|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?
|10 Jan 2003||nosaM legnA||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL.21 The talk that suicide is cowardice is for most people nothing but a leap under a stage. Those shrewd and proud commoners who have never known that it requires courage!! Only those who have had the courage to commit suicide... can say that it was cowardly to have done it.|
|10 Jan 2003||Ichabod Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL.242 Most people rush after pleasure so fast that they rush right past it. They are like that dwarf who guarded a kidnapped princess in his castle. One day he took a noon nap. When he woke up an hour later, she was gone. Hastily, he pulls on his seven-league boots; with one step he is far past her. ~Soren|
|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).
|02 Jan 2003||Felicia||Lucy, I'm surprised you left so early to catch the Pan Am 3:13 pm flight to LAX airport from San Francisco and took the Pan Am first class at 9:00p.m. to New York and an adjacent flight to London, a day before Christmas Eve. Hope the jet lag isn't ruining your beauty sleep. A check for $161.07 USD? You can send it in attention to Mr. Frank Abagnale J.R's trust fund. If you can catch him if you can. Besides, you should save it for an affair to remember in Paris or for those Agent Provocateur lingerie modeling assignment photoshoots. Be sure to do a side shot like Kylie Minogue on a bucking, mechanical bronco. Just don't let the Margaret Thatcher look-alike intimidate you because of your nice swinging nuggas. Before you reach for the box of diet sugar-free bonbons tonight dear, Happy New Years for 2003. Please don't feed any chocolates to George. You may need a lead and pulley to deter his addiction to Toblerone chocolates. Steer him far away ...far, far away from the Belgian chocolates. You know George cannot eat "just one".|
|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||Jeanie||I got weapons of my own babes. You can come too Lucy... he he. Chick/Guy... doesn't matter to me :P I'm game.
Well, off to that stupid hell of a place I call work... or is that home? I get confused which one is hell and which one is prison... Oh well.
|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
|11 Dec 2002||rupert||write your suicide note and then put it away. when you die, one day, someone will say, "she was already dead".|
|10 Dec 2002||Jeanie||WELL I'M BACK... to all you people that care... well then person then?... well damn I should have figured I'd get a big NOBODY CARES!! Oh well, I guess I'll go care by myself. Billy, when ya ganna get a new email?? When you ganna come hide under my bed when you done with the European hottie? How bout one American one? I got GI JOES!!! You can play mass distruction on the neighbors... I never liked them anyway. Or even mass distruction on me if you're good... :P|
|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.