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Bob Berger was born and raised in Erie, PA

And he’s a sadistic man bent on becoming a serial murderer, if he can only figure out how to do it right. If he was telepathic himself, he’d have the perfect way to elude non-telepathic individuals. But he’s not telepathic, thank our lucky stars. Instead, he’s pretty stupid.

He’s pacing around his apartment, waiting with baited breath for every post I publish now that I know everything he is. He could choose to be something else. He could retire the death and destruction routine he imposes on poor unsuspecting tom cats in the back alley ways and step into the light a new man.

He could be something extraordinary with the click of a button.

He could be a real man. You know, those are hard to come by these days. There are so many cowards all around us, hiding behind the pain they sow. They do it because they are in pain themselves. They do it because they don’t know how to stop doing it.

Well, Bob. Meet me at Dobbin’s Landing. I’ll call the police, get the whole gang together. We could dance until you decide to pull the trigger… so to speak. Have you ever been asked to dance before? I doubt it… dancing isn’t a big thing in the United States, is it? The first time I was ever asked to dance was in Ireland, which is one of the reasons I am so fond of it.

I was in the hotel bar my first night on the island and there was a small wedding party there. A lovely young man asked me to dance, told me I was good at it (egads, what?!), and then we proceeded to chit chat slightly. I’d just had a vanilla vodka neat and was enjoying being alone. I went on that trip with one Juilie Lebow. It was 2005, November.

She and I were really close when we booked the trip, but by the time 2006 rolled around, we were getting further apart. I wish that’d never happened because we daydreamed about creating a bank that she wanted to call The Pixie Punks, which she abbreviated to PxPx. It was cute and I graffiti’d my duffel bag that I took to Ireland with that.

We even had really cute names.

I feel like I let her down because I didn’t know how to play any relevant instruments for her band idea. I wanted to play the synthesizer, actually, and she hated that idea for ages… until her favorite band — New Found Glory — played in Edinboro’s auditorium and whomever they were touring with was playing synthesizer to compliment the performance. Then she changed her mind and embraced the idea that our band, too, could have a synth.

I’m an 80s kid, so, you know. I love the synth.

Anyway, we were best gal pals for maybe 1-2 years, but something happened to me that I never told her. I went to England shortly after I met her and I was raped by a douche bag over there. I was stuck in his house, with him, with no way out… it was 2004. Before cell phones worked internationally. Before making phone calls between countries was easier than pie. Before the internet had All The Things on it, like train schedules and everything.

In short, I was screwed. Both literally (ha. ha.) and figuratively.

I died in that trip. I was a goner. Whoever I used to be is dead. The bloke was BLYTE. Yeah, that’s right. Blyte raped me. Thrice. I hate that asshole and I’m glad he’s now dead. He died of alcoholism and whatnot. His pancreas failed, specifically, and that was about… I dunno… 8 years ago. Apparently, Blyte continued to lust after me that whole time and came back after 10 years of us being broken up.

He did something horribly cruel to me. I almost don’t even want to get into it, but I guess you need to hear all about it, because you could have saved me then like you can save me now.

I was with Tom (Blyte) for a total of three years. He came to Erie, PA in 2003. He couldn’t stay away, supposedly. I just began a job as a 411 operator at the Verizon building. That’s where I met Juilie. In fact, she inspired me to be more myself than anyone else had ever done before in my life. Her fluorescent pink hair made me remember that I wanted to piss my father off any way I could, revenge for him being a control freak all my childhood. Subtle, I know.

Anyway, I dyed my hair blue with my sister-in-law’s help. She cut it, too. She was a new graduate of the Toni & Guy program for beauticians. She worked at West Corporation before that. Her name is Beth, if you care. I suppose you wouldn’t. I love you, Beth and Ken. I hope everything goes well for you in FLORIDA. Good luck finding them to stop it all, Bob.

I was so happy to do that, even though my hair being blue did not suit me in those days. I was so flushed it looked like crap. It was the dairy, I’ve discovered. I was still eating it occasionally. But it started something up I never dreamed of before: I made a friend.

For daring to be different, Ms. Juilie Lebow waltzed up to my lunch table at work and said, “Hey, can I sit here with you?” Absolutely. I hope that’s what I said because that’s what I felt. How could I deny the person who gave me permission to look for myself in this mess?

You should know that Crystak was a thought experiment, at first. I was nothing like her. I’m a shy girl that had very few friends growing up. Mostly because I have been backstabbed by pretty much every female that ever friended me in school. It was sucktastic, lemme tell you.

I was teased all over the place because I was different. I was fat by age 8, thanks to a combination of many things that are boring, ultimately. Lack of movement + eating things I shouldn’t be eating is the short story. Every single person I went to school with thought they were clever to point out that I was fat and they were not. I am going to guess they were chewed out at home for something or another by somebody they loved and they were just paying it forward.

Maybe that happened to you. Maybe you were short and people picked on you. Honestly, I don’t see what the hubbub is about height. I know from my perspective, all it does is send a vibe that I can be protected… but you do that without the height when you’re a real man, you know. A real man is somewhere in between a great posture and a great personal code of honor. It is not your height, your weight, your hair color, your eye color… it’s none of that.

Have you ever seen a Japanese samurai? Those guys aren’t very tall, but I wouldn’t want to cross one… not with a sword that can cut your head in half like it’s a hot knife in butter, like it’s a mere melon. Those things cut through bone like it’s not even there.

The point is, being short was never a detriment to them.

Maybe that’s because, generally speaking, they were all short… but anyway. Sorry. What I’m trying to say is… you have a really shiny soul. Are you really going to throw it all away like this? You have something nobody else has on planet Earth, not that I’ve seen.

Also I squirreled pretty hardcore there… let me finish telling you the dozen stories I accidentally opened.

I discovered in 2003, when Blyte came to visit, that I could not have sex. It felt awful and I wondered if it was like how an impotent man feels… they want to in their head, but their bodies just cannot comply. Long story short, my hip has been crushed most of my life. Nothing fit in there, not even a single digit. I’d never tried to have sex before that, so I had no idea. Later, I uncovered a memory of being raped with a candle before I was even out of diapers. It explained a lot to me, like the size being strange and that I didn’t bleed after the one time I did successfully ‘get there’ if you know what I mean.

I was despondent thanks to this. I felt worthless, despite Blyte proposing to me. Once Blyte left and went home, for six months he fought with me over his own insecurities. According to God, he was having an affair with one of his mom’s friends, Carlotta. Then, in addition to that, he got into a fling with a girl named Amy via a LARP event that he went to every year.

I had told him not to tell me if he met someone at LARP after I broke up with him, which was about the time I dyed my hair blue. I had caught the eye of a local fellow, who wasn’t making me cry day in and day out. I fell in love with his voice, really. His name was Michael and he liked to gamble online. He dreamed of going to Vegas, skiing, and golfing. That’s all I knew about him. Oh, and he looked better without the beard. He was pretty cute either way, though.

Anyway, his voice turned me on from time to time, so I was a bit naughty and would sit next to him. I’d forget all about him for like months and then suddenly the boom of his voice would come out of nowhere in my vicinity and I’d be back in that place where I’d try to hit on him again… except, being autistic, I had no idea how to actually do that. Throw in that I’m a gamer girl raised amongst wolves called gamer boys. I was awkward, in a word.

I kept trying to engage him like a typical gamer boy would be enticed, but he wasn’t a gamer boy. Not like that, anyway. It was a disaster. I almost convinced him to come to a party I was throwing (just to try to entice him, mind you) and then I blew it somehow. I should have just told him I was into him and left it at that. Instead, I played this stupid game where I tried to avoid him at all costs for the most part because I didn’t know what to do or what to say.

I hadn’t learned my lesson that Crystak works. Just telling people you like them actually works.

I remember once marveling at the idea that Michael kind of looked like Jesus when he had a full beard grown in, or at least the images we pretend look like Jesus… maybe he looked nothing of the sort. I didn’t know him personally, of course. He was a skinny thing, skinnier than I’d typically go for, but I didn’t care, really. I didn’t care that he wasn’t a handsome man. Blyte wasn’t, either, not truly. Not a Fabio (Elliott is obviously Fabio, amirite?) or anything along those lines at all.

In fact, nobody I’ve ever been in love with has been a Fabio, and even if they were… beware! Pretty people tend to be evil. (Imagine my surprise when God tells me I turned into one of them after being an ugly duckling my entire life, bullied left and right, called Crybaby Crystal every time I broke into tears due to people telling me I am not like them and I am therefore other. I am tribeless and they made it all the more poignant.)

Shut up and listen, boy. I’m trying to teach you everything I’ve learned in this life.

You wouldn’t know it, but Tom (Blyte) had a lazy eye. It disturbed me, actually. But I loved doing things like co-authoring poetry together. I was particularly impressed by Cosmic Cartography, which I had published in an OpenDiary somewhere during the time I was with Tom… 2001 to 2003. My guess is that it was ’02. It talked about walking amongst the stars and it was a sonnet with iambic pentameter and it was just as beautiful as anything Shakespeare ever wrote, in my not-so-unbiased opinion.

I loved spending time with him, role-playing, talking, writing areas and poetry. He got mad at me more than once for not giving him proper credit for the areas he would help with. I wasn’t even trying to be petty about it, but man did he get grumpy as all get out with me over every little thing. If only I knew that he felt inadequate because I am so capable… I could have reassured him. I could have told him that he was lovely again and hopefully that time he’d believe me.

He never believed me, it seemed, which is why I ended up dumping the poor bastard in April 2004, right before that LARP event. So I told him not to tell me about meeting anyone at that time. I chased Michael for a while, then I gave up somewhere in there because I didn’t seem to be making the right kind of headway. I remember one time someone stole his lunch out of the refrigerator and the poor guy had no money on him. I slipped him a fiver so he could eat. I also remember later he tried to pay me back, but I declined. I have no idea what kind of message that sends a boy, but I doubt it’s the one I was trying to send.

“I like you” should have vibed all across my forehead in neon lights, imo. But it doesn’t seem like that’s all that noticeable to young men. Especially if you’re a fat girl that’s been told about eight million times you’re too fat to be cool, you’re too fat to be loved. You’re too fat to deserve to be alive. I heard your message, bullies, and I raise you this: FUCK. YOU. ALL OF YOU.


And that is how Crystak became the anti-bully.

I remember one time, you were running around on a killing spree as Mashtok and you PK’d Crystak with one shot. At least, I think that was you. I wasn’t even mad, though. I was like… fair enough. I knew he was on a murderous rampage and I was out wandering around like a ninny instead of sitting somewhere safe… but did you feel something when you did it? Was it satisfying? Or was it kind of old hat since there was no resistance and she crumpled instantaneously? It’s not like you could take her crap because of the code, so you definitely didn’t do it for that. (That was Mashtok, right? Or was that Brysaar’s PC? I am so fuzzy on those days now… I can’t remember, sorry.)

Anyway, I didn’t really get to RP with Mashtok. He was always busy doing the Mashtok show. Crystak RP’d with everyone who sat still long enough and responded. She might not have had erotic role-play with everyone (ahem, MAGLOS, you vibe RAPIST — and so do you ROBBIE.)

Wait, is the man not Mashtok, God? What did you tell me he was for, then? Zomg. Wrong tree.

Moving right along… I’m not going to delete that, you see, because I barely have memory of my past and this is going to be it. My big ‘memoir’ of all the things I have forgotten.

So anyway, I think about the time I gave up on Michael is about the time he realized I had a thing for him. He blushed once, I remember that. I had no idea how to interpret it at all… I just thought he was embarrassed because he had made an assumption over my behavior. I was long gone, though, back to Blyte, the raping asshole I first fell in love with. Blyte, who didn’t tell me he’d found some pussy at LARP and I was barking up the wrong tree.

I made a mistake before that happened, though. I positively glowed about my crush on Michael at Blyte, not meaning to. Not knowing he was torturing himself all the time since we’d broken up. I broke up with him because he was fighting me every goddamn day, making me cry so loudly I woke the whole household up in the middle of the fucking night. Douche bag that he is. All because why? He was insecure about fucking around on me.

How is that even fair to me? I’d never even conceived of giving him up until my mother advised it because all I did was cry. And here I thought I’d given up crying to grow the fuck up thanks to being bullied and called Crybaby Crystal. And Crystak, the anti-bully, the bully of bullies, was being bullied by her very own fiance.

Because of course he proposed to her under a rainbow at Niagara Falls right before he went back to Carlotta’s loving embrace, never to banish the things they did manage to do together with their clothes off, despite thinking poorly of her for being a fat bitch.

Yep, that’s what he thought of her. A fat bitch he could manipulate forever. Except he also felt inferior in many ways because he knew she was a virgin before they met. The fact that she didn’t know she couldn’t have sex was news to her when they finally spent time together. He was much older than her, too.

God Only Knows by for KING & COUNTRY

I know you have walked in the dark alone, Bob. I’m so sorry. Here I am. My hand is outstretched toward you. I’d love to take the pain away. In fact, if you will sit down and try to be still, I will send healing your way. I love you because you are you. You needn’t be anyone else. You are the amazing Sir Deli Man. I wished you could save my daughter instead of planning her utter annihilation.

Drastic circumstances call for drastic measures. This is a filibuster for love, buster. But she needs to eat a meal, so we’ll be right back. Here’s a playlist full of what her love sounds like. She made it just for you, actually:

Dance With Me, Moose — a Playlist for the one, the only SIR DELI MAN!

She was playfully calling you moose for a long while there. She wouldn’t accept my lies about your name. I told her tons of names to call you by as cosmic divine therapy to make her a virgin again. She calls you Moose because to her, you are larger than life. When you looked her in the eyes that day, it seared itself into her brain. She’s been haunted by you ever since. Your presence is beyond her, young man.

We’re making a pizza, so we’ll be back once we finish that. We’ll start a new entry, bro.

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