Hi me. It's me, Vicki. Your... your me. I'm really sorry about the terrible handwriting in this note, but I'm trying to get everything down in a hurry before the drugs kick in and I forget what I'm doing, and good penmanship is kind of the last thing on my mind right now. Also, I've been drugged and my coordination is for shit. Also, I've been drugged and I'm loopy as fuck, so this letter's probably going to give you a big laugh at first when you finally find it. But please don't just crumple it up and throw it away like you did the last one. It's true, I really swear it is.
I know it's true because Holly admitted it to me. She told me it was true and she told me I would forget that she told me again once the drugs kicked in, just like all the other times. She said this was her favorite part, showing me the bottle and telling me every last detail of what the... fuck, lamoxonine? Latroximide? Shit, I'm getting it mixed up with 'lemonade' because that's what she put it in. DON'T DRINK THE LEMONADE. It's got monoxotride in it or some shit. It's bad. Don't drink it and don't trust Holly. I know she's got that cute innocent schoolgirl vibe going, and she's got, like, the world's cutest little squeak when she comes. But that's an act. She's really a vicious bitch.
I know that's hard to believe, me. I don't want to believe it myself. Every boing in my brain wants to think that Holly is the sweetest, kindest, sexiest, yummiest girl on campus, and I'm just the luckiest duck in Ducktown because she lets me live with her and pay her rent and do her sociology homework and lick her pussy out every night regular. But it's NOT TRUE. None of that is true, not even the bit about "boings in my brain". I don't know what the fuck those are. I think that's the drugs talking. Not important, moving on.
The point is, you only think that because of the shamoxanide. (God, I wish I could remember what it was really called. Like, I spent five minutes on my phone trying to find an antidote, but I couldn't remember the name of the thing so I just googled "antidotes for brainwashing drugs" and all that got me was, like, a whole bunch of books on the CIA's experiments with LSD in the 60s. And whatever this shit is, it's not LSD. I don't think that's important either, but I'm pretty fucked up right now. The point is
shit. I wrote that already. I wish this was in pencil. Never mind. Got to keep writing.
The point is, this stuff, the rosoxitride, it's like roofies but on steroids. No, wait. That would knock you out and make you really strong at the same time. I guess it's just like regular roofies, but it doesn't knock you out all the way? You just kind of go into this, this empty place in your head where you know what's happening but you can't really think about it at all. So Holly comes into the room-she's not here right now, she told me she was going to give me some time to think about what she said but she was laughing like fucking Lex Luthor when she said it and I think she just did it to be mean-after the thingamazine has kicked in each time, and she finds me, like, lolled out on the couch with nothing in my head.
And she fills it. Every time. She told me this, me, this isn't some bullshit I'm making up while I'm on drugs. I don't even take drugs, and you know that because you're me and I wouldn't lie to me because what would be the point? Holly comes in while I'm doped up on kaloxamide and she slides in behind me on the couch and she shoves her hand down my skirt. And she talks to me and she fucks me for, like, hours, just banging my pussy with her fingers until I'm all creamy and wet, and she tells me that I trust her and that I believe everything she tells me and that all I want to do with my life is make her happy.
