Here’s The Thing…Today

“I am obsessed with Lacey.” says Lem. “People thought I was obsessed with Jack. But I wasn’t.

Look…you lied. And you were lied to.

Real romantic relationships simply don’t exist the way you imagined they do with Jack and me. Why wasn’t I more sad at his wedding? That makes no sense. That makes no sense!

Your version of what happened is filtered and controlled.

Look at Lacey’s eyes. She’s smiling too. But you can see sadness in her eyes even as she smiles.

I had no such sadness in my eyes at Jack’s wedding.

Those aren’t flattering photos of her, by the way. She’s a far prettier woman than that.

At Lacey’s wedding…if that’s even possible to anyone but me she would have had to convince me not to disrupt the entire thing. That’s who I am. And people could sense that. And so they made up interpretations that fit it all together as neatly as possible, but it simply wasn’t possible.

…You’d not have seen me smiling at her wedding to someone else. For any reason. It’s impossible.

Also…our sex…is…transformative. When we have sex…we become one. And that’s partially why if we had sex before marriage and she tried to marry someone else I would disrupt the marriage ceremony. I could never let her be with anyone else. And when we make love that’s obvious. It’s obvious she belongs to no one else.

I can’t think of one time when I felt remotely close to that at all in any way with Jack Kennedy. Nothing was ever like that. We had no such bond. We had no intimacy. You’ve imagined this…great intimacy between us that didn’t exist. I’m sorry if I helped you come to that foolish conclusion. I truly am.

What Jack and I had was my miserable sexual abuse in early adolescence, his malignant narcissism, ignorance, upside down hatred, false friendship, and shame. I was ashamed of myself after I was molested. Because I thought I had done something wrong. And Jack Kennedy viciously preyed on that premise and built it into an evil, tragic life for me to live that suited his own sexual orientation and needs as a person. I met JFK when I was young and vulnerable and he took advantage of that.

At Lacey wedding to someone else I’d not try to smile. No matter how certain she was. I’m not evil hearted enough to be that cruel to another man who might love her. And I wasn’t evil hearted enough to be that cruel to Jackie. You had to have thought I was. A disgusting man, really. …But no. I wasn’t. And frankly even if I was…unless if I wasn’t a total dead psychopath inside…I’d still not have smiled the way I did at Jack’s wedding to Jackie. I was joyful at his wedding. That’s impossible if I was ever in love with him. And it’s close to impossible if I wasn’t straight.

No…I’m obsessed with Lacey.

I’m actually obsessed with her. But it’s mutual. Because we’re in love. We’re actually in love. …I cannot imagine how you thought I was in love with Jack. It’s absurd. Oh wait! No. I can imagine why. It’s because you heard it. You were told to believe it upon penalty of death practically and so you believe it.

Here’s the thing…if I was in love with Jack…we’d have had sex. It’s almost completely impossible that we wouldn’t have. He wasn’t straight. And if I was in love with him…we would have…pulled at each other on the inside and that would have made it extremely unlikely for him to live 80% of the life he factually led. It would have killed me. His narcissism and rejection of me would have killed me inside. Why have you never realized that?

But I didn’t die inside in that way. Not in that way. I…repressed my heterosexual feelings…and stayed young and inexperienced and naive. I was both out of touch with reality and profoundly disappointed in life and myself and I longed to die…from the moment I began to believe I was gay until I did die at age 65.

No. I’m sorry. I’m not one of you, in the gay community. Or bisexual community. And I never was.

…What you saw and thought was love was just my personality? I thought I was gay. So I was fervent and long-suffering and kind. That’s my character. I was trying to be a good man even while homosexual. I was trying to be a decent human. And so I took care of Jack when he needed help and tried to keep him as happy as possible. But people called me his slave…and I did fawn over him to appease him and his malignant ego. I resented being called a slave…in part…and then a part of me wondered if it was true and I was horrified by myself and my existence as it was.

My personality is…enduring. And extremely domineering. And I’m a very emotionally intelligent and loving person. …No. At Lacey’s wedding to someone else I’d have stopped the wedding. And you’d not have imagined catching me glaring jealousy at you…you’d have felt my wrath. I never glared jealously at any of Jack’s boyfriends or friends or lovers as they’ve said I did. They misunderstood. And it pisses me off that they didn’t feel more guilty making that assumption.

What the HELL…did you think I was doing with my sexual love for Jack Kennedy? It’s ABSURD! …When a man feels such powerful sexual love…he can’t just magically make it disappear. So where did I put it? Where did I store all of my feelings? I had no outlet. There was no outlet. There was no functional, consistent, stable connection between us that allowed for even a trace of an outlet. But forget that…I would have exploded inside if I loved Jack Kennedy. Because there was never any real way to express that to him. And if I had…his life would have been drastically different…or I’d have not been a part of his life almost at all. We had no real romantic love between us. That’s the only thing that can be assumed based on actual objective analysis of what happened based on a thorough and non-biased historical study of the evidence. Liberal. Conservative. Doesn’t matter. Psychology suggests that I was straight…and insists that Jack and I were never in love with each other. It suggests that he might have been in love with me…but that actually I was not at all.

I just can’t believe how dumb it all is.

Why can’t you bother? Huh? If you’re going to potentially destroy the memory of me…why not be a bit more careful? …I…sounded gay. But I wasn’t actually gay at all. I’m sorry. And…if you really search for objective truth you can tell that something bizarre was going on. I was a fervent, caring person…and I was trying to make him happy…but no human can exist in the negative emotional space I’d have had to abide happily in for decades if I was homosexual and in love with Jack. It’s psychotically impossible. Being ‘closeted’ doesn’t account for it. Jack being ‘closeted’ doesn’t account for it. …There would have been no room for me to EXIST.

Why do you think Mary Richardson hung herself? Just because she was depressed!? No. Why do you think all of those women harmed themselves over Jack? And Bobby. And Ted. …Because they were hurting. …They weren’t just ‘crazy females.’ Is that what David Pitts and Louis Bayard think? That all of those women were fools? Weak due to gender? And men like me and Red Fay were tough and manly and without needs and emotion? Without human hearts? Wow! How backward and misogynistic. Or do all homosexual men lack normal human emotions according to them? Is that what they imagined enabled me to ‘handle it’?

Mary Richardson was human. Not a slobering monster. Good GOD!

No. Her experience is the one I would have had if I had loved Jack.

Mary Richardson really did love Bobby. DEARLY. …Did she have psychiatric problems? Probably. But…they became far worse as she lived with him and tried to be his wife. He totally destroyed her. And they started out very happy. At least at times. She had real confidence. She was very aware. She was very smart. And he ruined her.

Jack could have ruined someone in the exact same way. Maybe he did.

So…why didn’t he ruin me? Oh! Oh! I know!! Because I loved him so much!? Right? MY LOVE WON! Wow! …I did what!? I sucked out his brain through his penis and rebuilt it? I literally rewired his whole soul? But only in regard to me. And the on my evidence he ever gave was the room in the White House. Right? Yeah…I was a parasite? I accomplished the psychologically impossible and took over his whole body and controlled his every second to make him love me? Yeah. That’s what David Pitts wrote an idiotic book about. Me controlling Jack in some mysterious way to make him love me…with the only evidence being a room for me in the White House. He gave me NOTHING. I WORKED for him. Like a servant. Or a dutiful, exhausted, henpecked husband. …And I was given less faithfulness than Bobby gave Mary Richardson.

So! Why didn’t it bother me? Why didn’t I hang myself because that would have made far more sense. Because I DIDN’T CARE. …I THOUGHT I was gay…but I wasn’t actually gay. I wasn’t attracted to men. I didn’t care! There was no intimacy between Jack and I. There was no sexual bond to break. I wasn’t hurting. I was the perfect male victim.

I WAS THE PERFECT MALE VICTIM. A man who sincerely believes he’s gay. A man who is handsome and yet asthmatic and fatherless and who’s family lost its fortune. A man who is sensitive and theatrical and scholarly and who loves art and literature and emotion. A man who’s smart and could help Jack at homework and with writing things. A man who…is kind, and trusting, and trustworthy. A dutiful man who was waiting for marriage to be a servant to his wife…but who suddenly believes through tragedy that he’s gay.

People were so ignorant. And they still are. I acted gay. But I didn’t seem gay. But people didn’t know the difference. Red Fay noticed and so did Gore Vidal. Gore lost his mind in a rage and assumed I was hyper gay and yet also doubted my homosexuality all together. Red Fay…coldly analyzed it all. Came up haphazardly on cue with the word ‘neutral’. I was peculiar. And really…Lacey would have known. Actually…men who used to believe all gay men were faking it to sleep with women…probably came up with that idea based largely on men like me. There are other people who have been confused about their orientation as a result of sexual abuse.

Suffice to say, I’m a good actor. I acted somewhat convincingly gay.

But it was an act.

And actually…Skippy is just as gay looking as me. Really. You could say his look is more innocence than homosexuality but why would that have to be straight? That look could easily be gay. …But he wasn’t gay. That character was straight. And don’t mess with it now. He really was straight.

Yes…I acted gay. But I didn’t and don’t convince Lacey. And she’s right. I was straight.

Here’s a more important question: Why isn’t Lacey convinced? Why!?! Don’t you find that disconcerting? Or does her opinion not matter? Why do you assume she’s not on to something? That’s very foolish.

But you know…it’s a common mistake.” says Lem.

“We know more?” says a living gay man.

“Why?” says Lem.

“And actually I wasn’t so sure.” says Red Fay.

“Dammit. If you’re Lem…you theoretically could have been straight.” says a living gay man.

“Yeah!!! So why have so many of you attacked her?” asks Lem.

“Did Lacey cut up her $300 wig?” asks a living gay man.

“Yes. It’s in shreds. She couldn’t return it and it was unwearable.” says Lem. “$300 lesson learned.”

“Maybe we feel animosity towards her.” says a living gay man.

“You might. But she doesn’t deserve it.” says Lem. “I acted gay. Very well. But…I attract Lacey. And she’s not attracted to gay men.”

“Lem why is she attracted to you?” asks Scott Fitzgerald. “I mean you’re handsome. But that’s not all it is.”

“We’re a lot alike. And I’ll leave it at that for now.” says Lem.

“Does she find Skippy attractive?” asks a gay man.

“She would have for certain. His personality too, of course. But he’s a rarity…as is she and as was I. And so we both lived lonely lives.

I said I was never lonely thanks to Jack…and that was one of the stupidest things I have ever done. …Saying I loved him is easy to explain. Saying I never married because of him is easy to explain. I had a faulty understanding of romantic love because I was straight and I didn’t even mean it romantically when I said it. I meant love in a more…agape, familial way. Fraternal. But I thought I was gay. I was acting gay…and…I actually was making a backhanded insult about the whole thing anyway. I was actually very secretly angry when I said that. …But regardless, I said I wasn’t lonely. I literally said that.

And in reality I was extremely unhappy and depressed and lonely. And I can relate to Lacey but she doesn’t know that. Because she’s such an extreme analyzer that she can’t commit to the whole picture entirely. And I literally said I was never lonely.

Why did I say that? I was trying to be grateful. The Kennedys were great at guilting me into feeling like a fool for not being thankful to them and for not believing that they loved me. So partially that was said out of a feeling of guilt and social pressure. They were very controlling people. And then it was also said because I was complaining that Jack had pestered me my whole life as did his whole family. I never got a chance to get married, even though the chances were slim. And I was humoring the public to try to mock them and their shallow, materialistic views on life…or make them think. Because of the backhanded nature of my comment. And…I think I worried I was actually wrong and ungrateful. That maybe I was actually being stupid and I was gay anyway.

Which brings me to my last point. I acted gay. And until I was about 62 or so…I believed I was gay. Or more appropriately labeled gay than straight. And then in my last few years I became aware that I was actually just straight.” says Lem Billings.

“You seem gay to me.” says a living gay man.

“Then why don’t I seem gay to Lacey?” says Lem. “And why is Skippy Handelman so like me? Isn’t that eerie?”

“Lem just answer me this: Why did you kill yourself?” says a man.

“I felt I had ruined my life. And I didn’t want to live through another birthday of Jack Kennedy’s where I would be expected by his family to call everyone and remind them it was his birthday or piss them all off and make them group-attack me. They operate as a group. To be honest…if Joe had made it clearer that he actually might have known Lacey and married her…they would have synchronized their responses psychically to keep her from leaving them. They’re formidable. And right now Lacey and I can’t tell if they’re being Machiavellian because people know that about them and pretending to attack Bobby or if they’re actually attacking him. Regardless, I didn’t want to live another year being myself. I hated my life and my legacy and I decided I not only deserved to die but wanted to. Or I was killed and one of them actually killed me for almost talking to biographers too much about the truth. Not just about them but about me.

No…why doesn’t it bother you that Lacey isn’t convinced I’m gay?” says Lem. “Just instinctually.”

Later.

“We don’t like think for ourselves.” says a man.

“How so?” asks Lem.

“Lacey doesn’t demand that we trust her. She never has. She’s always left that open to interpretation and give and take. And that’s somewhat unusual. At least in the US. People are often far more demanding in the US. But she isn’t. She asks us to think. To think for ourselves. And genuinely analyze her opinions. She argues but she doesn’t coerce or control us, at least not in that way. So we’re left to think for ourselves or operate on status-quo mode and completely reject her. She actually coerces those who can’t think for themselves to hate her.

So…why don’t we care that she finds you attractive and can’t quite buy that you’re really homosexual? Because we reject her thoughts already or we now want to figure it out for ourselves. And you’re incredibly mysterious.

Actually…lots of women find gay men attractive. However…it’s not in the same way.” a living man says. “What the fuck!??”

“Is it something anatomical about Lem that we don’t see but she does?” asks Ken Burns, sincerely.

“I worry it is!!” says Lacey’s first serious boyfriend. “She’s like that. It’s almost eerie.

She knew my wife and I were bound to fall in love when she first heard we were becoming acquainted. And I was so condescending and dismissive to Lacey. But she just instantly knew. And most people aren’t that perceptive. Or are they? I think she notices minute details most people don’t notice. About everything.”

“Maybe.” says the man.

“Anyway…it should be concerning to you all that she finds me attractive. And always has.

She’s a straight, cis woman. And she always has been. And she finds me attractive and always has.

(Adult content below)

House Of The Rising Sun by The Animals plays as a joke…of sorts.

After Jack went to bed…she’d have snuck around the house at night and crept into my room…and in lingerie…asked sincerely if she could sleep in my bed with me. I’d have had to drop my act. That’s the whole point. No woman as hot as her ever did that. Few people do that or did that in general, especially women.

And the thing is…she isn’t Dot. She isn’t a Mad Men gay character’s wife. So she actually could have just literally slept with me. She loves me as a person too. But…I make love to her. Because that’s what I want to do. And she loves me…or I know I can actually make her mine.

You know…what’s the point of making love to your best friend? Why is that so popular nowadays? That’s absolute nonsense. You can’t find love that way. Your spouse is not your best friend even if they’re your best friend in a way of comfortability and peace of mind. Friends aren’t that intimate. Real lovers are one. They are one with each other.

No. It’s a generational thing but…I have a wife with Lacey. And maybe some gay men feel that intimate but…I have yet to see it. Do they? I certainly didn’t experience it. But I wasn’t gay.

Sorry to harp on it again…but what the hell. What the hell do you think happened!? …Jack and Jackie had a huge wedding. And everyone cheered them on. Do you really think I could have been that genuinely happy the whole fucking time? NO! …And there were so many moments like that. Moments where I could have crumbled in misery…profound misery…if I wasn’t secretly straight.” says Lem.

“Lacey what if- If there is something anatomical about Lem that is like straight and cannot basically just cannot be gay- I’m not going to assume that, but I’m also not gonna think it’s impossible. But if there’s something like anatomically about him that makes it impossible for him to be gay- If that’s the case where is it that you see it first?” asks an Illuminati psychic.

“His head. No seriously it’s literally the shape of his head.” says Lacey. “It’s his micro gestures too. And his eyes. And gait. It’s all very subtle stuff.”

“Are you ever wrong about people? Other than with Diego?” asks a reader.

“Almost never.” says Lacey.

“Actually…she was right about her doctor yesterday too. She’s an abortion doctor…aside from her other patients who are seen for endocrine issues. Lacey…was very unnerving to her. But if there’s an Illuminati it makes sense. Lacey helped convince people to overturn Roe Vs. Wade. Pat Robertson felt guilty that she was inculcated against her will and he knew she was always worried about that issue…and she made an excellent legal case for states rights to limit the reach of the government. So legal safe abortions when medically necessary…but not advocated abortions as Roe was twisted into.” says an Inga. “But no…she’s not Jack reincarnated.”

“She used states right!??” asks a judge.

“Yep. She’s at war.” says Inga.

“Did Lem help kill JFK?” asks a reader.

“Yes.” says a dead man.

“No!” says Betty White.

“Anyway…it’s not illegal.” says France.

“No. Not really.” says Inga. “That’s her idea. Legal and safe but not advocated.”

“Okay. So this is supposed to be more moderate.” says a reader.

“It’s more nuanced than that. But sort of.” says Inga.

“It’s dumb!” says a reader.

“No. It’s genius.

She convinced great legal minds. In a casual conversation over coffee.” says Inga.

“That’s so JFK.” says a woman laughing.

“No. It’s fucking not!” says a living person.

“I know. I was joking.” says the laughing woman.

“But then that means that she’s better than me!” says an angry Boomer man.

“What’s wrong with that?” asks the CIA.

“She’s my mommy?” he says.

“She’s not your mother.” says the CIA.

“Oh dear…god. It does feel like that in my subconscious.” says the male Boomer.

“Huh…so…why isn’t it weirder to us that she’s attracted to Lem?” says a living bisexual man. “You know…how many gay men has she ever been attracted to?”

“None.” says Lacey.

“How many have you known?” asks a mostly gay, slightly bisexual man.

“I’ve known dozens of bisexuals, probably. Mostly gay. Slightly bisexual. …At least a handful of completely gay men. And I’ve seen and vaguely interacted with hundreds?” says Lacey. “Maybe more.”

“Fuck!!” yells a Gen. X American Liberal.

“Lem…if there’s reincarnation…were you waiting for Lacey? Were you waiting for her to show up?” says a reader.

“Yes. But there might not be reincarnation on the Bible.” says Lem.

“Yeah. Okay.” says Joe I.

“Why don’t you all care more about her finding him attractive?” asks a psychic.

“We have missed the forest for the trees.” says Casi.

“Yeah.

She’s SO chill.

SO chill. And it doesn’t seem like it. Does it? But she’s secretly extremely good at controlling people. Joe Kennedy Senior was too. But she’s not necessarily evil about it…and often she’s quite ditzy and…loving. Yeah. It’s very complex.

She wants us to be happy. Right? But…it’s…insidious. It’s dangerous. And…it’s not necessarily what we know.

React by Erick Sermon plays.

There’s no…way…out. And so she tries to help us run away. But we don’t always accept. And so we get caught or we eventually get kindly and politely shoved as nicely as possible off of her lawn, so to speak.

And why?

Because she’s a ditz. A genius ditz.

She has no clue how important she is. At all. If Tom is her biological father…she just thinks of him as her daddy. And the whole thing as a mistake. An understandable mistake.

She’s extremely elegant in her appearance and movements. Zelda was too. They walk pretty. It’s fluid and elegant. They both dance well and have a great sense of rhythm. Especially Lacey.

Kick In The Door plays.

If you read this blog and figure out that she’s a historical character in a way…that will be your realization not hers. Truly.

She was told nothing was special about her. Literally and otherwise. And the perfume community got extremely mad at her when she showed any cognizance of her rarity. The Illuminati should it exist hoped she was nothing. The evil Illuminati bet on it. Bet everything.

And so…to her the billions in oil is like dirt. They just own that stuff. She’s made mud pies out of it. No big deal.

And her rare beauty that’s not easily photographed is…just an element of her life. It’s and aesthetic experience. A pleasant aesthetic experience. Looking in the mirror is just a fun pastime. Literally. And she owns that image as she should because it is her. But…that’s all it is. It’s just her. There’s basically no ego or happy memories or anything else attached to it. It’s just her. Really. Well…maybe it’s sad memory in a way…and a weapon now. She’s extremely meek and humble.

And she worries. ‘How weird is it that Michael Rockefeller might have married her? Or Lem might be her twin flame?’ But then she thinks of her dad. Tom. And he picks her up in her spirit as a toddler. And she hides. And she sucks her thumb in her spirit in that part of her that was never loved.

She’s fine. We all have unloved parts. And when you’re dead they can’t be hidden. But…they’re also just…a part of your psyche.

Anyway…she just thinks of herself as Tom’s daughter and then it all…seems plausible. Because it is. But then she can’t recall why she was worried in the first place. Because it all seems so ordinary.” says a dead man from Minneapolis. “But it’s not. It is in a way. But it’s not of no value to other people. And she doesn’t really fully understand that. I wouldn’t be able to write this if she actually understood.”

“Is it dangerous?” asks Lacey.

“No! It’s just highly unusual.” he says.

Lacey thinks. “Oh. I suppose because most people would feel important?”

“Yes!” says Casi.

“What the fuck does that even mean anyway?” says Lacey.

“To feel important?” asks Casi.

“Yes.

You’re making something of it?” asks Lacey, ‘ready to shoot.’

“Oh HOLY SHIT!!” says the CIA.

Hypnotize by Biggie plays.

“No. We don’t need another accident.” says the CIA.

“To be honest…that makes me think she’s gay!” says a Millennial woman.

“I’m not. And I’m not Jack reincarnated.” says Lacey in a cheerful, aristocratic chill.

“That’s not said in a masculine voice?” asks Casi.

“No!” says Lacey, brightly, smiling.

“I can’t imagine a woman being that smart or having that much power.” says Casi.

“Yeah. That’s a peasant American problem.” says the dead man from Minneapolis. “Like…most Americans don’t know that female archtype. That’s why men like JFK offended Queen Elizabeth II so much. She was very feminine and JFK never understood that.

Mulan? Huh? Yeah. No. It ain’t just Mulan, bitch.” he says. He thinks. “It’s not something she’s aware of.”

“So…she was opened. She is Pandora’s Box. And the Illuminati and other haters insisted she be opened.” says Casi.

“Diego. And other people.” says the CIA. “Yes.”

“So she has no awareness of herself in any egotistical way. But she sees threats. And she’s an actual genius. And she’s extremely elegant and beautiful and sexy. But good…and yet she’s also ditzy. Not clumsy though.” says Casi.

“Yes.” says the CIA.

“What’s it like watching that?” asks Casi.

The CIA laughs. “It’s… She reminds us of Anderson Cooper. A bit. But it’d be like if he didn’t realize he was Anderson Cooper in any appreciable way. So he had a television show but assumed it was just…nothing.

Really though. She’s not like him. Because she isn’t and I have to say that because she’s with Lem and I don’t want you get confused about what’s going gone.

But…it’s just…sad. And at times you feel like she’s blind or deaf. There’s so much she can’t comprehend…but it’s not stupidity. And she is ditzy but…that’s not entirely it.

It’s not actual deafness or blindness. It’s not autism. It’s just…a sometimes humorous lack of awareness. It’s not lack of empathy. It’s not stupidity. It’s a lack of awareness that’s highly unusual. Most people are loved by someone in that way at some point in life. Even homeless people. But she’s never been understood or seen in that deep sense by people other than those who are now dead from old age…and sadly none of them really loved her or spent enough time with her to get to know her at all.

Tonette Nesheim could have been a friend of hers, but Tonette was supposed to be her grandmother. So it didn’t work. And that was the problem. They all felt too old to be her friend or they were weird about it.

‘My gosh! I feel like I’m talking to someone my own age!’ at least three women who would I now be in their 90’s or 100’s said to her, in astonishment, 15 to 25 years ago.” says the CIA.

“Like she was really their age.” says Jan.

“Yes! And they were super creepy about it. But they were actually astonished by how weirdly psychologically similar they were.” says the CIA.

“Did they get scared?” asks Jan.

“Yes. At least one of them did.” says the CIA.

“Because it was literally like talking to yourself or your peers in your youth…in your 80’s…“ says Jan.

“Yes.” says the CIA.

“So there’s nothing wrong with her!?!” asks a hater, sadly.

“No.” says the CIA. “Just depression. Anxiety. A few other health issues in ways not related directly to psychology. Like anemia. …And she’s being attacked.”

“So we aren’t her victims.” says Marsie.

“Not likely?” says the CIA.

“Anyway. I wasn’t gay. She can tell. And it should worry you that you can’t care that she can tell like it would worry a normal person.” says Lem.

Later.

“I was such an unhappy kid.” says Lacey.

“She just found her high school yearbook.” says Lem. “Searching for vintage pastel yellow china to use for Easter in the basement. And she hit her head.”

“My God help us.” says Lacey.

“I was so much better looking than that. That picture is just sad.” says Lacey.

“You were.” says Lem.

“You can that I was unloved and abused.” says Lacey.

“And no one said anything.” says Dylan Klebold.

“My hair was so ugly. I was so…awful looking.

Most people when you look at their face at first you see something pretty. But if you look longer they’re less attractive. I was the extreme opposite. Oof. That’s awful.” says Lacey. “No. My mother didn’t give a flying fuck. My father didn’t either. I don’t look poor. I look unloved. And it’s pathetic that teachers didn’t give a shit. They had to have known I was being abused…and they just didn’t care. If anything because of my innate beauty they got off like worthless fucking idiots from Hell on the abuse my parents were inflicting on me.”

“Yeah. You’re not a lesbian. It’s a weird haircut for a teenager. In 2001.” says Lem.

“That’s the only decent photo of you. And your eyes are closed. There are three other hideous photos of you. Whoever made the yearbook hated you.” says Lem.

“Yeah. I know I wasn’t that ugly. I was quite pretty.” says Lacey.

“I know exactly what you looked like.” says Lem. “You were very beautiful, actually.”

“That’s a bit closer.” says Lem. “But you were prettier than that.”

“A lesbian on the Illuminati hits on Lacey. And Lacey would love to punch her in her face until she bleeds to death.” says Dylan Klebold.

“What!? I’m amazing.” says the narcissistic bitch.

“You should have your head cut off.” says Lem. “Possibly, at least.”

“Do you sell children?” asks a reader of the lesbian.

“Yes. She does.” says a DNC Party chair.

She goes silent.

“No. My hair looks totally idiotic.” says Lacey.

“You look nothing like that in person. I mean you look like the same person, but it’s dramatic.” says the abortion doctor who’s also Lacey’s endocrinologist, in the afterlife.

“Why are you an endocrinologist!??” asks a reader.

“They’re interrelated.” she says. “No, Lacey. It’s very sad!”

Lacey cries slightly. “I’m so unphotogenic.”

“It’s not just that!” says the woman.

Idea 22 plays.

“I liked that hairstyle because I felt it was…elegant. It was…supposed to be elegant.” says Lacey.

“And you were so naturally pretty you thought it wouldn’t matter.” says a dead Greatest Generation man.

“Yes.” says Lacey.

“You know…you were.” he says sitting in his garage. In Minnesota. “But…those boys had no idea what to make of your hair. Or your lack of makeup. I think they thought you were a lesbian.”

“What breaks my heart is how unhappy I looked.” says Lacey. “And unhappy I was. And how little anyone cared.”

“You had a pretty face though.” says Casi.

“Yeah. But…she dressed so conservatively. And with the short hair it looked…homosexual.” says a peer of hers. “She didn’t act homosexual at all. Not really. So…people would bully her some about it…but they didn’t care enough to really bully her because she didn’t seem that homosexual. And she wasn’t at all.

No. Here’s the thing. She was way too mature. She was developmentally our age…but she was very mature. And so it felt odd to us and we-

She wanted a sophisticated haircut that was elegant and yet they didn’t…do that. They what was popular. The same hair as Britney Spears. And so…she felt we were childish and would grow out of it…and that she had a leg up on the whole thing. And we didn’t even know what the fuck would be wrong with our hair. We liked what was in style. Enough. And no…the boys she went to school with didn’t look or act like Skippy anymore. That was a generation before her that that ended. So…her ideal wasn’t there. And she couldn’t stand what was in style. And we loved it.” says a guy from her class, in the afterlife.

“Oh shit!” says Casi. “So what hair did you want?”

“Like that or longer.” says Lacey.

“Here’s a lot closer to what her teenage photo should have looked like.” says Lem.

“Hey! Isn’t it creepy how well her facial features fit with this era!?” says Lem