201SB
04/04/09, 09:20 PM
Is the date written on the piece of paper I wrote this on.
I don't know why the format is the way it is, but I kind of like it.
hat I always tell people is that
my father is an internet billionaire, that he started the first successful
internet search engine and it sold for a very, very large amount of money to a
very, very large private company. I say that in an act of celebration, my
father bought me a brownstone on the ever beautiful Upper East Side of
Manhattan, a brand new BMW M5, and sent me off to NYU with a brand new trust
fund that was deeper than any hold a nine year old boy ever dug trying to get
to ....China.....
What I say is that I use my fathers never ending cash flow to go on daily
shopping sprees that consist of buying $175 jeans, polo’s that go for $120
each, Nike SB shoes that cost up to $5000, $140 board shorts, $200 sunglasses
and a hair gel that is 100% organic and goes by the name of “salted dew.” When
I walk out of the mall wearing a brand new wardrobe, I always have on one of my
$500 Billionaire Boys Club sweatshirts. I live my life on three basic
principles: get drunk every day, fuck multiple girls every day, and live every
day. To other people, I’m just an every day college kid enjoying the prime of
his life.
When I
spend $800 on face cream so my face always looks and feels like silk, people
just think I’m concerned with my image, so typical in today’s world.
What they
don’t know is that I’m running from a past more fucked up than any screenplay ....Hollywood.... could even
dream of producing.
I buy all
of these useless material possessions to cover up who I really am. I go much
deeper than a twenty year old who is just another asshole with a trust fund.
Everything, EVERYTHING that I tell people about my life is a lie. It’s all one
hundred percent bullshit. In my fucking dreams did my dad live a successful
life.
My name is
Derek O’Shea and I am currently writing things such as ‘fuck up’ and ‘blow me’
across my table using extremely pure and extremely expensive cocaine that I
just purchased from my dealer, Rico. As I bury a crisp one hundred dollar bill
into the half gram letter ‘F’ in front of me and snort it all in one go, I turn
to Rico, wipe my nose, and tell him that I am going to tell him the truth about
my past. He takes the rolled up Benjamin Franklin from me and snorts the letter
‘U’. He than turns to me and says, “K, mayne.”
When I was
eleven years old, I stumbled upon a website that had videos of adults having
sex. That was the first time that I saw my parents doing what they made
millions doing, but I thought it was something that all parents did. When I was
twelve, my friend told me that his parents got into a fight because his mom
found a magazine in his dads closet. The magazine had pictures of my mom naked
throughout the entire magazine. In one picture, my dad was shooting what looked
like water and cake icing all over my mothers face. I thought it was weird that
my friends’ dad would have that magazine in his closet, but again I thought
nothing of it.
On the
night of my thirteenth birthday, my father, my mother, and I sat at the dining
room table eating dinner. Somewhere between dinner and birthday cake, my father
managed to take out a gun, shoot my mother two times between her legs and once
in each eye. He than cut off her head and placed it on top of his dirty dinner
plate, pulled down his pants and cut off his penis. He put it next to my
mothers head on his dinner plate, like it was a side vegetable to go along with
the main meal. He than looked at me, put the gun against his head and said
“Happy Birthday Kid.” My father pulled the trigger right as the housekeeper,
Heidi, walked in wearing her usual white jumpsuit, but now her jumpsuit was
covered in my fathers’ blood and chunks of his brain.
Since both
faces and famous body parts were ruined and completely unidentifiable, you
wouldn’t have been able to tell that both of my parents were the most
successful porn starts in the world. They starred in over 20 films each and
owned one of the largest adult entertainment companies ever. As I opened my
birthday card, it all started to make sense to me. The website, my friends
dad’s magazines, why dads at my soccer games always touched their crotch when
they saw my mom, and why my friends stopped talking to me after my parents
introduced themselves to my friends parents at a play date or a school event.
Inside my
card was a bank note that said my parents had left me all of their money, the
house, and their business. There was also a letter that only told me that I was
not supposed to be born, but my mom forgot to take her birth control before
filming her video Star Whores: Revenge of the Dick.
My parents
were dead and sitting only feet away from me, I was covered in blood, and the
weight of the world had just been lifted off of my shoulders.
I don't know why the format is the way it is, but I kind of like it.
hat I always tell people is that
my father is an internet billionaire, that he started the first successful
internet search engine and it sold for a very, very large amount of money to a
very, very large private company. I say that in an act of celebration, my
father bought me a brownstone on the ever beautiful Upper East Side of
Manhattan, a brand new BMW M5, and sent me off to NYU with a brand new trust
fund that was deeper than any hold a nine year old boy ever dug trying to get
to ....China.....
What I say is that I use my fathers never ending cash flow to go on daily
shopping sprees that consist of buying $175 jeans, polo’s that go for $120
each, Nike SB shoes that cost up to $5000, $140 board shorts, $200 sunglasses
and a hair gel that is 100% organic and goes by the name of “salted dew.” When
I walk out of the mall wearing a brand new wardrobe, I always have on one of my
$500 Billionaire Boys Club sweatshirts. I live my life on three basic
principles: get drunk every day, fuck multiple girls every day, and live every
day. To other people, I’m just an every day college kid enjoying the prime of
his life.
When I
spend $800 on face cream so my face always looks and feels like silk, people
just think I’m concerned with my image, so typical in today’s world.
What they
don’t know is that I’m running from a past more fucked up than any screenplay ....Hollywood.... could even
dream of producing.
I buy all
of these useless material possessions to cover up who I really am. I go much
deeper than a twenty year old who is just another asshole with a trust fund.
Everything, EVERYTHING that I tell people about my life is a lie. It’s all one
hundred percent bullshit. In my fucking dreams did my dad live a successful
life.
My name is
Derek O’Shea and I am currently writing things such as ‘fuck up’ and ‘blow me’
across my table using extremely pure and extremely expensive cocaine that I
just purchased from my dealer, Rico. As I bury a crisp one hundred dollar bill
into the half gram letter ‘F’ in front of me and snort it all in one go, I turn
to Rico, wipe my nose, and tell him that I am going to tell him the truth about
my past. He takes the rolled up Benjamin Franklin from me and snorts the letter
‘U’. He than turns to me and says, “K, mayne.”
When I was
eleven years old, I stumbled upon a website that had videos of adults having
sex. That was the first time that I saw my parents doing what they made
millions doing, but I thought it was something that all parents did. When I was
twelve, my friend told me that his parents got into a fight because his mom
found a magazine in his dads closet. The magazine had pictures of my mom naked
throughout the entire magazine. In one picture, my dad was shooting what looked
like water and cake icing all over my mothers face. I thought it was weird that
my friends’ dad would have that magazine in his closet, but again I thought
nothing of it.
On the
night of my thirteenth birthday, my father, my mother, and I sat at the dining
room table eating dinner. Somewhere between dinner and birthday cake, my father
managed to take out a gun, shoot my mother two times between her legs and once
in each eye. He than cut off her head and placed it on top of his dirty dinner
plate, pulled down his pants and cut off his penis. He put it next to my
mothers head on his dinner plate, like it was a side vegetable to go along with
the main meal. He than looked at me, put the gun against his head and said
“Happy Birthday Kid.” My father pulled the trigger right as the housekeeper,
Heidi, walked in wearing her usual white jumpsuit, but now her jumpsuit was
covered in my fathers’ blood and chunks of his brain.
Since both
faces and famous body parts were ruined and completely unidentifiable, you
wouldn’t have been able to tell that both of my parents were the most
successful porn starts in the world. They starred in over 20 films each and
owned one of the largest adult entertainment companies ever. As I opened my
birthday card, it all started to make sense to me. The website, my friends
dad’s magazines, why dads at my soccer games always touched their crotch when
they saw my mom, and why my friends stopped talking to me after my parents
introduced themselves to my friends parents at a play date or a school event.
Inside my
card was a bank note that said my parents had left me all of their money, the
house, and their business. There was also a letter that only told me that I was
not supposed to be born, but my mom forgot to take her birth control before
filming her video Star Whores: Revenge of the Dick.
My parents
were dead and sitting only feet away from me, I was covered in blood, and the
weight of the world had just been lifted off of my shoulders.