Contributor: Rasputin
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Everyone has secrets. It doesn’t matter what you appear to be on the outside- no matter how outwardly noble a person seems, deep down, they keep a secret. They keep it locked away in a vault that no safe-cracker can access, and no hypnotist can coax open. They will never admit this one thing, this horrible, loathsome memory, even under pain of torture. And some people have more than one. Some people have entire warehouses in their minds, packed to the brim with tales that range from the merely embarrassing to the damnably unspeakable. Hell, some people even get paid to keep secrets. Oh, the stories…
What I want you to do is think of your secret thing. Go ahead, do it now. It doesn’t matter if there are others in the room- after all, it’s not like they could possibly know what you’re thinking about, right? Your secret has probably crossed your mind countless times in their presence. Hell, it may even involve them, in some way or other. So go ahead. Focus on that despicable thing. Bring it to the forefront of your mind. It’s not like those other assholes will catch on. It’s your mind. Go crazy.
Are you thinking of your one thing? Your favorite little bit of shame? Good.
I know what it is.
If you’re reading this right now (you know who you are), then I know your secret. I know all of them. I know you used to jerk off while you thought about your mother (I also know that you still do). That’s a popular one- it seems Freud was right about something after all.
I know that you drove out of state last week for an abortion, even though you told your boyfriend that you were just visiting some friends from college. I also know it wasn’t your first time. In fact, you’re almost on a first-name basis with the doctor there. Don’t worry, your boyfriend doesn’t have a clue. He’s busy hoping you don’t find out that he’s been fucking your sister off and on for the past six years. She always kept herself in better shape than you, hasn’t she? You always used to blame her for “inheriting the good genes”, although you’ve had the good taste to never say that out loud. You know, the two of them even managed to break off a quickie on your wedding day. Remember when you lost track of him during the reception? They were in the back seat of his car. He told you that those upholstery stains must have come from the car’s previous owner. And you believed it. And all those “business trips”…those were good for a laugh. But that’s ok, because out of all those abortions I mentioned, two-thirds of those weren’t his kids. And you’ve been married for five years. Hell, you’re even thinking of starting a family someday. And your kids will have secrets, too.
I know you cheated on that test to get into law school. You never spent so much as an hour studying. Four years’ worth of your parents’ money, and all you did was drink, get laid, and go on the occasional acid trip. I know you told everyone that you were busting your ever-lovin’ ass to graduate. I know that you’re well on your way to becoming a partner in the firm. Lying, as it turns out, was all the education you really needed.
I know you lost your virginity at summer camp. When you were seven. He was twelve. I know that that was when you realized you were gay. Your wife would love that story.
I know you wet the bed until you were seventeen. I know that until sixteen, you also used to shit in your bed. I know that you used to spend all of your allowance money on new sheets. That’s why you never saved up for that ten-speed you always wanted.
I know how much you used to enjoy bathing your daughter when she was little. I know that that’s the real reason she’s in therapy. She’d never dream of telling the psychiatrist- as far as everyone’s concerned, she’s in therapy because her grades are slipping.
I know that you and your friends beat a gay man to death outside a bar last year. The way he winked at you really rubbed you the wrong way, didn’t it? So much so that you got an erection. I suppose cracking someone’s skull open is one way to deal with pent-up sexual frustration.
I know it was you who called the school with a bomb threat.
I know you stole a nugget of weed from your dad’s stash. You’re not too worried about being caught, because you know that your mom will divorce him if she finds out that he never really quit smoking that awful devil-grass.
I know you spy on your neighbor’s kids when they’re in the backyard pool.
I know you volunteered for the neighborhood watch because it was really you that broke all those car windows. Hey, don’t sweat it- your neighbors don’t know how much you hate them.
I know you drink mouthwash in the morning before work. I know that your husband thinks you’ve been sober for a year.
I know that you’ve been extorting sexual favors from attractive young women, in exchange for being let off with stern warnings about the dangers of driving while intoxicated.
I know you planted drugs in your opponent’s car, and then called the anonymous tipster hotline. If you hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t be mayor right now.
I know you’ve been fucking your heroin dealer in exchange for free junk. I know that you cut your boyfriend’s half of the stash with powdered laxative. He still can’t figure out why you get constipated, but he doesn’t. By the way, when are you going to tell him that you have AIDS? You’ve been sharing needles for the better part of a year now. Well, no big deal- he hasn’t told you about his HPV, either. Ain’t love grand?
I know all of these and many, many more.
“How do you know all this?” I can hear some of you asking. It’s simple, really- I know because it’s my job to know.
Think of me as a kind of storage unit. I keep everyone’s secrets, from the dawn of man until the end of time. Your predatory, back-stabbing nature is why your secrets have grown up around you. If you people weren’t so greedy and withdrawn, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t exist. But your daily lives keep me in business. You all say the same things- “Just be honest with me”; “I can handle the truth”. If you all suddenly started to tell the truth, this world that you’re so proud of would collapse before your eyes. Everything would be thrown out of orbit. It would be a disaster of unimagined proportions. And I don’t want that. I’ve grown attached to this place.
So don’t worry- I’ll never tell a soul about the time you jacked off in the bathroom at work. I won’t let your coworkers know about your fantasies of bringing in a gun and blowing them all to hell. Rest assured- your secret is safe with me.
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Eat a dick.
Read more »
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Everyone has secrets. It doesn’t matter what you appear to be on the outside- no matter how outwardly noble a person seems, deep down, they keep a secret. They keep it locked away in a vault that no safe-cracker can access, and no hypnotist can coax open. They will never admit this one thing, this horrible, loathsome memory, even under pain of torture. And some people have more than one. Some people have entire warehouses in their minds, packed to the brim with tales that range from the merely embarrassing to the damnably unspeakable. Hell, some people even get paid to keep secrets. Oh, the stories…
What I want you to do is think of your secret thing. Go ahead, do it now. It doesn’t matter if there are others in the room- after all, it’s not like they could possibly know what you’re thinking about, right? Your secret has probably crossed your mind countless times in their presence. Hell, it may even involve them, in some way or other. So go ahead. Focus on that despicable thing. Bring it to the forefront of your mind. It’s not like those other assholes will catch on. It’s your mind. Go crazy.
Are you thinking of your one thing? Your favorite little bit of shame? Good.
I know what it is.
If you’re reading this right now (you know who you are), then I know your secret. I know all of them. I know you used to jerk off while you thought about your mother (I also know that you still do). That’s a popular one- it seems Freud was right about something after all.
I know that you drove out of state last week for an abortion, even though you told your boyfriend that you were just visiting some friends from college. I also know it wasn’t your first time. In fact, you’re almost on a first-name basis with the doctor there. Don’t worry, your boyfriend doesn’t have a clue. He’s busy hoping you don’t find out that he’s been fucking your sister off and on for the past six years. She always kept herself in better shape than you, hasn’t she? You always used to blame her for “inheriting the good genes”, although you’ve had the good taste to never say that out loud. You know, the two of them even managed to break off a quickie on your wedding day. Remember when you lost track of him during the reception? They were in the back seat of his car. He told you that those upholstery stains must have come from the car’s previous owner. And you believed it. And all those “business trips”…those were good for a laugh. But that’s ok, because out of all those abortions I mentioned, two-thirds of those weren’t his kids. And you’ve been married for five years. Hell, you’re even thinking of starting a family someday. And your kids will have secrets, too.
I know you cheated on that test to get into law school. You never spent so much as an hour studying. Four years’ worth of your parents’ money, and all you did was drink, get laid, and go on the occasional acid trip. I know you told everyone that you were busting your ever-lovin’ ass to graduate. I know that you’re well on your way to becoming a partner in the firm. Lying, as it turns out, was all the education you really needed.
I know you lost your virginity at summer camp. When you were seven. He was twelve. I know that that was when you realized you were gay. Your wife would love that story.
I know you wet the bed until you were seventeen. I know that until sixteen, you also used to shit in your bed. I know that you used to spend all of your allowance money on new sheets. That’s why you never saved up for that ten-speed you always wanted.
I know how much you used to enjoy bathing your daughter when she was little. I know that that’s the real reason she’s in therapy. She’d never dream of telling the psychiatrist- as far as everyone’s concerned, she’s in therapy because her grades are slipping.
I know that you and your friends beat a gay man to death outside a bar last year. The way he winked at you really rubbed you the wrong way, didn’t it? So much so that you got an erection. I suppose cracking someone’s skull open is one way to deal with pent-up sexual frustration.
I know it was you who called the school with a bomb threat.
I know you stole a nugget of weed from your dad’s stash. You’re not too worried about being caught, because you know that your mom will divorce him if she finds out that he never really quit smoking that awful devil-grass.
I know you spy on your neighbor’s kids when they’re in the backyard pool.
I know you volunteered for the neighborhood watch because it was really you that broke all those car windows. Hey, don’t sweat it- your neighbors don’t know how much you hate them.
I know you drink mouthwash in the morning before work. I know that your husband thinks you’ve been sober for a year.
I know that you’ve been extorting sexual favors from attractive young women, in exchange for being let off with stern warnings about the dangers of driving while intoxicated.
I know you planted drugs in your opponent’s car, and then called the anonymous tipster hotline. If you hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t be mayor right now.
I know you’ve been fucking your heroin dealer in exchange for free junk. I know that you cut your boyfriend’s half of the stash with powdered laxative. He still can’t figure out why you get constipated, but he doesn’t. By the way, when are you going to tell him that you have AIDS? You’ve been sharing needles for the better part of a year now. Well, no big deal- he hasn’t told you about his HPV, either. Ain’t love grand?
I know all of these and many, many more.
“How do you know all this?” I can hear some of you asking. It’s simple, really- I know because it’s my job to know.
Think of me as a kind of storage unit. I keep everyone’s secrets, from the dawn of man until the end of time. Your predatory, back-stabbing nature is why your secrets have grown up around you. If you people weren’t so greedy and withdrawn, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t exist. But your daily lives keep me in business. You all say the same things- “Just be honest with me”; “I can handle the truth”. If you all suddenly started to tell the truth, this world that you’re so proud of would collapse before your eyes. Everything would be thrown out of orbit. It would be a disaster of unimagined proportions. And I don’t want that. I’ve grown attached to this place.
So don’t worry- I’ll never tell a soul about the time you jacked off in the bathroom at work. I won’t let your coworkers know about your fantasies of bringing in a gun and blowing them all to hell. Rest assured- your secret is safe with me.
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Eat a dick.
1 comment
Author:
Rasputin
