My building manager is off this week. We usually partake in awkward exchanges in which we try to drag out an awkward analysis of the weather on our way past each other, which involves an awful lot of fake grinning and nodding in silence. Now I’m free to roam the premises without fear of such social niceties. In a way, I’m on my holidays too, then. Fuck, I wish I was never born.
Anyway, earlier on I was in my bedroom and realised there was an old man staring in the window at me.
Apparently, he is the person who is filling in for the building manager. But the building manager’s duties don’t include looking at people from afar for dubious reasons that I don’t want to even think about. At least, I don’t think so. Or else he doesn’t fancy me. Why isn’t he stalking me? Must try harder to get him to stalk me.
To be honest, it didn’t really bother me that much that the creepy guy was hovering about- I have nothing to hide. It’s not like I was singing into my hairbrush and making up dance routines. I only do that on Sundays.
But on a scale of the blonde recluse from Abba to Ashton Kutcher, how much do you value your privacy? If you don’t require a lot, perhaps you understand the merit of stalking others because it’s hilarious and you can see absolutely no violation to your stalkee’s privacy because you’re off your tits on prescription tablets and narcissicm. In a way, it’s just like Twitter. Sort of. And everyone loves a kook.
Then I realised that being a sexual deviant would actually be a right laugh. And because you’d have to go to a place in your head that lives in denial that you’re just an old, disgusting sleaze, you’d be able to block out all sorts of crap and not give a fuck. You don’t have to let others’ opinion validate you, and if anyone tries to judge you, just violate their human rights by standing outside their house and being creepy as fuck. You might even throw an envelope through their letterbox filled with your turds.
Not only is stalking a great way to obtain information about people that you can later blackmail them with, it is also a sick and twisted method of making yourself believe that you and your stalkee are romantically involved, even if the sight of you repulses them. Furthermore, if you have no life, like me, it is an effective way to make yourself feel better than most other people are sitting at home, alone, on a Friday night, watching Cougar Town and joining in when the cast shout, ‘Penny Can’. Those guys.
Start off your journey to jail by getting yourself a nice catchphrase that fits in with your stalker lifestyle. Of course, in the latter stages of stalking, simply watching from afar will not be enough and you will eventually confront your victim, pick-axe in hand. Just like Jack Nicholson’s infamous, ‘Herrrrre’s Johnny!‘, you should choose something maniacal and nonsensical, like ‘Hungry like the wolf’ or ‘Winner, winner, chicken dinner’.
Of course, creepy sexual deviant types are dedicated followers of fashion. Head to Millets to get yourself an on-trend trench coat (don’t forget one with nice deep pockets for erm… holding notebooks that you can use to compile reams of useless information on your victim. Etcetera. ) and a camoflage cap to be the belle of the bushes. This look is fuctional and fashionable, no matter how strict the dress code in Club Shrub. See what I did there? I gave shrubbery a fun name to imply that stalking is a social activity, when infact it is the sport of serial killers. Accessorise your stalker attire with a nice pair of binoculars, ideally with a night-vision function for when your stalkee goes to bed. This is a lot on your shopping list, so just remember to get yourself some clothes that cover up all of this shit:
While your victim sleeps, kill two birds with the one stone and have a good rummage in their outside bin for credit card statements and other private information for blackmailing them later on in your ‘relationship‘, which consists of you stalking them while they remain oblivious. However, to facilitate the facade that you are doing absolutely nothing wrong, you should probably lie to yourself by maintaining that you are ‘just taking an interest in your other half’, ‘brushing up on your people skills’ or even ‘helping the environment by sorting their waste in a recycling-friendly manner’. Fuck it, if anyone challenges you, accuse them of stalking you. Weirdo.
After getting to know your victim better via stalking, you can take the next step and start telling everyone that you and your stalkee are in a relationship together. Pictures that you have taken from afar can be photoshopped to include your face so that you have nice photographs for your mantelpiece. Those pictures can also be blown up into a large cardboard cut-out of your stalkee so that you can enjoy cosy nights in when you can’t be arsed donning your trench coat and going out to actually stalk the real person. Relationships make life so great that you start to really enjoy giving up your stalking time to spend time on the sofa with your other cardboard cut-out half- don’t feel bad, it’s inevitable .
But what about when that dreaded day arrives, in which your stalkee has a date with someone else? Rememeber- technically, they don’t know about their binding union that they’ve unwittingly shared with you for months on end. At this point, you could walk away with your dignity, get help for your problem and move on with your life. Or- or, you could murder both of the bastards while screaming ‘Sherie, we could have been together. You just had to love me. I didn’t want to do this!‘ It doesn’t matter if your stalkee isn’t called Sherie. Probably best to kill yourself at this point too, otherwise you’ll be serving a long stint in jail.
Although, jail could be the perfect place to start a new relationship. And without the restraints of walls, you might be able to run your hands through your stalkee’s hair while they sleep, watch them while they go the toilet and give them cigarettes in exchange for sexual favours.
Winner, winner, chicken dinner.