A personal account of Creepinsons. A smile and a dagger.

I was diagnosed by my good friend at work, and, feeling that he was patient zero, he felt implored by his integrity to tell me that I had contracted it. The first symptom was increased apathy and the increasing general dislike for small talk. A smile, and then a dagger. You see? He asked that with fervent zeal. You see?? You see?? You're fucked. That's the give away. You hate these people and their smiles. You've got it. Hence I was diagnosed. I pleaded. I begged. Tell me whats gonna happen. Nah man your fucked. Its too late. You'll see.

The second symptom became apparent somewhere during the next week. It was like an arm placed its wrist on your neck nape, and large knuckled phalanges felated your skull. The heinous head massage let your muscles slack and you knew. The only way to get ahead was the death of those ahead of you. I created fantastic scenarios where my fellow brothers met the reaper. Guts torn apart and stepping over a gurgling brother, grabbing a sweeper and cleaning gum wrappers, I step on their throats and fight the throes of life. Stamping out the last vestiges of their staccato breaths, I wonder if I can get their vacations, or the very least their lockers. I have a lot of winter overalls and can use their hangers. Fuck man, sorry. Those beneath me are concocting their own murderous machinations. I have to stay one step ahead of the reaper.

The final symptom settled over me like a December fog. It coddled me maniacally and I began to talk to myself out loud. Every female was subject to a lecherous inspection and the positing of their supposed sexual abilities. It was a visceral consumption of all social mores. Objects degraded with the finality of a pig tailed wrangled headboard smash. Discarding the conquered, I surveyed the landscape for the next happenstance.

Since my diagnosis, I have taken the certain steps to consider myself almost cured. I have nothing but a garbage pail mind, and finally in 2015 I have decided to stop throwing away the recyclables. Now, I take the time to fill at least three different bins. I know others are afflicted and they don't know how to fix it. Find me and I will help you over come what has come to be known as Creepinsons. Together we will either fight, or, as the silt settles, revel in it.