Looking through the mirror

The CIA insists with me to write in English. I don’t want to do it anymore. The critics really hate me, you can’t even imagine. The public from abroad continues to read my books, but if people from here don’t like them anymore, it doesn’t make any sense at all. I feel like I’m a kind of a prize: the writer who doesn’t remember his own native tongue anymore. A sculpture of my head is on a wall in the Pentagon, like a real embalmed moose head above the fireside of a hunter.

Prize Pride

Thank you for choosing us, Sir. You achieved a great status buying our life sentence plan. Proceeding this way, Sir, you could reach the nirvana of SM. You’ll be tied, sucked, pierced, licked, feed, fucked and swallowed till your last days. You don’t have to worry about your family and problems anymore. The press you never discover your whereabouts, be sure of that, Sir. Do you remember that guy from Manic Street Preachers? Well then, he was satisfied. You will meet him; I bet that you can barely wait, Sir.

Hi, how are you?

Jorge escreveu:
Hi susie, how are you?

Susan escreveu:
You´re a bastard

Jorge escreveu:
Why? What?

Susan escreveu:
I know what you are doing down there in your stinkin' country

Jorge escreveu:
You´re are so bigot... CU another day, maybe we could talk like normal people, who knows...

Susan escreveu:
Fuck you

Jorge is offline

Void in the vacuum

She kept saying it again and again, until I can’t listen to her voice anymore. So I dumped Molly. Now I miss her more than ever.