Monday, February 20, 2006

We've got a breather on line 2

Yes people, I have arrived.
Nothing say's 'you've made it' quite like the acquisition of your very own stalker.

My only gripe is that I wish mine was a little more original and exciting in his m.o.
But no, I get stuck with the heavy breather. How lame is that? No bloody sheep hearts in the postbox, no gifts of fresh kills tied up with organza ribbon outside my bedroom window, no eerie photographs of me in mundane domesticity, no decoupage poems made up entirely of headlines from The Daily Sun, not even a creepy but heartfelt "I love you to violent death" email from a spammer address.
All I get is some asthmatic dweeb exhaling into the mouthpiece of his mobile.
Sucks hey?

But I've always wondered what it's like to be a Heavy Breather? Are they born that way; growing up and questioning, knowing that they were somehow different? Or is it society that shapes their proclivities; the influence of a distant father, an overbearing mother, or a more-favoured sibling?

And what about their actual antics? Surely, it's no easy task to find some suitable secluded spot in which to submit to what could be an inherent nature. What if someone stumbled upon their Breathing, what would they say? How would they judge? Would they even understand?
It's obviously not something they're able to share with friends, one can imagine the labelling, the ostracization, the eventual donning of the pariah mantle.

Poor, tragic, troubled.

Have you hugged a Heavy Breather today?


Muhammad said...

Some stalkers are quite benign, but finding someone in your garden at three o'clock in the morning with a meat cleaver and a hard-on can't be much fun.
- Daniel Craig

zee said...

i would prefer the breather to the
'my wife's an axe-murderer' type of a stalker - call me unexciting, but hey having a person lingering around my garden at 3am may render my attempts at sleeping futile

brainhell said...

I think you can ask the cops to put a trace on your phone. I think it's time Nelson went back to Robin Island, don't you?

Profane. Profound. What's your poison?