The Internet is a Playground

by David Thorne

  Guns

  Having purchased a heavy gauge shotgun and armor piercing rounds from Walmart for the equivalent price of a carton of cigarettes in Australia, I befriended a local farm boy named Chuck by making up Aboriginal words and telling lies about Australian fauna (it is now a fact in Virginia that koalas, known as Boogawigs in the native Aboriginal language, communicate with each other through song and weave themselves jackets from gum leaves during winter). Chuck drove us in his red pickup to George Washington Forest to drink beer and kill something. Four drink bottles and a cinder block lost their lives that afternoon before a deer walked into the clearing and was shot in the leg. As the humane thing to do is never leave an animal wounded, and having run out of ammunition, we clubbed it to death with the butt of our rifles, which took about an hour, then tied it to the hood of the pickup truck and drove home listening to John Denver, while yelling, “Whooo!” at pedestrians. Chuck wanted to ritualize my first kill by dipping his finger in the blood and wiping it on my face, but as he had done a poo in the forest, without access to hand-washing facilities, I told him that as a vegetarian this would not be appropriate.

  Philadelphia

  Made the long journey from Harrisonburg to Philadelphia for the sole purpose of visiting the famous Love Park. My girlfriend and I fought just hours before due to me stating that I would rather go see the Space Shuttle than visit her family, but apparently there is no Pissed Off at David Park. We then drove home during a blizzard using a TomTom GPS system stuck on bicycle mode.

  The Space Shuttle

  Prior to this trip, the only reason I had ever considered visiting the U.S. was because it has the Space Shuttle. Like a priest carrying home his first computer after hearing about child pornography on the Internet, I was practically foaming at the mouth in anticipation during the drive to the Smithsonian National Air & Space Museum. I have stood in front of masterpieces in art museums that did not raise an inkling of the emotion I felt upon seeing the space shuttle. It was at that moment I realized that the high horse on which I had laughed at Trekkies had sidled away in shame. On the way out, after spending the rest of our trip allowance at the museum shop buying plastic products made in China, I pulled my pants high up around my waist, gave my lunch money to a bigger boy, and considered going over to Windows®.

  Belly messages pretending to be a girl on the Internet

  Danni

  . . . I will but first you have to write “I have a big Mr. Steve for D.T.” on your stomach and e-mail a photo to me to prove you are genuine.

  Hawk410

  ok. Whats a Mr. Steve? A cock?

  Danni

  Sigh . . . yes Jamie.

  Hawk410

  Do you want my cock in the picture?

  Danni

  Just your stomach is fine.

  Danni

  . . . I would love to bounce up and down on you like a five year old on a jumping castle at a birthday party.

  Scott_Mintred

  Haha. id fuckn love that to. so are we gonna meet now?

  Danni

  Definitely but first write “I want you to bounce on me D.T.” on your stomach, take a photo, then e-mail it to me to prove you are genuine.

  Scott_Mintred

  Cool.

  Danni

  . . . as I am very dirty and need somebody to lick my body all over.

  Surfkilla

  cool! I like dirty girls.

  Danni

  No, I mean literally dirty, the plumbing is broken and I have not showered in days. I will give you my phone number but first you have to write “I want to lick D.T.’s body all over” on your stomach, take a photo, then e-mail it to me to prove you are genuine.

  Surfkilla

  ok.

  Danni

  . . . we are actually only about five minutes drive from each other. Or in your case, a ten minute bus ride. You can call me but before I give you my number you have to write “I want to flashdance for you D.T.” on your stomach, take a photo, then e-mail it to me to prove you are genuine.

  Randbgeoff

  What the fuck does that mean?

  Danni

  Um . . . flashdance means to ejaculate on someones chest I think.

  Randbgeoff

  Fuck ok. Sorry, I havent heard that one before. Hang on.

  Danni

  . . . yes, I have been very naughty. Will you spank me and tell me that I am a bad girl for spending my money on that Duran Duran record instead of buying you a fathers day present?

  Southsidetom

  Sure.

  Danni

  Ok but first write “I am your daddy D.T.” on your stomach, take a photo, then e-mail it to me to prove you are genuine. Southsidetom

  No problem babe.

  Danni

  . . . yes but first you have to write “There’s a D.T. party in my pants” on your stomach, take a photo, then e-mail it to me to prove you are genuine.

  Romanticguy

  What do you want me to write it with?

  Danni

  I dont care what you write it with, doesn’t your wife have lipstick or something?

  Romanticguy

  All right.

  Mr. Carganovsky extreme stuntman to the max

  Hello, my name is Mr. Carganovsky, and I’m Australia’s most extreme stuntman to the awesomest max. If you have a party, wedding, or BBQ that you need a show for, contact me and I will do you a good price. I will soon be famous and the price will go up, so be quick.

  I have been a professional stuntman for nearly four weeks, and in that time I have looked death in the face many times. My career began when someone clipped the side mirror of my Datsun 180B while I was parked at Kmart. I was inside purchasing credit for my phone at the time and did not notice the cracked mirror until I was driving home. A police car, with sirens blaring and lights flashing, came up behind me before overtaking, and due to refraction caused by the shattered mirror, I thought there were about forty police vehicles behind me and almost had an aneurysm. I have a few outstanding parking fines. I swerved, almost hitting a dog, before bringing the vehicle under control. The dog was on the other side of the road and behind a fence, but if it hadn’t been, the outcome could have been very different. The adrenaline rush was unlike anything I had ever experienced, and the rest of the way home I drove sixty-three even though it was a sixty zone, as my need for speed had been fueled.

  My most recent stunts include running on the concrete at my local swimming pool, putting aluminum foil in the microwave, and talking to strangers. This morning, while standing approximately three meters from a brick wall, I threw a golf ball at it as hard as I could. Due to the combination of physics and an internal rubber structure, it returned at almost the speed it left and struck me just above my ear on the right side of my head. I think I may have a concussion and cannot see in color. As such, I did not go to work today and instead spent the afternoon reorganizing my wardrobe, as I have way too many black and gray shirts.

  To prepare for each stunt, I enter a deep meditative state through circular breathing exercises and twelve hours in my flotation tank listening to whale calls. As I do not own a tape of whale sounds, I make the noises myself. I am currently preparing for my latest stunt, in which I intend to play with pointy sticks, then eat and go swimming without waiting thirty minutes. Safety is paramount in the stunt business, so yesterday I bought a first aid kit for the glove compartment. The vehicle predates manufacturer requirements for air bags, but I have glued several rubber stress balls to my steering wheel and replaced the interior lining with bubble wrap. The car’s exterior, engine, transmission, and tires are shot, but apart from that the vehicle is in excellent condition, so it is worth spending money on. Last week I had sign writers paint “Mr. Carganovsky, Exteme Stuntman to the Awesomest Max” on the side, and this has attracted a lot of attention.

  Last night, I wrote and recorded my own theme song:

  “Mr. Carganovsky to the Extreme” By Mr. Carganovsky, music by Proclaimers<
br />
  It’s Mr. Carganovsky,

  Being extreme to the awesomest max,

  Did you see what he just he did?

  No? Pity, because it was amazing.

  Don’t push him, because he is close to the edge,

  Woh!

  I am currently forced to bob my head and tap the steering wheel at traffic lights to disguise the fact I don’t have a cassette player, so that people do not point and say, “Look, there’s Mr. Carganovsky, sitting in his car in silence. He must be poor.” Also, if I am touching metal when I turn the ignition key, I receive a short but painful shock, which often causes me to black out for an hour or two. This accounts for my being late to work at least three times a week, and I am on my last warning, but I don’t care if I get sacked, as I will be famous soon.

  With the money I make from being a famous stuntman, I am hoping to one day open a stunt school offering courses in flicking the light switch on and off repeatedly and sitting too close to the television.

  Mr. Carganovsky’s lawyer writes a letter

  From: David Thorne

  Date: Friday 26 June 2009 11:02 a.m.

  To: Craig Ellison

  Subject: Skye Cargan

  Dear Mr. Ellison,

  Thank you for your letter. Does the forty-eight hours include sleeping time? I like to sleep in till around midday, often longer if it is cold and rainy outside. Today when I got up it was bitterly cold, so I sat on the couch watching Blakes-7 DVDs wrapped in my comforter and, therefore, technically still in bed. If I bought two dunas, lay down on them with my arms and legs splayed out, drew the outline of my body, then cut out and stitched the dunas together to form a suit, I could wear this to the shops and even to work on cold days. People would probably look at me and say, “I wish I had one of those duna suits,” and I would say, “Yes, it is very warm and comfortable and just like being in bed; therefore, I am exempt from any deadlines that may be placed on me.”

  Regards, David

  From: Craig Ellison

  Date: Friday 26 June 2009 12:55 p.m.

  To: David Thorne

  Subject: Re: Skye Cargan

  Dear Mr. Thorne

  The 48 hours includes sleeping time. I would advise you to take this matter seriously as anti harrassment laws are very specific and carry penalites ranging from fines to prison time. You would also be liable for all legal fees.

  Sincerely, Craig Ellison

  From: David Thorne

  Date: Friday 26 June 2009 1:27 p.m.

  To: Craig Ellison

  Subject: Re: Re: Skye Cargan

  Dear Mr. Ellison,

  Does the forty hours begin from when you wrote the letter, when I received it, or when I chose to ignore it? Despite your inference, I do indeed take your threats very seriously. The thought of spending time in prison has caused my entire body to break out in a rash. It is a brown, even rash that makes me look as if I have been away on holidays and gotten a tan, so that is nice. While I am sure prison would have certain benefits, such as not having to decide what to wear each morning and the opportunity to meet new and interesting people, I have heard that they make you get up early and also expect you to shower in front of each other.

  At home, I shower with the lights off, as I have a dim view of nudity. I also read once that the other prisoners make you dress up like a lady and dance for them, which does not sound like a safe idea. It has taken me years of practice to just walk in high heels, let alone dance. I would probably have to do one of those eighties dances where you just keep your legs still and dance with your arms and upper body, and the other prisoners would probably get bored and go and do other things. Unless I did the Robot, of course, which does not involve moving the feet much, and everyone loves the Robot. I know only two other dances: the Matrix, where you lean right back waving your arms slowly; and the old man dance, where I tense up, shuffle my feet intermittently, complain about the music volume, and sit down for a rest. I could probably tap dance as well, as it looks easy, but nobody likes that rubbish.

  Regards, David

  From: Craig Ellison

  Date: Friday 26 June 2009 3:06 p.m.

  To: David Thorne

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Skye Cargan

  Dear Mr. Thorne

  What does this all have to do with removing our clients name and photo from your website? I would strongly advise you not to ignore our letter. If references to our client are not removed by 5pm Wednesday 7th of July we will file a complaint with the courts pending instruction from Mr. Cargan.

  Sincerely, Craig Ellison

  From: David Thorne

  Date: Friday 26 June 2009 4:21 p.m.

  To: Craig Ellison

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Skye Cargan

  Dear Mr. Ellison,

  I understand. In the event that this proceeds to court, will you appear for me as a character witness? I enjoy room temperature, pushing buttons with a really smooth push button action, and getting a little bit wet in the rain and then quickly running inside. Should you require more information, I am happy to meet up with you for a coffee or watch a DVD and discuss further. Have you seen the movie Waterworld? We could read to each other if you preferred. There is a chance we could even become close friends through this, which would be a nice outcome.

  I read somewhere that lawyers are second only to dentists in regard to committing suicide, so you would have someone to talk to when you are down about everyone despising you. I would probably talk you out of committing suicide, and you would owe me your life and buy me nice things. I would pretend to feel uncomfortable about accepting them and say, “You don’t have to feel obligated. That’s what friends do,” but really I would be quite happy about it. I am a size 32 in pants.

  Regards, David

  From: Craig Ellison

  Date: Monday 29 June 2009 9:36 a.m.

  To: David Thorne

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Skye Cargan

  David, please just remove the references to Mr. Cargan from your website. He has not given you permission to use his image or name. His posting information on Facebook or Myspace does not make that information public property. I have spoken to Mr. Cargan in regards to this matter and while it is my understanding that he initiated the contact and the webpage was your response, it would be preferrable to all concerned that you end this now to avoid possible litigation.

  Sincerely, Craig Ellison

  From: David Thorne

  Date: Monday 29 June 2009 10:09 a.m.

  To: Craig Ellison

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Skye Cargan

  Dear Mr. Ellison,

  I appreciate Mr. Cargan’s preference for anonymity all too well. Each day before I leave the house, I dress as an elderly Jamaican woman and am well known in the community as Mrs. Cocowan. That way, if I ever find myself involved in a major crime, it is just a matter of time before they start looking for a large old black lady that sings for money at the train station and can run surprisingly fast. If I change Mr. Cargan’s name would this be acceptable to you?

  Regards, David

  From: Craig Ellison

  Date: Monday 29 June 2009 2:42 p.m.

  To: David Thorne

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Skye Cargan

  Dear Mr. Thorne

  I have spoken to Mr. Cargan and we agree that changing Mr. Cargan’s identity would be an acceptable outcome. I am glad we could bring this issue to an agreeable close.

  Sincerely, Craig Ellison

  That Tuesday and why I was not at work

  While my excuses for not attending work began as believable dental and doctor appointments, as the agency I worked for went from a thriving business with more than forty clients to trading while insolvent, I realized nobody cared if I was absent or what reasons I gave. As there were no clients when I did attend, I spent most of the day playing a game called “Staring at the wall wondering what happy people are doing” and answering calls while pretending I was a confused Cantonese woman. In a
last-ditch effort to keep the few remaining clients we had, we invited them to join us at a charity dinner to buy musical instruments for starving children. The dinner started normally, with Thomas, the business owner, talking about his hair and a staff member leaving in tears after being accused of stealing, but went downhill from there. By the fifth Scotch, the entire table, including the managing director of McDonald’s, sat in embarrassed silence as Thomas cried while telling a story about how, when he was twelve, his dog Trevor had died of testicular cancer. By Scotch ten, Thomas had vomited onto the leg of one client and perforated another’s arm with a fork while flamboyantly telling a story about his experience in a Phuket brothel.