|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?
|03 Jan 2003||Lucy Cortina||Ps - I thought Kylie Minogue wasn't very.. er... 'big' in America, Felicia?
I thought the Americans deemed her too sexy and so expelled her from your number? (much like myself, when my affair with Bush gets out, no doubt)
Mind you, America gave the world Britney Spears - Mrs Plastica Titties, of which I am the anti to.
What have we ever done that is so wrong to deserve such torture?
|03 Jan 2003||Lucy Cortina||I've done the broncho thing, Felicia. It played haddok... or rather havoc with my tights, and gave them ladders. Being sexy - as I have stated many times - is a tough job. It is not for the faint hearted.
I know a woman at my impatient-unit who hurt her back from too much sexual activity. Oh yeah, she's a vegetarian lesbian too. She said the other day to everyone:
"I'm just off to do my bits..."
We gasped in horror as to the implications of that statement. And I almost died in horror on the discovery of her laying on the floor outside the doctor's office "doing her bits" (exercises for her bad back). Ughh! She also has thighs like blocks of concrete from all the bike riding she does.
Anyway, as to PANS, Felicia, I only ever use a pan for one thing.
(and the occasional egg - although I am not too qualified in that profession, you understand - so don't get any ideas).
|31 Dec 2002||Lucy Cortina||I'll be there, shaking my bonbons, Felicia. Actually I will be in Leicester Square (in our beloved capital London) drenched in champagne and draped over a ford cortina. Yeah, they had the decency to name a car after me! I think the advert reads "The drive of your life - guaranteed to leave the competition lingering on the hard shoulder of the A1!"
Although, Felicia my darling, I do hope you are on no hard shoulders - you deserve a lot better. I gave you that bra in an understanding that it would bag you the best of the blessed (I'm not talking about vicars, you dirty people!)
But Felicia, my darling, I urge you to invest in some Bold Ultra (that's washing powder to Americans) and get out those chip-fat stains. It may be useful if you've bust a tyre, and park up in a greasy spoon cafe. But when you're invited to one of my dinner parties with my husband George W. Cortina, it will mean zilch. It's time to get out the old cheque book again...
say, I forget the bra toll in America these days... would £100 cover it?
|31 Dec 2002||Felicia||We were at Union Square in San Francisco, Lucy Cortina and I. She saw my downtrodden face as I gazed upon my small bosoms. She was truly blessed. We went into Victoria's Secret and saw laying upon a shelf...Low and behold...a box of fake rubber boobies (fakies shall we say?) They were displayed in two colors: porcelain shade and tan. I took the tan beauties out of the box, slowly, like...like, they were "My precious". I felt the texture of the fakies and had wishful thoughts of wearing them, forever. The rubber was so pliable and there among the tips of each one was a fake nipple. I told Lucy that I would be in the fitting room trying them on. In the fitting room under the incandescent lighting, I slipped each fake boobie under an underwire bra. They stuck out all right, like a twenty-one gun salute. Then, I shook them and became ecstatic because they looked so real. So I decided I'll take it. At the register, I took out my wallet to pay for the fakies and black underwire bra, but to my horrific horror, a piece of hair lint and a moth came out of my wallet. The cashier was very impatient and looked unimpressed. Out of pure embarrassment I said, "Omigawd!!" and hollered "I forgot the eighty dollars that Billy left on my dresser!! Augh!!" Well, I remembered that one day, Billy took in an old friend that was down in his luck to my apartment. The next thing you know, the old man was gone, well anyways, Lucy felt really bad for me, so she purchased the fakies and the black underwire bra. I said, "No Lucy! You shouldn't have!" She stared at me as if I were crazy, so I gave her a big hug. To this day I am still wearing my fakies and the black underwire bra. They are the best Christmas presents I ever had! Thank you dear Lucy, my Angel of Mercy! Should I wear them tonight for the Exotic Erotic Ball at San Francisco? Am I going to meet the Prince of my dreams?
Where are you?!!
|30 Dec 2002||Lucy Cortina||I wouldn't allow anyone aboard my boobies, Felicia, they are protected by the Wildlife Trust.
That and a super strong metallic bra.
Suddenly Austin Powers comes to mind -"You have the right to remain sexy".
Which indeed I do. And that could not happen with things dangling from the end of my bosoms.
But feel free to scale the heights of Billy's tower. There may be a Rapunzel at the very top of it.
|29 Dec 2002||Felicia||The ocean recedes, the motley of people stare... oh... the horror! High on a hill top, I flail like helpless bird with a broken wing and seeing the waves come crashing in. The valleys get filled with water. Wait. The mountain tops are soft. Oh my gosh! I am standing on Lucy Cortina's right boobie! (Suddenly silent) I see ole' one eyed Billy, grasping on the left mountain top for dear life. Then... I hear a loud voice, like thunder. "GET OFF!" The voice roared and the right mountain top hit me, like a large loaf of San Francisco Parmesan Bread. Rendered unconscious, I float to the bottom of the ocean. Out of nowhere, as if the fish were getting seanced, radar ripples become apparent in the water. It's... it's Aqua Man! He comes to rescue me. Holding me close and arms surrounding my 38C sized boobies, Aqua Man brings me to the ocean surface and lays me against a rock. Then he gives me the kiss of life, just like the girl in Dr. No's dream, except he is a guy. I awoke and found later that I was in love with a fish and laying on a rock out of nowhere.|
|29 Dec 2002||Lucy Cortina||Bloody Hell. Mouchette you must be drunk out of your mind on Schnapps to allow the peasants to re-enter our Boudoire of Sauciness. Who the hell needs bloomin' poetry? It's just a poor man's rap. Anyone could do it - here, let me try:
"I waddled to the loo.
And then I had a poop.
I sprayed my little can,
now the air don't smell like a man (ie - v. stinky)"
There. Look out Eminem, Lucy Cortina, nu Raunchy-Rap-Queen is gonna beat you to pulp.
I should be so lucky. I've eaten too many mince pies this Christmas, which means my waist-line has increased, which in turn means that my breasts have inflated slightly. I look like Pamela Anderson in space. Still, a full figure isn't always a bad thing. Now there's even more of me to love. As if you didn't already have enough.
Some religious nutters have created the first cloned baby recently, apparently. I would gladly donate half of my breasts to them so they could sculpt a head and a few arms and legs from them (they are very firm, you know). All they need is a propper human brain to go with them. Hey, didn't they keep Albert Einstein's brain pickled in a jar after he died? - they could use that! Although, perhaps the scientists in charge ate it with some chips and a pickled egg.
What is the world coming to?
|28 Dec 2002||Felicia||The best way to kill yourself when you are under 13 years old is not to utter a word and hold in your feelings. Then you wait another 22 years, undergoing tons of therapy, and experience jerk off boyfriends, that look like Nicolas Cage who are 9 years younger than you or one year older, who only want you for a one night stand, a Corona beer with lime, and fondling your 38C bosoms, and later down the road you figure out that they are a punk ass free loader with suicidal tendencies, a long rap sheet, and a so called Tupac Shakur mentality. (Sounds like a Jerry Springer candidate runner up.) Then you realized that 21 years ago, it was a stupid phase you went through when you tried to swallow a bottle of Geritol at age 14, because some high school freshman Tom Cruise wannabe asked if you were a slut, and you later spit them out because you didn't want to get caught by Dad and Mum. Twenty-two years down the road,you look up websites finding some solace when you feel like killing yourself again, remaining still single, eating chinese food, writing sad make believe stories in emails to friends, sending nude emails to ex-boyfriends, and writing in journals.... and you happen to stumble upon european people with bigger boobs than yours, like Lucy Cortina, while she chats to a guy that says "How now brown cow" once in a blue moon, till you laugh your pants off (Thank you Billy the freak) and realize that tragedy can build character out of humility. Thank the Wonderful Gods above for you both. You are simply Marvelous! Absolutely Marvelous! You have saved my life once again by keeping my mind occupied by your off the wall humor. Laughter... is indeed the best medicine.|
|20 Dec 2002||Lucy Cortina||Ps - Mouchette, I'm sat here gaping at the screen wearing one of those red welding helmets like in Kylie Minogue's "Can't get you out of my head" video. Cherish that image. You are to blame, by leading me astray to rogue webpages with pictures of huge arses on them.|
|20 Dec 2002||Lucy Cortina||"I thought this site attracted geniuses from around the world" - pardon?? This site has attracted 2 very famous 'geniuses', and has been doing so for quite a while now. My breasts are not just elegant ornamental things to be admired but not touched - they have brains of their own too. For example, my left breast sometimes feels suffocated and imprisoned by my red frilly bra - and does a bit of squeaky pushing and thrusting to try and escape. This also happens when my Billy drops his pants - but that's another story.
Sometimes my right breast gets tired of standing up pertly and proudly, and decides to have a little sleep - which is when it saggs and makes me look like one of those old-but-still-sexy women, whose breasts dangle down as far as the navel.
And anyway, President Bush probably frequents this site - how else can you explain his idiotic war-hunger-madness?
|14 Dec 2002||Lucy Cortina||What bullets do you have?|
|14 Dec 2002||Lucy Cortina||Hey hands off Jeanie! Otherwise it's back-in-the-lamp time for you...
I have my weapons and I'm not afraid to use them.
READY.... AIM.... FIRE!!!"
|13 Dec 2002||Danny Keaton||Two years of searching and I end up here. Agent Lucy Cortina of the SSSS was found to be M.I.A. two years back. Oh, that's Super Sexy Spy Sex, Britains top escort service. You cannot escape the agency forever, Lucy.
Daniel Keaton of the SSSS
|08 Dec 2002||Lucy Cortina||Billy, you and I both know the REAL reason you no longer posess an email address. It was all those half-nudie pictures of me that did it, wasn't it?
If 2 pillow cases cannot contain my womanly goods then no email address can.
Or maybe the email addy just wanted the pics of me all to itself and so banned you from entry.
Or... maybe George Dubya Bush is, as we speak, rifling through images of me with his greasy hands via a Whitehouse PC. They do say that the government have the rights to look through our mail (I always do wonder what happens to my copies of 'Mega Boys').
When Mr Bush decides to invade the UK in search of "weapons of mass destruction", you know what he's after!
America, here I come...
|07 Dec 2002||Lucy Cortina||To reeta - I use mothballs in my bras. Is that a bad thing?|
|06 Dec 2002||Lucy Cortina||*Squeals with delight* Oooh Billy, you naughty boy! I didn't expect a kiss and tell about our affair. I haven't even bought my weekly copy of HEAT magazine yet, I must have a look soon. I expect they put your interview somewhere in between Kylie Minogue's hotpants and Britney's pigtails.
It's almost Christmas. I'm expecting a lot of goodies and things to "unwrap". I wonder what's in santa's "sack" for me?
I hope I don't get one of those crappy prezzies where I have to say "It's the thought that counts...", when secretly I think it's a pile of ****. It's not the THOUGHT that counts - it's the PRESENT!!! I want a present that will mean that the rest of my life after receiving it will be an anti-climax. Not a snuff-box shaped like a banana!
A girl can dream. The best I can hope for this year is a pork pie in my hand, cranberry sauce in my hair and flashing my bottom out of the car-window in the freezing snow.
|03 Dec 2002||billy||- after my recent disappearance i was advised to hold a press conference and have an interview with some honest journalist, i don't really remember the name of the journalist, because i was stoned and it don't really matter. anyways, here are some of the questions and my answers.
Q: billy, after you went missing in action alot of talk started running around, so the question is where have you been?
A: when i was younger my mother always said "why don't you join the circus?" so, i wanted to live up to her dream. i got a job shoveling elephant shit for a travelling circus. the job itself was horrible, but the benefits was worth all the shit, free popcorn and all the mountain dew i could drink, plus the ring master's daughter put out, and you know and for mom.
Q: that sounds exciting, so then what happened?
A: well, when they started calling me billy the shit boy i knew it was time to rock and roll, when we got to great britain, i ran seeking refuge with an old friend.
Q: who was this old friend?
A: lucy cortina.
Q: hey, isn't she the one with the big...
Q: was she suprised to see you?
A: this was the first time we ever met, i guess she didn't expect me to be so handsome, so she threw me under the bed, in attempt to hide me from her snotty british friends. she wanted to keep me all for herself you see.
Q: of course, so billy, how did you feel being under the bed?
A: i felt with my hands, unfortunately i didn't get to feel much of lucy, for when my hand crept from under the bed -WHACK- with the hair brush handle, it was a neat handle because it doubled as a scalp massager, it vibrated. all in all it was good, but i had to go.
Q: why did you have to go?
A: her sister kept sneaking under the bed and insisting i play dolls with her. you see, i am a manly american man i don't play with dolls, unless the have on camo and little plastic guns, it's the american way.
Q: so where did you go from there?
A: first i went to the hard rock cafe in london, then i went home, i was pretty tired by then.
Q: one more question billy, what has happened to your email address?
A: i received a piece of email from afghanistan, and like a dope i opened it. my poor pc got anthrax, he didn't make it.
|01 Dec 2002||Lucy Cortina||I'm going to see the new Bond movie soon, *ooh!* that Pierce Brosnan is such a hunk! And Halle Berry reminds me of myself, in the bosom department.
I remember seeing in the newspaper a picture of Guy Ritchie and Madonna greeting the Queen at the premiere of the film.
Call me weird, but it seemed as though the Queen was secretly thinking as he looked at Madonna: "You - Mrs Ritchie. Me - Mrs VERY richy!"
Bless her cotton socks.
|01 Dec 2002||Lucy Cortina||Billy, I'm more of a kitchen table, garden shed or beach party girl, if you know what I mean.
Anyway glad you're back! Did you enjoy our last rendezvous?
|30 Nov 2002||Lucy Cortina||Moucchie! I'm afraid you are committing suicide yourself my dear, by allowing these plebs to dominate your site. I thought a revolution was taking place, but things seem to have leaped back 2 years.
It's like when you throw a party but only the posh people with the delicate-etiquette are invited (Billy and myself), but a load of rough baldies in leathers crash the party. And they knock over your stacks of delicately prepared cucumber sandwiches, which tumble into your champagne fountains. And the sausage rolls end up trodden in the floor like dead soldiers.
I want back my Billy and I want him now...