Here we are today with a look at one of the classics of horror and the most important thing to me is to address this poster. Who the fuck is that at the bottom?? What the fuck is going on here?? Is this some sort of Dutch shenanigans??? Also – what the fuck could I possibly say that anyone else hasn’t said about this over the last 50 years? The answer to that is –> nothing, so instead, I invited some of my friends over, got them drunk on Old Grand-Dad’s Sipping Whiskey and we all sat around talking about the Psychos we’ve encountered in our lives.
Here’s what I had to say:
Have you guys seen this??
Do I even need to say anything? Look at how he waves his arms around – clearly delusional and hyperactive. See how he humps the air, using The French Position?? I don’t think there’s a better definition of “Psychotic Behavior”. Has anyone done a case study on this fucker yet?
Honorable Mention: MIKE BOYD 1
And, here’s what Luke countered with:
When Eric asked me to talk about a psycho I know, I instantly decided who it would be. There is this girl where I live called Isabella Erics and she is such a crazy bitch. I don’t personally know her, but I see her around my town and know little details about her. For example, I know that she likes brown bread rather than white bread, her mother’s name is Madison and her postcode is TQ11 0PJ. Just to give you an idea for how much of a crazy bitch this girl is I thought I would share her schedule with you.
6:21 AM – Seriously, who the fuck wakes up at half six in the morning?
6:32 AM – And instantly starts doing sit-ups. This girl is wrong in the head.
7:03 AM – OK, this is the part that really weirds me out. I have just changed the tree I am hiding in and it turns out that she is having Bran for breakfast. Bran? I mean… WTF, people, right?
8:51 AM – And now she is leaving for work. According to her work timetable, her shift starts at half past and she is leaving forty minutes early, even though it is a ten minute drive away. Eager beaver, much? It’s so bizarre. She does this every day.
9:00 AM – 5:00 PM – While she is out I looked through her house to fully assess how bizarre this girl is and she actually has a draw for each item of clothing. A draw dedicated to ‘going out underwear’ (also, where I collected a few souvenirs for further study at home tonight). Who needs this much lingerie? And even though her shirts are all folded, her DVD collection is totally unordered. Bi-polar or what?!
5:13 PM – OK, she has come home now and the first thing she does is start cooking dinner. She doesn’t even watch TV first. And why the hell doesn’t she have an Xbox? I looked over the entire house a few days ago and nope, not a single games console.
8:00 PM – Haha, what a weirdo. She is actually having a funeral for her cat. (No exactly my fault; it tried to raise the alarm a few nights ago, so I was pretty much forced to ‘take care’ of it.
11:52 PM – She is sleeping on her side now. Who sleeps like that? Well, seeing as there is a spot next to her, I am going to curl in next to her. I will send this to Eric first thing tomorrow morning (I have to be up early, so she doesn’t catch me in the house!) Thanks for joining me in exploring the life of this total nut-case.
Subsequently, after several people backed out of the room very slowly…. Abbi had this to mention:
This is too easy.
The psycho in my life is someone I am going to refer to as “Jane”. My husband and I dated for a month when we first met. Then we stopped seeing each other for 8 months because he was going through some personal things. In the gap that we weren’t in contact he went on one date with Jane. He decided not to see her again but she stalked him relentlessly doing things like parking outside his house all day, making fake Facebook profiles and harassing his family, telling him she’d been raped (never happened) and claiming she was pregnant with his child (despite the fact that they never did the Seven Seconds dance). After some time she stopped and he thought no more of her. Until we got together and I started blogging about our relationship… and Jane started leaving harassing comments on my blog. She was outraged that six months after her and Mr O’s one date that he’d dared to move on to someone else. This went on in spates for about a year. She left comments about how she was more beautiful and nicer than me and Mr O was inevitably going to cheat on me but I deserved it because I was a ho anyway… that kind of thing. Then Jane set up a bunch of Twitter aliases and started tweeting me xenophobic stuff… you know the classic, “Go back to your own country. He can do better than a fat African” magic. She denied the Twitter stuff but you know, IP addresses don’t lie. Eventually another woman she was stalking contacted me and told me that she was the ex of another guy Jane had briefly dated and she was now harassing both of them. Also claiming that she was pregnant with this guy’s child. She wasn’t. Over time it petered out and I haven’t heard from her in a couple of years but I keep thinking at some point she’s going to resurface, possibly at the bottom of our bed with a knife.
Then, after we all took turns hugging Abbi (and some of us….. lingered…..), Laura O had this to say:
I sort of want to talk about someone from a job I once had. Seriously, I’m sure the guy was an actual psycopath. Like, medically diagnosable, not just casually kooky. I mean, if you look at the DSM criteria for diagnosing a psychopath, he matches a whole bunch of them.
Anyway, in the interest of safety, I’d better not go into detail about that particular psycho; you never know who’s on the internet, after all… If you’ve got a minute, this is quite fun – you can find out how big a psycho you are:
Well that got us all looking at our phones and tablets, some people started crying and others started chain smoking Camel Straights. A little later, Anna brought us all back around with:
“I’m sure everyone has experienced the difficulties that are associated with psycho ex boyfriends or girlfriends. But the first psycho I thought of is a fairly famous Australian comedian by the name of Peter Helliar.
Back in the day, I worked at a huge bookshop that sold both books and CDs (and DVDs, and magazines, and coffee… rhymes with Schmorders). It was around the time the Into The Wild film came out and we stocked the CD in store, and I really liked it. So Peter Helliar walks up to the counter and hands me the Into The Wild CD with the intention of purchasing it. Then this happens:
Me: This CD is amazing!
Peter Helliar: I don’t give a shit what you think.
Me: Oh, okay.
Later, when speaking with friends:
Me: Peter Helliar is a total fucking psychopath!
And that’s why he was the first psycho that I thought of.”
What a dick, right?
Shortly, after we finished spamming that cock’s site with hate messages, the beautiful and terrifying Madame Weebles shared this:
The psycho temp worker
She arrived that first morning, reeking of cigarette smoke and mothballs. When I was introduced to her she just stared at my extended hand, she didn’t shake it. Having a conversation with her was unnerving. You know how when you talk to someone, you say something and then they say something and so on? Not with this broad. I’d say something and she’d stare at me intently with these beady little dead eyes for about 5-8 seconds, not saying a word. When she finally replied, more often than not it wasn’t really related to what I had just said. She hoarded Sweet & Low packets. On more than one occasion I saw her stuffing her pockets with them . She had a little notebook and a tiny pencil–the kind you get when you play miniature golf–and she’d scribble furiously in it from time to time. Once I was in the ladies’ room and she emerged from the stall with her notebook and pencil in hand. I don’t want to know what she was writing in there. Out of the corner of my eye I’d notice her staring at me, and when I looked over at her, she’d turn away immediately. She was at the office about 2 weeks. At the end of her stint, she stood in the doorway of my office just staring at me all bug-eyed for a while while I waited for to speak. She just said, “Bye” and scurried away.
Soon after, I filled everyone’s glasses with some homemade moonshine and Melissa shared this:
When Eric mentioned the blurb about psychos well of course I immediately thought of one of my ex-bfs. This guy we’ll call him Mr. X was my first love and due to my blind love I accepted his craziness. Of course after he broke up with me because honestly I don’t even remember why, he always did this randomly, I realized how crazy he was. He would tell me that he was depressed and that he wanted to kill himself all the time. He would call me and tell me that this was it and then in an hour he would be over it, in the meantime making me freak out and think he was dying. I mean who does that!! All he wanted was attention and in the 10 years since we dated, he has found me randomly at new jobs that I have had. I would get a random email from him and I would be like how the F do you know I work here! A few months ago, he sent me some messages on LinkedIn asking if I was ok because he emailed me and I never responded. Get the hint. So that is my crazy psycho ex-bf. I hope he withers up and never finds me again because I do not want him to go all Norman Bates on me. Shoosh don’t tell him where I am at guys!
Then, while Luke slowly passed out on the divan, for some reason, clutching his junk, Cinema Parrot Disco offered:
To be honest, I do my best to avoid psychos in my life. Who needs that stress?! So I had a hard time thinking of one for this. Then I thought about how my tiny town in Wisconsin had a “crazy guy” and how I think EVERY small town has at least one nutter. The town I live in in England has one as well. You can find him on the High Street every day laughing maniacally and he’s always going into the various businesses and spouting all kinds of crazy shit. I do my best to steer well clear of him but one day I was sitting in my hubby’s barber’s while he was having his hair cut and loony man walked in & said this: “I just heard who killed Phil Collins and his wife…. He killed my family, my good friends and” …. (then he SANG this): “🎶A spoonful of sugar helps the poison go down… the poison go down… the poison go down 🎶…” Then he did that psychotic laugh he does and walked out. Gotta love small towns. 🙂
Being sweet and concerned about our well being, the SB JB Zoe made us some biscuits and added:
So our home security company is really good. They’re very effective, the whole shebang. But they also employ fucking weird-ass staff. I mean there is one really big, burly dude that works for them. When my landlords were on vacation, the security company was tasked to check out the property from time to time just to make sure that everything was fine. At midnight one night, this security guard runs into my other half (coming home). He progresses to have a little chat. My other half is very social, so naturally he obliged. However, the moment the guy heard that my other half was a programmer and into IT, the questions veered off into incredibly sketchy waters… he said his friends had laughed at him, but he knew that no matter what, this had to be possible. The this? Having sex with someone in Russia while not being there, not using toys, but still feeling everything. Like the real deal, just not near each other. My other half was desperate to escape, and the guy just became creepier and more psycho about it. Needless to say, after that I was a little bit worried about who was providing my protection, when evidently they were not all together in their own heads.
After the biscuits started absorbing all of the alcohol, I broke out my
five foot bong UNO cards and Mike from Parlor of Horror amused us all with this little ditty:
My Favorite Psycho
Me and my buds used to hang out at this huge park across the street
from Creedmore Mental Institution. It was called Alley Pond Park in
Queens, NY. Every Friday night we’d meet there with dozens of other
weekend warriors. We’d drink and people would do whatever recreational
mind altering fun stuff they were into. We’d meet regulars up there,
week after week, and they all had nicknames, Pistol Pete, No-neck
Alverez, Johnny Needles (he was a tattoo artist), the Stain,
Moosey-Lucy, a melting pot of questionable characters.
Horn-Dog Herman used to gravitate toward our group and hang with us
every weekend. We all found him comical and amusing. One week he shows
up and part of his finger is missing. We asked him about it and he was
vague. He didn’t want to talk about it so we let it go. We speculated
that he made a bet with a bookie that he couldn’t pay. Next weekend he
shows up with another finger shortened. We asked him if he owed money
and we offered to take up a collection. He would only accept enough
cash to go up the corner and buy a six-pack of Coors Light. He comes
back next week and half of his index finger is missing. We begged him,
“Herman, tell us who did this?” We had 30 rowdy shit-faced warriors
ready to rip someone apart for doing this to ol’ Horn-Dog Herman. He
wouldn’t tell us anything.
The next weekend arrives and Herman shows up with no new finger
injuries. We all cheered!
“Herman, you didn’t loose any more digits,” my buddy Rob said.
Then I said, “Now you can play piano again!”
Herman cracked up laughing at this. His mouth opened wide and…what
do ya’ know…no teeth.
They weren’t all missing, just his two top chompers and corresponding
bottom teeth. He had a reverse Bugs Bunny. We sat him down and
insisted he tell us what was going on.
“They pulled out my teeth,” he said.
“Who did? Why did they do this?” We asked.
He said, “The doctors did it so I would stop biting off my fingers.”
“The doctors?” I asked.
“Yeah, you know. The doctors where I live,” and he nodded to the
building across the street…The mental institution. Apparently he had
been sneaking out on weekend nights and we were always so fucked up,
we didn’t even realize he was nuts!
Then, as the sun started to rise and we were all in the Purple Haze, the Frightening but Amazing Skeletor tucked us in and told us this Nite Nite story before we all dozed off:
I came back to work from vacation and the first person to talk to me was a negative lady who welcomed me back to hell. Now, unlike the majority of Americans, I actually love my job and have a great time when I come to work. So I was looking forward to coming back.
As the weeks went on, she became more and more negative. They remodeled our department’s area and she said it was unethical. Whatever the fuck that means, they replaced stained carpet with pergo floors, the rest of us were stoked! Anyway, she kept bitching and bitching, and finally one day, she was rude to my new trainee. That was the last straw for me.
So I confronted her in an email and asked politely for her to not be rude to my employee I was trying to train. Saddle Bags sent my email to our HR department and said I was HARRASSING her. When my boss confronted her about the accusation, she then accused me of taking 8 bereavement days over my aunt’s funeral (I took 3 bereavement days). She also said I take whole days off work all of the time (which is not true, because people notice when I am gone….I handle one of our highest volume product lines, they know when in not here to handle it), and then she said that I am on drugs all the time. Prescription drugs, and that I am not mentally competent to be at work!! As in, I should be in a mental institution. First of all, I despise prescription drugs, thanks to my ex husband doing them all the time, despite the fact that most of them make me sick to my stomach. So I offered to my bosses to take a piss test, and they said it was not necessary. They didn’t think the situation should have been escalated to HR, and our HR manager pulled me aside and said I wasn’t in any kind of trouble, as I did nothing wrong. I was reassured my job was not on the line by my bosses.
So just from calling someone out for being a hateful cuntbag to an innocent person I was trying to train, I got slandered as a drug addicted mental patient who never comes to work, even through we have cameras everywhere that show my perfect attendance.
Now psycho Bags trolls the hallways with a cunt look on her face, and I walk by knowing I won, and she looked like a 10 year old school girl. (And she’s 50).
Leave a happy bitch alone. Especially when you have to make up lies to make her look bad. Also, I am up for a promotion maybe by the end of the year, so she can suck it. Not bad for an employee that never comes to work, eh?
I should also mention, the main reason I think this chick is a psycho is because I facebook stalked her out of curiosity and found one of her profile pictures. It was of a dead coyote with its eyeballs popped out of its head. No fucking lie. Likes were Sarah Palin, Kelly Clarkson, and I also found a shit ton of comments she made to the NRA (she’s a gun toter). Spooky bitch.
And there you go!! Some True Life Testimonials from Real People!!! Now – go look at yourself in the mirror. Are YOU a psycho??