Colin's Video Blog

The Blog

This is the first time we've met, so as the norm would dictate, I should introduce myself. I'm Colin, 17 years of age, 20 kilograms in weight, blood type O, of the species Homo sapiens sapiens, has a fetish for things that doesn't exist, has zero copulation encounter, and has a pig for a best friend. I know that zero copulation part is disgraceful, but my mother always tells me to tell that to every girl I meet. It has a strong sexual impact to women for some reason. I always believe my mother. I mean, why won't you? 

I don't have many friends than you probably have, nor hang in as many places, but I have the next best thing. My mom always buys me loads of novels and movies, particularly fantasy-adventures and science-fiction. I finish an average of 3 books and 10 movies per week. Just recently, I was with Christian Grey and Anastasia while doing their dirty exploits, as per my mother's recommendation. With all those fantasies, I now consider the real world a dark and terrible place, bleak and miserable, and the people within it even more so, except my mother of course. Reality sucks. And if there's any chance I could be sucked away from here, I'd take it, provided my mom's coming too.

It's been a habit every dinner time to hold a joke-off, where the one with the funniest joke will get to eat the strawberry pudding in the fridge. I start off.

"What animal always stays in a hotel?" I said.

"Chicken! 'Cause they chick-en there."

Then, her turn...

"Knock, knock," she says. "Broken pencil."

"Broken pencil who?"

"Ah forget it, there's no point." I'll let you decide who won.

Every night, she carries me to bed where Jean (pronounced shawn), my black pet pig, already lay like a princess. He makes for an excellent pillow, warm and fluffy. I never heard my mother complain about the Jon Snow posters stuck all over my room as you can see, indeed an embarrassment for a man like me. But who are you to judge? Actually, there's nothing I do that my mother didn't complain about, even that one time that I tried to stand in our grassy lawn. I fell hard on my back which hurt. I coughed and spit blood. It was my fault, but she didn't hit me. I love her very much.

I do hear her every night crying for some reason as she watched late night TV. Dad left us when I was 5, but I did hear him call mom like a week ago. Apparently, he wanted a perfect, healthy child. He never left even tiny means to support our sustenance. He did leave us his gun which I secretly took from under his bed.

Five days ago, to my absolute horror, my mom registered me to a dating website, using a picture of my father when he's my age as profile and all kinds of bogus as description. Fifteen girls accepted the invitation for a one night's stand, and mother e-mailed Beatrice, admittedly the most beautiful (and hot). After a heated three-hour discussion, and assurance that she'll always be beside me, I nodded to the date.

Beatrice turned out to be exactly as her profile made her to be, thankfully. On a scale of 1 to 10, her everything was an 11.5. Mind-bogglingly, I saw no negative reaction on her as she saw me. I guess a grey coat and a Mickey Mouse tie could take me a long way. She was on a red, glittery and extremely tight gown, so tight that I couldn't help but look at her chest. Of course, my mom and I practiced everything I would say beforehand. And I'll be, she kept on laughing! My mother sat behind me, listening in case I forgot to say something.

"You're cute, Colin," she says. "You're not like anyone I've met before. I like you." It's really amazing to know that a woman of her type could find even the slightest affections for someone like me. I heard my mom giggling. And soon, Beatrice pushed me to a dark room and we did it. Now I know why mother wanted me to read Fifty Shades. I wake up next morning, and mom and Beatrice talked behind the door. I saw my mom gave something green to her.

Next day, my mom took me to a liquor bar and drank. I mean, how cool is that – permitted unadulterated drinking with your mom! Drunk, all she babbled all night long was her and dad's love story – how they met in a public library and made me there – and how she really loved him despite things. Then, we climbed the Sky Needle, rode a helicopter, binge-watched Vampire Diaries, and played the entire Call of Duty series together. This whole week, my mom's been very kind to me.

It took me a while, but I finally got it... why she let me experience teenage life in a week.

She loved my father, so much. That turd must be one heck of a man. Every night when she cries alone, she bursts out everything she's been hiding from me. She's tired. She wants a happy, normal life, with normal kids who go to school, play football, court girls, graduate, get married, and the rest of the normal course of life. I can't. Obviously, I'm too ill and afflicted.

So, I got my father's very shiny revolver here, actually quite heavy for me. I made this video blog for my mother. I heard you and dad talk. I understand. I understand why you want to kill me. It wasn't your fault. I guess we're not made equal after all. You must go to dad, and try to have a family again. And hopefully, you both get what you really want.

I love you mom. And here I go, I'll do your job for you. Screw you, Earth.