[.:Piston.Boyz:.]

- Update.
Updated Chick of the Week and Car of the Week.

date:Wed 01/ 11 / 00

- Fuck me with a Hairbrush.
Hey my rusty readers! This a pshyco story bout a girl named Brianna. Read it. Amazing.

If you want to know why I’m in here, I guess should start from the beginning. Hold on. I'm trying to figure out when the beginning was. When did it begin? What was the starting event? I'm trying to figure this out.

My roommate Corrine is pretty smart. I’m surprised that she’s even in here. She’s more like a nurse than a patient. Whenever I ask her why she’s in here she gives me this rude look. This frustrates me for some reason. And you know what? I don’t think it should bother me as much as it does. I mean, it’s not like I’m eager to tell everyone why I’m in here. Wait a minute, I’m going off topic. I don’t want to tell you about this place. I just want to tell you why I’m here.

I guess I can say it started freshman year. It started the day I approached a girl named Olivia. I had talked to her once before, but it was only for a few seconds. The day I decided to approach her was the day that everything started. It was the day I found out that someone was going through the same thing that I was: insanity.

“Hey Liv,” I said to her. “Don’t call me Liv.” “Then what should I call you?” “Psychotic freak,” she replied. “Call me psychotic freak.”

I smirked. “Why is that funny?” she asked me. “Do you think it’s funny that I’m mentally ill?” “What? Oh, no. I don’t think that-” “Why are you here anyway Brianne? What do you want?” “Um, nothing.” “Then go away. I have to shoot up some heroin.”

“Are you serious?” She gave me a rude look. “Ya. What, do you think I’m just saying this for fun? I’m a drug addict ok?” “Let me buy some heroin from you.” I surprised myself. Why had I just said that? I had never done any drug except for weed.

“You can’t afford this shit,” she told me. “Heroin is expensive.” She started laughing. “Fuck me with a hairbrush Bri.” “Huh?” “Fuck me with a hairbrush.” “I don’t get it.” “I’m just kidding hun. I’ll share my needle with you. But you’ll have to eat me out. Ok?”

It was so weird. I had just met someone who was crazy. I knew she was crazy. I’m crazy, so I can tell when other people are crazy. It's like this special sense that I have. I think all crazy people have it.

“I’m not a lesbian,” I muttered. It was a lame response, but I didn’t know what else to say. “That’s not what I’ve been hearing from everyone else.” “That’s just a rumor some kids started. It’s not true. I’m straight.” “That doesn’t mean you can’t eat me out. If you want some heroin you’re gonna have to eat me out.”

Things slowly got weird for me after I met Olivia. Weird and complicated. I began to feel different. I began to feel like I didn’t exist. I felt like I was floating. Everything seemed to be passing by me in slow motion. I didn’t understand why I was feeling like this, but the feeling scared me. I didn’t want to talk about it with anyone. I was afraid they would laugh at me and think I was being stupid.

I had always felt these things, but not to the extent that I was feeling them at this time.

My parents had just gotten divorced. Everyone at school hated me. My grades were dropping. Things were feeling weird, so I turned to drugs. To drugs and other screwed up stuff. Everything you wouldn’t want your kid to do. I became best friends with Olivia. I became exactly like her. I molded myself into what she was.

I would follow her every movement. She would look to the left, I would look to the left. She would look to the right, I would look to the right. I had become a part of her and she had become a part of me. She was controlling me.

“Psychotic whore!” she screamed at me one day. We were at her house. Nobody was home. “You’re the psychotic whore," I told her. She started crying. “I’m sorry Bri," she whispered. "I love you. I hate you so much.” I went over to hug her. "Did you get the powder?”

We snorted a couple of lines. Talked about stuff that didn’t make sense to anyone except for each other. “It’s like we’re not even here,” she whispered to me. “And this is some warped dream. Because it’s impossible for something like this to happen.” “Something like this?” I snorted another line. “Ya, like where we find each other and like... exist.” “Oh I know what you mean. It’s like a movie right? Where everything is fake.” She nodded. “And artificial.”

She began taking off her shirt. “This is my movie,” she giggled. We turned some music on. Blasted it. Became a part of it. “I’m in your movie, and you’re in mine.” She started swaying to the music. I followed her motions. “Die bitch!” she screamed. “I hate you Olivia!” I began talking to myself just as she had. “Die bitch! I hate you Brianne!” We were repeating each others words. I took off my shirt. Started rubbing my boobs. Music was pounding in my ears.

“I love you Olivia,” I told her. “I love you. I hate you. I love you.” She walked up to me, swaying her head from side to side. We began kissing. She got some of her saliva in my mouth. I swallowed it. She pulled off my shorts. I pulled off her skirt. I felt wonderful all over. This was like nothing that had ever happened before. I was shaking. I felt all good down there. She slowly moved her tongue down my body and began licking my pussy. I was so wet. So hot. She moved her tongue all around me and I began to moan. I started screaming in pleasure. Bent down to snort another line. “You’re a virgin?” she asked me. “You’re so tight down there.” “Virgin is me. But I want to lose it. Lose my virginity. You get it?” Was I making any sense? Everything was blurry. “I’ll take your virginity,” she screamed. “I’ll take your virginity bitch.” Oh yes. “Call me a bitch again!” “Bitch! Stupid fucking bitch!” She squeezed my nipples. I screamed in pleasure. “Hurt me. Hurt me now. Fuck me with a hairbrush.”

She went somewhere. Where did she go? I started fingering myself. With four fingers, the most I had ever gotten in there. I took my fingers out and started licking them. “I taste so good.” I fell down on the couch. Everything was spinning.

Olivia came back. She was holding a hairbrush. “We're crazy, me and you. We're so insane.” I moaned. I opened my legs. She stuck the hairbrush in me. Moved it in and out. “Faster!” I screamed. “Harder! Faster! Harder! Faster! Harder!” She obeyed. Kept moving the hairbrush inside of me. My eyes were closed. I opened them. I saw blood on the couch. Had she broken my hymen? “I broke your hymen.” I smiled. “You’re me,” I told her. “And I’m you.” She took the hairbrush out of me. It was covered in blood. She started licking the hairbrush. She moved it all over her body.

We rubbed our pussies together. Loud music. Even louder. I felt her juices on mine. We were moaning. We were together. We were high. We were having a great time.

I had fucked up.

It was the 3rd quarter of school. “Hey dyke,” some girl screamed at me. I ignored her. I was high on something. I forget what. I was too high to respond to the girl. I went into the girls bathroom and cut my wrist with a razor I had. “Where is Liv?” I said out loud. “Where is she? Where is she?” I started crying. I looked around the bathroom. No one was there. I searched my backpack for my medication. Where was it? I found my bottle of pills. Took a few of them. I ran my wrist under the sink.

“Where are you Liv?” I asked. I looked into the mirror. “You’re a psychotic fuck up,” I told it. “I hate you Brianne. You should be dead. You’re good for nothing. You’re so fake. Artificial. Nobody is watching your movie.”

“Where are you Liv? Where are you Liv? Liv? Whore. Die.” Where was she? What was happening? Why was I here? Where was I? “This isn’t funny.” I laughed. “You shouldn’t be laughing.” I smacked myself. Ran water over my face. Wrapped a tissue around my wrist.

“It’s like I’m not even here. And this is some warped dream. Is it a dream? Is this a dream?” I smacked myself again. I didn’t feel anything. Why wasn’t I feeling anything? I took out my razor. Cut my face up. I was bleeding, but I didn’t feel anything. “I’m numb. I don’t feel anything.”

What had happened to Olivia?

I went home. My parents weren’t there; they never were. I smoked a joint. It didn’t do much for me. I tried calling Olivia, but she didn’t pick up the phone. I started getting extremely worried. I needed to see her. I needed to get to her house.

“Everything sucks,” I said to no one in particular. “I’m mentally ill. I know you can’t hear me, but I’m mentally ill. I’m talking to myself. And that’s ok. It’s not my fault. This isn’t my fault. This isn’t my fault. No it’s not.” I lit a cigarette.

I went into the garage and saw my moms car. I found her keys laying on the counter. I grabbed them. “I’m stealing your car mom. I’m stealing your car, and I’m going to find Olivia. I’m going to live with her instead of you. She loves me more than you do.” I looked around. No one was there. I tripped over my shoelace. “You’re so clumsy.” I took a drag of my cigarette. “Where are you Olivia? Where are you? How am I suppose to act now? What should I do? How should I be? How should I feel? Can you help me?” I needed her. Without her I was nothing.

I put the keys in the ignotion of my moms car. I had never driven a car before. I had no clue what I was doing. I put the gear on R. “That means reverse right? Right? Why won’t it move?” I put my foot on the break peddle. I heard a noise. “This means the car is starting, right?” I was scared. “I am not here. This is fake.”

Reverse. I’m driving. Turn. Forward. I was driving. I had done it. I was on my way to Olivia’s house. People were beeping their horns at me. I didn’t care. “Fuck you idiots. Fuck you idiots. Not my fault. Not my fault.” My wrist was hurting. Had I cut myself there earlier? I kept driving. I heard people screaming at me. I didn’t listen. I got to Olivia’s house.

I walked right in. She would always let me in her house. I never had to knock. “Where are you? Come be with me. Will you be with me? We can do this together. Misery loves company. Be miserable with me. Be mentally ill with me. Where are you? Olivia!” I ran into her room. I saw her laying naked in her bed. She was covered in blood.

I screamed on top of my lungs. “No! Fuck!” I collapsed onto the floor. Was she really dead? I shook her body. Shook it hard. No movement. What had happened to her? I began throwing up. Everything went black.

I don’t remember what happened after that. I just remember that I was taken here. They told me that I was crazy. I told them I already knew that, and that I was proud of it.

Speaking of crazy, I’m not completely crazy. I'll tell you a seret. I’m kind of crazy, but I’m not flat out nuts. I just act like I am. I let everything loose and become anything I want. I'm free. This is all thanks to Olivia. She’s helped me with this. She taught me how to be this way. To do what I want to do, and not what someone else wants me to do. Olivia has helped me become my own person.

I know that Olivia is dead now, but she’s still in my heart. I don’t want to find out how she died. I don’t want to remember any of that. I just want to remember the good times we had together. We bent the rules together. We were soul mates.

If I never met Olivia than none of this loony big business would have happened. I never would have been in here. But you want to know something? I’m glad that I met her. She did so much for me. If meeting her meant being sent here, then I’m glad that I’m here.

Now you know why I'm in here. I think that pretty much covers everything. There were a few things I left out, but I didn't leave out anything important. Why did I tell you why I was in here? Because I felt that you would like to know. I felt that you would be interested. I would tell you some more, but I really need to go now. Corrine is calling me. She's telling me that it's time for lunch.

I'll get out of here soon, don't worry. When I get out of here I’m going to be exactly like Olivia was. Junior year. When Junior year starts I’m getting discharged. I’m going to make Olivia proud.

Brianne Coulhert April 17, 1999

Psychiatric evaluation:

Brianne is a 15 year old white female who looks several years younger than her stated age. She has brown hair and green eyes. Her height and weight are within normal ranges. Brianne was admitted to South Barrington Psychiatric Facility after recklessly driving her mothers car. She crashed into a building a half of a mile from her house. The patient denies having any suicidal ideation. She claims that she was simply driving to a friends house. The patient reports that when she arrived at her friends house she found her dead. “When I got to Olivia’s house she was covered in blood. I tried to make her become alive again, but she wouldn’t move. So I knew that she was dead.” “Olivia” appears to be an imaginary friend of the patients. The patient was not at anyones house. The house scenario was a false memory created by her.

Brianne reports feelings of loneliness and despair. “It’s like nobody is going through what I am. Nobody knows what being crazy is like. I feel really hopeless. Like I’m going to be alone forever. Olivia knew what being crazy was like. Olivia was the only one who knew.” She reports what sounds like depersonalization. “I’m not really here, I’m just floating here. But I don’t exist. I’m standing on top of my body and watching myself. This is all a movie.” The patient claims to be “stressed out.” She says that the only reason she is stressed out is because “Olivia” died. She mentioned that her parents had recently gotten divorced, but that it had little to do with anything. She says she likes being crazy. She seems to mention being crazy quite often.

In the middle of the evaluation the patient started laughing. Her laugh was high pitched. When asked what was funny she replied by saying “Fuck me with a hairbrush.” What she means by this is unknown. The patient reports that she’s “a really big drug addict.” She claims that she cuts herself so she can “feel real instead of feeling fake.” She has scars all over her body. Her voice tone is higher than normal. Her affect is slightly off. Her judgment and reality testing are poor.

Initial Diagnosis: Psychosis NOS

Treatment:

Brianne will be admitted to our adolescent ward on the East Wing. She will be assessed by professionals who will determine her diagnosis. Medication is needed.

date:Tue 25/ 10 / 00

- PBTC Dating Report
Dating opportunities are at an record low as all pretty chicks persist in refusing to date any man who isn't extremely rich and extremely attractive (extremely rich is the important factor). Even the ugly last-resort fat greasy skanks refuse to fuck any guy who would only come to them as a last resort (all men except the blind and most immigrants). The really bad news is that there is no relief in sight for horny and rejected men, as all women are working against them in yet another respect: when they shit kids out of their womb, only the attractive boys and girls are kept around. Ugly guys are tolerated and raised to adulthood before getting kicked out, but girl babies who will grow up to be average and ugly, and easy to use and abuse, are assessed by their fame-hungry mothers and drowned in the toilet.
*FLUSH*
Future prospects appear grim. Beautiful girls consistently travel in packs to avoid driving highways alone and to have a fashion and make-up evaluator on-hand at all times. This results in combinations of pretty bitches and angry bitches walking around everywhere critiquing things and making heterosexual men hard without any hope of satisfaction. Unless a solution can be found, it is unlikely any but the richest of college attending volleyball-playing weightlifting cell phone-using asshole fuck-Os will be fucking these unattainable girls.
Most upsetting is the fact that, despite what we were all taught by 80's sitcoms and bar-room jokes, cock-size is NOT the way to get girls. Whether your cock is large and in charge or pathetically short and shriveled doesn't seem to matter at all to this new generation of girls.
"I don't care that Joey's dick is an inch long hard," said Costa Mesa resident Katie, age 18, "his dick is always tucked away in his pants. But you can't tuck away his BMW Z3 Roadster. You can't imagine what it's like to pull up to school and Chill riding in that! Maybe it would be better if he had a bigger dick, but I can only achieve orgasm when my dog Rex is licking me out anyway!"
So we as a world of men must work together so we can all enjoy some pussy. We must join forces to investigate the modern mysteries of girls named "Mandy!" and "Susie!" and "Sophie!" Names which require that exclamation point at the end every time you say them. Girls who immediately join the pantheon of Beautiful People in the world once they enter kindergarten (If I had a nickel for every kindergarten chick I found incredibly attractive, I could probably buy their sexual services whenever I wanted!).
Girls seem to think that having a pierced tongue is simply a fashion statement and not a implement to improve their blow job technique. Only when all men everywhere are armed with the skills necessary to get any random girl lubed up and raring to go get plowed in the closest men's room will the eager boners of America be sated. If you've got a girlfriend of your own, go fuck her like you've never fucked her before, and think about all the guys who are forced to just get shit-faced every weekend. Wouldn't it be nice to loan your girlfriend out to some lonely guys? Or maybe just collect her cream in some jar and mail it out to interested guys? Just think about it, okay? Drinking is cool!

date:thur 6/ 10 / 00

- Jesusfuck the dead lesbians elbow lettuce
Hermaphrodites. Herpes. Hernias. Homosexuals. Hippies. Hairy Tongues.

There is a growing trend on the Internet of websites that specialize in offering the most foul and putrid images ever seen to their audience.
Actually, let me rephrase that.
There is a growing trend on the Internet of websites that specialize in offering the most foul and putrid images ever seen to try and GARNER (just a fancy word for getting) an audience.
Controversy is nothing new to the web. By using asinine shock tactics and vaguely disguising a website as some sort of nouveau-post-modern-anti-humanist-goth-poetry journal, many teenagers are being faced with something that they never thought they would have to deal with in their entire lifetime: Attention.
One question comes to mind when looking at these images: Where do they come from?
The answer is quite simple: Medical textbooks used to teach students in school, historical documents, libraries, crime scene photos, war zones, police departments, the news media, art museums... The list goes on and on. The simple truth of the matter is that these photographs are easily available to anyone who knows where to look.
The most popular source to find these images are on medical reference websites and USEnet newsgroups (i.e.: alt.binaries.pictures.dead.babies, etc).
Let's face it, anyone can put up a photograph of a maimed body and some cryptic text beside it inferring something which nobody but the author understands or cares about. Here is an example off the top of my head:
[insert photo of dead baby here] Oh my blackened heart. I am dead. Murder and the children. Fistfuck genitals and bountiful rape! Alone and five thousands meters from my womb, they are coming! Crushed. Slaughtergoth ground beef. Mommy don't let me die, there is always bulemia.
Yawn. What's the purpose of doing something like this you may ask? Psuedo-fame. The goal is to fuck with peoples minds in such a way that you actually make them physically ill and mortified to the point that the imprint of your website is left on their brain permanently.
Oh, and control. Power. Ego tripping! Making yourself think you are the shit, dude.
Posting pictures of other peoples suffering shows that you are cutting edge and don't conform to what society deems normal! Everybody knows that! Right? Absolutely.
Photographs of dead children are all the rage in France! Everyone knows that North America is always ten years behind Europe culturally.
Now many of you are probably asking yourselves "Can you alter your readers brain chemistry to the point where they are forced to tell everyone they know about what horrors they have witnessed on the otherwise sterile World Wide Web?"
Let's find out!
Follow my simple guide to making your own shock journal website and you too will be rolling in the hits. People from all over the world will be wondering if you were systematically tortured and molested as a child.
1) Go to said newsgroup(s), other websites, magazines etc and collect as many dead bodies, deformed babies and crime scene/rape photographs as possible. Stealing from any and all sources is not only tolerated but ENCOURAGED! Remember kids, copyright laws don't apply on the Internet. A quick way to get content is to type in "abortion sex pix" on Yahoo!
2) Choose a stupid an irrelevant name for your new dot-com. Some simple suggestions would be to take already popular names and rearrange them for mass consumption. Rottenproject, BadAssIdiot, GothNation, KillThePuppies etc are all suitable names for your new website.
3) Now that you have chosen a name for your new palace of purgatory, take each photograph and do some creative editing. Use any graphical editor and display the address (URL) to your site on the photograph so people know where it has been stolen/originated from. Please see this example for the correct font size and placement of your URL.
4) When designing your new website please take into consideration design elements of all other popular websites on the Internet. It is recommended that you just take their design and edit it a bit without paying any attention to originality. The fact is, being original isn't original anymore!
Change a light gray to a dark gray, a dark blue to a light blue, etc. In no time at all you will have a website that just SCREAMS "The Next Trend!" Remember kids, links always go on the left hand side of the page, your site logo goes on the top.
Stay tuned for the next episode of Shock-Website 101 when I reveal the secrets to pulling cheap publicity stunts (i.e.: Hanging yourself on your webcam) and my handy guide to fake hacks and hoaxes to get everyone on the bandwagon.

date:thur 6/ 10 / 00

- IN The News...-
Eminem has revived his battle with teenage pop sensations Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera during a recent show in Los Angeles. A US web site has reported that the rapper, who has ridiculed the singers in his lyrics, took two blow-up dolls onto the stage with him at the Great Western Forum and named them Christina Gaguilera and Ditzy Spears.
After rubbing the dolls heads against his crotch, Eminem kicked them into the crowd calling them "f***ing c***s".

What a fucking legend. Eminem for President.

date:thur 6/ 10 / 00

- Real Good Shit.-
Britneys Nipple.

Nuff' Said.

date:Sat 30 / 9 / 00

Idiocey.
HEYYYYYYY STALE! LOOKIE AT PEEKCHORES OF MY XGURLFRIEND BECUZ SHES A DRUGGG ADICT HORE STILES!! PLEAZE POST HEM ON UR SITE THE STILES PROGECTS AN TELLME WHERE SO I CAN SEE THEM FOR 1 LAST TIME SO I CAN MASTURBAT AN BE HAPPEE.

date:thur 28/ 9 / 00

- Why? Why?.-
Australian soccer fans watched the usual blend of skilled play and puzzling errors bring about an end to their big tournament hopes. Stevo reports.
Most coaches will tell you that the key to success in soccer, more than in most sports, is a watertight defence. Given that soccer is one of the few sports that rewards draws, that's hardly surprising.
So you need a good keeper, a composed and organised sweeper, and a team of other defenders who are sufficiently skilled and adept in reading the game that they can close up space, defend the goal area or man-mark as required. You make life as hard as possible for the opposing attackers. And you never, ever give away an easy goal.
Sadly, it seems that someone forgot to tell the Olyroos about the last part of that equation. In the past few days, they have given away two of the softest goals you'll ever see in international football, courtesy of two defensive blunders that would have been considered appalling in schoolyard matches.
The first came on Wednesday night, when, with just nine minutes to go, Hayden Foxe's attempts to control a through ball on the edge of the area were chested (or armed) down by an Italian opponent, who subsequently set up an easy goal for a teammate - two on one against Australian keeper Danny Milosevic.
Australia had the better of that game but lost 1-0. Unfair? Maybe. But that's the way of sport. You give your opponents nothing.
It was a lesson the Olyroos did not heed. Against reigning Olympic champs Nigeria they gave them a two-goal start inside the first 22 minutes. Incredibly, Australia had the better of that period too; Nigeria just hit them twice on the break - clinically.
Australia dominated most of the rest of the game. It clawed back heroically to 2-2 before half-time. But then, for the second time in a few days, it self-destructed. Why oh fucking why?
Firstly Michael Curcija missed what most international players would regard as an easy header, unmarked, close to goal, centrally placed. It went wide. Then came Simon Colosimo's defensive howler, an underhit back-header intended for the keeper but which was easily intercepted by the speedy Victory Agali, who was able to waltz around the keeper for an easy goal.
After that, the Nigerians just camped in their own half and soaked up wave after wave of mostly impotent Australian attacks. The 3-2 result ended any hopes of the Olyroos advancing beyond the first round.
It's easy to feel sorry for the Olyroos. They lost their best player, Harry Kewell, and Socceroo skipper Paul Okon to injury before the tournament. They were chosen in the "Group of Death" alongside Italy, Nigeria and Honduras. In the absence of Kewell, Mark Viduka was able to be marked tightly and was largely ineffectual. And they had absolutely zero luck, outplaying their opponents in both matches before losing both.
But even though they didn't enjoy the luck they needed to win those matches, it was only basic, simple errors that condemned them instead to losses. Luck - or the absence of it - played no part in either defensive blunder. If they had held on for draws, we'd still be alive in the tournament.
So Australian soccer can't afford to feel sorry for itself. Instead, it must find a way to stop its teams giving up such easy goals in such crucial matches (the Matildas also threw away a winning chance last night by gifting the Swedish team a late goal). Until our teams can learn to give their opponents nothing, nothing is about all we can expect to take from our international outings.

In other news, my kart is going. I went with Chris and my bro to Eastern Creek and got some new NGK spark plugs. It flies like a muthafucker. Its so fast im scared. And its not even tuned properly yet. We are workin on it. I got a Sony MiniDisc MZ-R70

Do u hate when ur gonna say sumthing then u forget what it was? I do.

date:Tue 26/ 9 /00

- Sweet Sweet Holiday.-

Ahhhh...finally i have a day off work. I Love it already. Anyhoo my new kart engine has a fucked spark plug so although its ready to go, we have to wait for a new sparky. Its teasin me I tells ya! Shit. I came across this site. Geeks with Guns: They love Linux, and their Glocks.

Common Sense: Guns don't kill, people do.
Pres. Bill Clinton: Blame Guns, not intent.
Reality: Bullets, projected by guns, aimed and operated by people, kill.

date:Fri 22/ 9 /00

- mmmmm...speed.-

Today i got a new engine for my kart. It is a Yamaha KT100 producing around 15HP. Now this might not sound like much but it is pushing around 60KG (plus driver) and will take u to a top speed of around 105km/h. All this whilst sitting 1 inch off the ground provides for a very fast drive.

date:Tue 19/ 9 / 00

- Update.-

Chick of the week and Car of the week updated. I know im breaking the rules with the chick thing but hey, i didnt want to cut one off the pic. You understand.

date:Mon 18/ 9 / 00

- Wild Rex.-
This is one extreme Subaru. Its a Special Edition STi and is only available in Japan. It has a special edition front bar, extra high rear wing and with just over 260kW on tap, It Flies.