Monday, May 30, 2011

Caper's Capers

I decided to talk to Caper again, thinking this would be my last chance.  Turns out that he was not, in fact, planning on going on a berserker killing spree this week.  He said that he was just having some fun when he said he'd "help me with the list."

I went ahead and asked him about his background anyway, since I was interested anyway.  I guess I'm a bit of a reporter of sorts now, so I made sure to record the interview so I could transcribe it properly.  I asked him how exactly he first learned of and started working for The Boss.

"Well," he said, "It started way back a looooooong time ago.  I was just a high school kid [Messenger's Note: I think he's in his early 30's now].  My parents owned a comedy club, and I loved listening to all the professional and amateur comedians that would talk.  I got to hear Richard Pryor speak once.  That was a great night, I'll tell you that much.  It inspired me.  I decided that I wanted to be a comedian, to make them proud and help bring them business.

"Unfortunately, no one ever found me funny.  It killed my self-esteem, Messi [Messenger's Note: I refuse to spell it "Messy" or "Messie"].  Killed it and pissed on its rotting corpse.  But I kept trying.  The problem was, I just wasn't funny.  I eventually just gave up.

"And then, one night, after we were done closing up, they headed out the back into the alley.  That's when a mugger came up to them and asked them to hand all their stuff: money, jewelry, nipple clamps...the usual shit.  I was taking the garbage out and was kind of hidden behind the dumpster, so he didn't see me.  I'll never forget what happened next.  It was raining, the streetlight illuminating the three of them.  The man was yelling at them to hand everything over.  He wore a V for Vendetta Mask [Messenger Note: Yes, he said "V for Vendetta mask," not "Guy Fawkes mask"].  And then, after they did, he just shot them.  And because he had that mask on, there was no way the only witness (me) could identify him.

"Naturally, it bummed me out a bit to see my parents brutally murdered in front of my eyes.  I spent the better part of the year moping.  But then I realized that that's not what they wanted me to do.  See, they didn't even tell me to run when I was hiding behind that dumpster.  They knew that my running, or even their warning me of anything, would have gotten me killed.  They died so that I could have a better life.  I decided that I had to cheer up, and did it the only way I could.  See, I eventually started making jokes about their death.  Like that whole nipple clamps thing.  I could find what was funny in tragedy.  I discovered that while I had absolutely no talent in most forms of comedy, dark humor came naturally to me.

"So I started traveling the world, aiding in relief projects and cheering people up by making light of the terrible situations.  I cracked jokes at funerals.  I laughed at executions.  I made fun of natural disasters.  And I finally returned home with an incredible routine.  People were shocked and offended, yes, but they laughed.  They liked being offended.  It was grim, but it was hilarious.  I made enough money to buy back the club my parents had founded, and they lived on through my routines.  I was happy again."

He paused dramatically by giving a deep sigh.  "And then, the unthinkable happened.  Sure, there were crowds that were deader than most, but I had one crowd this one time that was absolutely terrible.  They didn't laugh at a single joke.  Not one.  They didn't boo me at all, they just didn't laugh.  Suddenly, all those old memories came flooding back.  I panicked.  I just wanted people to laugh again.  But they weren't laughing.  In my panic, I did what I had sworn I would never do.  I told the forbidden joke: the one I had learned in Germany about the tall, faceless man.  And guess what?  They loved it.  All of a sudden, there was thunderous applause and uproarious laughter.

"And then the lights went out.  Slowly, the laughter died off.  Then, silence.  Complete silence.  The lights flickered back on, and I looked out at the audience.  The entire crowd, every single last member, was sitting in their seats, dead.  Eviscerated.  I freaked, but looked closer.  Everyone had a smile on their face.  Just this big, giant grin.  I started to chuckle a bit at the realization: they had all, every one of them, literally died laughing.  They had paid me back with the best joke ever.

"I turned back to where I had been on stage, and a tall, skinny, faceless guy in a business suit--you know, The Big Guy, was standing at the microphone.  'howwouldyouliketocomeworkforme?' he said."  Caper paused.  "And, well, the rest is history."

I remember that at this point, I had kind of a "you're shitting me" look on my face.

"You're shitting me," I said.

Caper just started laughing.

"You're fucking shitting me.  How much of that did you make up?"

He laughed again.  "The whole thing.  Except for the parts that are true or half-true.  And even some of those are just flat-out lies."  He guffawed, stood up, and gave me a huge pat on the back.  "See you around, Messi.  Don't work too hard."

I am going to kill that son of a bitch.

-Don't Shoot The Messenger-

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Back to the Daily Grind

Aw, The Boss gave me Memorial Day weekend off.  Isn't that sweet?  Wait, no, I guess what I mean is that I spent the weekend doing something other than sitting in front of the computer reading blogs and working on hacking them.  Cracked quite a few passwords already.  Yeah, probably yours, too.  Get over it.  But apparently I'm ahead of schedule enough that The Boss was fine with me not really working hard this weekend.  He normally shows up to make sure I'm hard at work, but hasn't showed up yet this weekend.

So I've spent most of the weekend with Caper and Poe.  Getting to know people who've been here longer than I have is...kinda helpful.  They glanced over my List of Deceased and sort of laughed at how short it was.  I know I'm missing a lot, but hey, it's nowhere near done.  And besides, I don't know everything.  I have to compile this list myself.  Caper promised to help me with it some.  I was pretty stoked about that until I asked him for some that I had missed.  He kind of laughed and said "well, I don't own a computer, so I can't read the blogs.  But give me about a week and I'll have a whole pile of names for you to add."

Not to self: figure out whether you're going to talk to Caper and find out his story ASAP, or whether you're not going to risk getting attached to him.  Decide quickly, because he's probably not going to be around at all soon.

I get the feeling that he said that largely to make me uncomfortable.  He knows that I'm kind of on the fence, and that doesn't gain me a lot of favor.  They like trying to get reactions out of me.  I think the thing that finally worked for Caper was implying--well, okay, flat out claiming that he once killed a runner by (and I quote) "jamming [his] humongous cock so far down the fucker's throat that he choked to death on it."  And yeah, he got a visible reaction from me.  But Poe actually smacked him, so make of that what you will.  And then I think he mostly just started telling dead baby jokes to get reactions out of us.  Good times. It's been a good weekend, and I almost forgot who exactly it is I work for.  Really not looking forward to getting back to work on Monday.  Or late Sunday.  Or whenever The Boss shows up again.

Oh, and I guess I should clear the air a bit, since a person or two are saying I contradicted myself.  I never lied.  I've always said I work for The Boss because it's safer.

Safer for everyone.

-Don't Shoot The Messenger-

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Death Threats?

Apparently, Marnax has decided that I need to either join you guys, or he'll kill me.  The threat's a pretty hollow one, since I have no clue how he would find me in the first place.  I suppose he could try tracking me through an IP or something, but good luck, I'm behind seven proxies.

Why do so few of you seem to understand?  I'm not against you guys.  I only work for The Boss because it's safer.  I don't even do much.  I just hack a blog now and then and gather info on who's alive and who's dead.  And hey, it's public, so it's beneficial to you as well.

I feel for you guys.  I really do.  But don't lump me in with another mindless slave or insane madman who wants nothing more than to cut open your throat, bathe in your blood, and lick it off your corpse.  And even if I were, they're nothing like that.  Most aren't the mindless drones you take them for, and even the ones who are mindless drones aren't all bad.

I met a guy who started about the same time as me.  He called himself Hyde.  He said the only real reason he was working for The Boss was because he wanted to get closer to observe him.  He found The Boss strangely terrifying and compelling.  But then there were other times where he started talking about how terrified he was and how he shouldn't be here, and he started talking about someone named Erin and how he was responsible for her death.  The way he talked about here during those vulnerable moments makes me think he was punishing himself for that more than anything.

He never gave me his name.  He said that he abandoned it.  The guy completely abandoned his identity, and I think that it's for the same reasons: he felt guilty about that person's death.  He changed my perception of what it was like to work for The Boss, and he just so happened to be the first death I had to report.  Killed by Zero, a guy who claims to be on your side but murders you because he thinks your bones will help defeat The Boss (trust me, they won't).  And do you know what you all did?  You cheered Zero on.  You praised Zero for killing a kid who was lost, scared, and alone.

There's another guy I knew.  He called himself William.  He was one of those mindless drones--you know, the ones who have no will of their own.  I know that he called himself William, but that's all I know about him.  That's all I need to know.  Do you know why?  Because that's all he ever told me.  His name.  Most of the time he was a quivering wreck, looking empty and just stumbling through his duties.  But there was one time when I saw the glint of light in his eyes.  That one time when he was a person again and not just a shell.  One time when he was actually thinking for himself.  We locked eyes, and he spoke, loudly and clearly.  I had only heard him mumble prior to that.  He said "my name is William.  Don't forget my name."  He was so scared and desperate as he said it.  He stumbled off, telling everyone he could what his name was.  I think I know why, too.  Ten minutes after he said it, he was walking around like a hollow shell again, unaware of anything going on around him.  I tapped him on the shoulder and said "hey, William," and he looked at me in surprise.  I tried making small talk, but nothing I said seemed to make sense to him.  I tried again an hour later, and he wouldn't even respond to his name.

Two days later, I saw him again.  He was dead.  The Boss didn't kill him, he hadn't been on the front lines, and he didn't seem to have any injuries or illnesses.  Call me crazy, but I think he died from a lack of identity.  He gave me his name so that someone knew he had identity.  I think he thought that if enough people knew who he was, he'd know who he was.  Well, it didn't work.  Almost no one remembered his name, and those who did never told him.  A nameless man tried giving his name to other nameless people.  Why should they remember someone else's identity when they can't even remember their own.

You know what the worst part was?  A few days later, another, different man, came up to me and told me his name was William, and told me not to forget that.  Notice that I said that the man I had met earlier called himself William or said that his name was William.  I don't even know if that was actually his name.  Maybe he stole someone else's identity just so that he could have one of his own.

These are the types of people you're fighting.  Misguided, confused souls who don't even know who they are anymore.  People like Hyde, who seek death.  People like William, who have had their minds utterly destroyed and don't know who they are anymore.  People like me, who are just trying to protect someone.  We're not your enemies.  We're victims.  And sure, there are some legitimate psychos who willingly choose to kill people on behalf of The Boss, but even some of those aren't bad people.  They've been wronged and want revenge.  They're legitimately insane and need help, not a bullet in the brainpan.  They just chose the wrong side on accident or are under The Boss's control without even realizing it.  True, there are people who are honestly true enemies, but they're the minority.

So why make death threats?  Why threaten to kill us?  What do you gain from killing one more person who can't even think for themself?

We're already dead.  Try bringing us back to life instead.

-Don't Shoot The Messenger-

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

M...stay safe....

You can't go.  Not yet.  You're proof that they can avoid this.  That they don't have to choose my path.  That they have hope.

Don't die now.  Not after you've spent so long running.  Surviving.

I've never been one for praying, but...I am.  God, Allah, Buddha, The Flying Spaghetti Monster...even The Boss himself, just in case.  Maybe one of them will listen.

-Don't Shoot The Messenger-

Edit: I'm kind of embarrassed looking back on this, but then again, I guess I was still green.  I was, of course, referring to this post.  He ended up being fine, of course.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

List of the Deceased

I've put up a list of known bloggers or vloggers who have been killed by means directly or obliquely related to the Slender Man.

Any help is appreciated.  Just leave me a comment on either page or send me an e-mail at

-Don't Shoot The Messenger-