bridge. San Francisco is the place I call home and I have many friends here. Though I am not homosexual, I have many homosexual friends and love all of them. I was talking to my friend Jimmy one day and he told me that I lacked common sense. I said, "Why?" Well, he said my place is a mess and it looked like shit, my home life is in shambles, my family sucks, and my Iguana is always starving. One day, I wanted to kill myself because I felt like it. Then I went to the search engine and found this website. Then I read about Lucy Cortina and Billy the Freak's conversations, back and fourth, and it made me feel much better. Though I think Lucy Cortina may think that I have a few screws loose and she lost all respect for me, doesn't mean I can't look at her talented chats back and fourth with cool famous people with her momentous episodes of boob jokes. I laughed my ass off and said, "Gee, life is pleasant after all! So you see, committing suicide is not fun. My friend, my young one, my old one, age doesn't matter, I feel your pain. If you can find one thing that makes you happy, go for it. Because you missed out on many things and people bring you down, doesn't mean you should end your life. It's sad to say that it will not bring someone close to you or love you more. You would just be a statistic. My suggestion is this, try something that you never attempted doing by taking a plane to a different town or country and see the world. If you can't afford it, save for it. I know that running away from your problems never helps, but taking a trip to see other countries or cities never hurt. Then explore what it would be like in a place that you never experienced before. My friend, life is full of new experiences. Look how beautiful it is in the sky at night and look out at the stars. Make a wish on every shooting one, and believe that wish. Its when you dont believe that you often fail. Wish yourself out of this deep blue funk and write the wildest things that you want to do. Buy a journal and write your dreams down. Do it as a favor for me? Please?
And by the way, dont let the state of the world get you down. Dont even think of it, just think of you for a change and relax. And first start with breathing better and treating yourself to a nice cool glass of ice water. Please! Dont drown yourself! Because you will not be breathing!!! Purchase a set of headphones and listen to your favorite songs. The world around you can be put on hold for just a moment and remember try not to analyze it so much. Just relax.
|20 Mar 2003||Lucy Cortina||Idiot - I've never been serious about killing MYself, I dunno about the others. But if I need to read another post like yours, I probably will be.|
|18 Mar 2003||Lucy Cortina||What if I decide to rent my boobs, Danny?
I was faxed earlier today from Sadham Insane requesting the purchase of atomic weapons. He needs them as protection. I hope agent Billy succeeds soon. My mind is all cofuzzled as to what to do.
To rent, or not to rent, that is the question.
Although, didn't they say Shakespare was gay? Damn, that cancels out asking him for breastial advice.
Meanwhile I've been observing movements within Buckingham palace. Prince Charles' aide has resigned following an internal probe. He used to perform duties such as squeezing the prince's toothpase onto a brush for him.
I asked Charles if he could add further to the situation.
He's unavailable for comment.
Because he's stuck on the toilet, waiting for someone to come and wipe his ass.
|14 Mar 2003||Lucy Cortina||Well Danny, what can I say? My bra is certainly so big that you could string it all around the streets of Rome. I've faxed Mission Control about the alarming growth rate of my boobs, but they ignore the issue - they refused to send Dr. Kildare to inspect my problem.
As for Mission Vixy, well, when the vicars see my huge inflatables tumbling down the hill, they will think it's the second coming of Jesus and flee.
Jesus never did approve of nakedness. As we all know...
|13 Mar 2003||Lucy Cortina||Danny,
the stuffed olive suit no longer exists. Oil breaks down the rubber, like condoms, everyone knows that. Tell mission control that I want a pay rise and extended leave immediately! I've been stuck in this rotten suicidal dump for long enough!
Oh, and a new bra wouldn't go amiss...
Lucy Cortina, Agent 00 oh oh! of the SSSS.
|12 Mar 2003||Danny Keaton||RE: Lucy Cortina's "stuffed-olive" party escapade-
The stuffed olive suit was made for purposes of super sexy secret spy missions, not one of your fancy man filled cocktail parties. Mission control wants a word with you once you've sobered up.
Daniel Keaton of SSSS.
|11 Mar 2003||Michael Mackellar|| MY PULSAR ~WOW!!
i read about Pulsars this morning (also referred to as spinning, magnetic-neutron stars). My birthstar may be one of these instead of the Blackhole i felt it must have been when i was little. Did you know the magnetic field of My Pulsar is about 100 billion times as strong as the magnetic field of the Earth??
Actually, i'm exaggerating a bit. It is only 1 billion times as strong. Most pulsars spin once every second or so; the slowest has a period of about 4 seconds, but the fastest yet discovered (which happens to be mine) spins on its axis more than 600 million times a second. Actually, i've just caught myself exaggerating again. It is only 600 times a second, but we're working on making it more impressive.
Imagine a ball of stuff the size of Lucy Cortina's left... Novelty, yet containing as much mass as our Sun, spinning once every 1.6 milliseconds and there you'll have some idea just what My Pulsar is like... ...Once again i've managed to exaggerate the facts and for that you have my apologies. You would only have to imagine a ball of stuff the size of Mt Everest... nothing so immeasurably gigantic as the aforementioned... Novelty.
By the bye, Roger Blandford, of Caltech, has estimated that there may be more than 100 million isolated blackholes across our Milky Way galaxy... and that the nearest one may indeed be much further away than we'd all like to hope it could be.
|10 Mar 2003||Lucy Cortina||In not-so-secret code to agent Danny:
have saved the world again.
I am pleased to report that a vicar has been discovered tied to a lampost wearing only boxer shorts. This was during a dawn raid in an attempt to infiltrate the higly secret naked-vicar-cult-UK. This is a cult of practising vicars and similar holy men, who join hands once a month at undisclosed locations in the UK to dance naked around a camp fire at midnight.
We have yet to find them... but don't worry, agent Lucy will infiltrate the.. er "ring".
I fancy a bit of naked dancing...
Lucy Cortina, agent oo oh oh! of Super Secret Spy Sex (SSSS)
|09 Mar 2003||Felicia||Apologies to Lucy Cortina:
I started looking at my small specks. The jealousy of trying to compete with Lucy was utterly sad. Now she is mad at me. I always felt like the Jan Brady and she was the Marsha. "Marsha! Marsha! Marsha!" I screamed out in my head, but it was useless. To find solace, I had to seek the box of water-bras that Lucy gave me for Christmas. In the card, it read "with caring thoughts, Lucy". A tear streak fell out of the corner of my eye because I discovered jealousy can bring such an ugly face. I couldn't help that night when Lucy went out with a Knight, at the Royal French Palace in Paris. Lucy was stunningly beautiful with the crowd and showed such grace and poise. Then a Knight by the name of McKellar, took her sequined satin, precious diamond studded, gloved hand on to the dance floor. There I stood, amoungst the crowd as everybody gazed at the handsome couple. There was Billy staring at the handsome pair with his ear to ear grin. I tugged at Billy's coat tail but he failed to recognize me. I said, "Billy...Billy...Billy!" as crowds roared and cheered to the sway of the music. Still, he never heard me. Disgruntled, I took off, far from site to the back of the Palace and gazed at the moon from the balcony. The beautiful music played into the night. Then I started to cry like I never did before. It seemed I lost a sister and a friend, because of a joke I wrote in the post editorial one day. It suddenly was published and Lucy read it. Her shock was more than shock, so she shook with horror when I came to visit for tea at the Palace one morning. She yelled at me and said, "Felicia! Young lady, do you work for a tabloid?" I said, "No." "Well, then don't write anything about anybody if it isn't nice to say!" I said, "I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it!" To be told that I was like a reporter or the paparazzi was bad enough. I felt like the telemarketer of the media. I ran from the Palace to cool off and gather some thoughts. A few days later, I wheel barreled a crate filled with petals and daisies. I lay them on the ground in front of the palace so Lucy and her Knight and shining armor can see that I placed them in caring words a mile long. It read, "I'm sorry Lucy Cortina for the miserable things I've said and please forgive me." I am standing by the castle right now. But neither Lucy or her Knight read it because they have been busy for a long time. It's taking days.
The clock keeps ticking. The story continues.
|09 Mar 2003||Danny Keaton||Infostream inc. has been watching this board for some time and has finally got some answers to the death of our Directer, Fred E. Catt, or ol' Fred as he was known to friends. He was indeed killed in hospital, his oxygen hose cut off. With the information given by you, we now know it was indeed Spencer C. Bad, the priest, that had killed him. Lucy Cortina, our inside agent has tracked the movements of Spencer and has found that it is none other than... Jeanie. The guilt had built up so much in Jeanie that she HAD to tell someone, thinking she could pass off her wicked act as humor, so no one would notice. Thanks to Lucy here, Jeanie can finally be stopped, before she kills off more of the infostream staff.
Yours truely, Daniel Keaton of SSSS.
|09 Mar 2003||Lucy Cortina||Swallowing chunks is no problem for me, it used to be how I made my living. It's just that I'm not quite as inter-lectual as some people here. And I do believe that Danny Keaton of Super Sexy Spy Sex is tracking me for my new mission... I'm on the run, don't you know.|
|09 Mar 2003||Mouchette||And if I may add something to what Lucy Cortina just asked you, please Michael, put some returns in your text, so that we don't have to swallow such big chunks in one piece.|
|09 Mar 2003||Lucy Cortina||I've only just swallowed my medication Michael, I can only understand things in Teletubby terms at the minute.
Could you maybe write in larger letters, possibly with some colourful pictures, just for lil' me? The girls (the girls being my boobs) would much appreciate it too :)
|08 Mar 2003||Erosaviaus Mackellar||EVERYTHING AND NOTHING~
There was no one in him: behind his face(which even through the bad paintings of those times resembles no other)and his words, which were copious, fantastic and stormy, there was only a bit of coldness, a dream dreamt by no one. At first he thought that all people were like him, but the astonishment of a friend to whom he had begun to speak of this emptiness showed him his error and made him feel always that an individual should not differ in outward appearance. Once he thought that in books he would find a cure for his ill and thus he learned the small Latin and less Greek a contemporary would speak of; later he considered that what he sought might well be found in an element rite of humanity, and let himself be initiated by Lucy Cortina one Beautiful June afternoon. Instinctively he had already become proficient in the art of simulating that he was someone, so that others would not discover his true identity as no one; in London he found the profession to which he was predestined, that of the actor, who on a stage plays at being another before a gathering who play at taking him for that other person. His histrionic tasks brought him a singular satisfaction, perhaps the first he had ever known; but once the last verse had been acclaimed and the last dead man withdrawn from the stage, the hated flavor of unreality returned for him. He ceased to be Ferrex or Tamerlane and became no one again. Thus hounded, he took to imagining other heroes and other tragic fables. And so, while his flesh fulfilled its destiny as flesh in the pubs and brothels of London, the Soul that inhabited him was Caesar, who disregards the augur's admonition, and Juliet, who abhors the lark, and Mackellar, who converses upon the plain with witches who are also Fates. No one has ever been so many men as this man, who like the Egyptian Proteus could exhaust all the guises of reality. At times he would leave a confession hidden away in some corner of his work, certain it would not be deciphered; Richard affirms that in his person he plays the part of many and Iago claims with curious words "i am not what i am." The fundamental identity of existing, dreaming and acting inspired famous passages of his. For twenty years he persisted in that controlled hallucination, but one mourning he was suddenly gripped by the tedium and terror of being so many kings who die by the sword and so many suffering Lovers who converge, diverge and melodiously expire. That day he arranged to sell his theatre. Within a week he had returned to his native village, where he recovered the trees and rivers of his childhood and did not relate them to the others his muse had celebrated, illustrious with mythological allusions and Latin terms. He had to be someone; he was a retired impresario who had made his fortune and had concerned himself with loans, lawsuits and petty usury. It was in this character that he dictated the arid will and testament known to us, from which he deliberately excluded all traces of pathos or literature. His friends from London would visit his retreat and for them he would take up his role as Poet. History adds that before or after dying he found himself in the presence of God and told Her: "i who have been so many men in vain want to be one and myself." The voice of the Lord answered from a whirlwind: "Neither am I anyone; I have dreamt the World as you dreamt your work, my buried child, and among the forms in my dream are you, who like myself are many and no one."