Date	Name/email Nom/email	What is the best way to kill yourself when you're under 13? Quelle est la meilleure forme de suicide pour les moins de 13 ans?
04 Aug 2003	Chris	So I hear that you are on holiday dear Mouchette. That's wonderful and I want to congratulate you about it! I know that life remains suicidal but at least you can escape from the boring day to day suicidal stuff and maybe relax and forget a little... When did we in Western Europe become such wimpy scaredy cats? Every time I open a newspaper or switch on the TV I am confronted by images of deserted departure lounges at most airports and miles of empty beaches in all of our favourite holiday haunts. I can't say that these are not things that I have not wished for in the past, but not for the reason that people are terrified of going away since September 11th 2001. We should be ashamed of ourselves (this does not go for you people who would gladly go on a plane and let it crash into some building killing you and thousands of others!), especially when we consider what past generations endured to secure the freedom to come and go as we please. Personally I refuse to be terrorised out of my holidays and if anything I want to travel more than ever before. In fact I never really harboured any deep yearning to visit the USA but I would jet off to New York City without any hesitation (given the cash and the opportunity of course) even though they have just banned smoking throughout the whole city! Come on, ask yourself this question: Where would we all be now if sixty years ago everyone decided that the world was just too scary and decided to stay in the cellar for five years? Probably we would have ended up with no computers and no Mouchette (God forbid!) If you get the chance to take a look at a newspaper from between 1939 and 1945, you will be amazed at how much 'normal' activity was going while the whole world was at war-movies, dances, prize days, garden parties and yes, even holidays were all still part of people's lives, so why should a few fanatics be allowed to make us all cower at home now, more than half a century later? Sadly the media plays the greatest role in instilling so much fear. We now get to see everything live in our living rooms, but only what the broadcasters choose to show us. For instance SARS. Yes, I know a new disease should be a worry but try to get it into some sort of perspective. This is something that has killed a few hundred people world-wide, which doesn't really qualify it as the plague, but if you believe what you read and see on TV, then you would be forgiven for thinking that the end is nigh. The fact that people are terrified of it is entirely due to the fact that someone has decided that we should be. Compare the SARS outbreak with the fact that 3,000 children die in Africa every day from malaria, something that we do have a cure for but not the will to do anything about, and all governments should commit suicide or be killed for not doing anything (take note Mr.Bush, Blair, Chirac, etc), and you should get some idea of how scared you should really be! The sad fact is that the mortality of African kids doesn't make such dramatic TV pictures as people going to work in surgical masks. Let's take reasonable precautions by all means, but don't let terrorists and TV rob us of our feedom and sense of adventure! So congratulations again Mouchette for having the guts to go on holiday! And for the rest, just go for it! Being on this site means that you are all suicidal, so go on holiday to forget your troubles at least for a short time and you never know, luckily a terrorist might board the plane killing you and a lot of others (if the terrorist isn't yourself after all!)... See ya on a plane, hopefully with mask on face and gun in hand...
02 Aug 2003	Socialistic, moralistic, non-imperalistic friend	Move to Sweden you all. Here are almost no biggots, racists, homophobes or such. Instead the majority are nice people who respect each other. Come here and you won't feel alone anymore. It's called Socialism (no not Communism for all you parents who read this). For all I know USA is just one big imperalistic race track where the good guys finish last and the successful, good looking, smart, rich, inventive etc. get everything they want. Although Sweden is a small country, we are ranked #4 on the world's best countries to live in, presented by the UN. Our neighbor Norway ranks #1, the UK #15 and US #6. It's strange. When I visited New York 2000 I saw people begging in the streets. Uhm, people had to beg in the streets in order to live? Where the hell was I... Hell? A man tossed a coin in the face of a beggar - who was black by the way. As I picked up the coin and put it in the poor mans hand, he looked me in the eyes and said: "thanks brother". Yeah, I know, I'm being a stupid moralist, but listen: No man nor woman in Sweden has to beg for cash on some lousy street where people pass by, not caring whether the person lives or dies. The reason for this is not that everyone in Sweden is born rich. Instead high taxes (highest in the world) are used in order to give every citizen a decent life. Among many things we have public health care, just like Canada. So people live on contributions in your country you say? What a bunch of lazy slobs, what have they ever made for your country? This is where tolerance enters the picture. It's not easy to stick to, since you have to make sacrifices yourself, but it's humane. There are those in Sweden who wish a more capitalistic state. They can present many good arguments about why we need to remove the public (gov.) sector and make room for the private sector. Arguments that leave room for GREAT economics (for some people), but no mercy for the ones who are retarded, lazy, poor, lazy, poor, lazy, stupid, retarded, homo, on the edge of society, poor or suicidal for that matter. They say everyone will gain profit from a privatized community. Is that so? Well, compared to Communism, in which everyone has to live on the same low level it sure is great... for some people. How about a land where everything is equally good for everyone? A land without prejudices? Nah, that won't happen in a long time. But I feel we're well on the way here though. From the middle of the 19th century to the beginning of the early 20th, Swedes immigrated to America seeking better lives for themselves. Now I say: immigrate back to Sweden! Or even better: fight for justice and equal rights where you live. It's your call. Best wishes/ Me, a guy who your parents doubtlessly will call a red f****** commie scum and condemn to burn forever in Hell. http://www.socialdemokraterna.se/sapdata.nsf/0/91255832A5549575C1256BB800353363/$file/join_english.pdf
26 Jul 2003	bloodymary	Hello. My name is Mary, and I am dead. I have been dead for two hundred and twenty years. One day, i was wishing that i would die, just to see what people would think. But... I got my wish. Later on that night, i was killed by a horrible monster, and now, that monster is my husband. The devil killed me, and if you do what I did, he will get you too. Best wishes to you and your suicide.
20 Jul 2003	Lucy Cortina	Ooh Mouchette you wicked boy. Sneaking off on one of your dollybird filled naughty holidays eh? Remember when you see a lady walking along the beach wearing a pink bra with the hugest breasts you have ever seen, remember that it is... Me!
14 Jul 2003	Chris	I'm back! You thought that I commited suicicide, I didn't! I don't know why but I'm still alive. Last time I wrote something for my friends at Mouchette was at sometime in April! Oh what a long time. I tried to live without Mouchette and without thinking about suicide but I ended up here again and in these hot summer months suicide is very much almost at the top of the agenda! Summer is really with us again and along with all of the excellent things that the long hot months bring such as barbecues, beers by the beach, busy bars and restaurants and long drinks during the long hot evenings, come the usual (for me anyway) disastrous things. What do I mean? Well, for instance, every year I buy a new pair of swimming shorts and every year I look less like like the guy in the brochure illustrating them. It doesn't matter what I do I can't make my legs look good in a pair of shorts. Which leads me to the next problem... A suntan! For some reason unknown to the modern scientific world my body refuses to tan, I just turn a vivid, ugly pink then go back to my normal sickly pallor. Every summer I have arguments with sexy girls about the fact that I try to spend at least several hours in the sun at the weekend in my vain attempt to get a healthy colour, while ten minutes at the beach is about their limit. They turn a gorgerous golden brown while I remain a patchwork of varying shades of pink. Which leads me to my next problem... Tummies! Everyone is obsessed by their stomach during the summer, I for one have now practically perfected the art of speaking while sucking in my belly button till it almost meets my spine, so if you encounter a little guy at the beach who looks as if he is critically constipated and is speaking in short gasps, don't worry, it's only me trying to pretend that I am Brad Pitt! To make matters worse and even summer (where I should be enjoying my holidays) more suicidal I have to put up with the regular beach perverts and freaks. Where do these guys go for the winter months? Wherever it is they are back again every June through October gracing our beaches with their antics. You know the chaps I mean, they are to be found not more than two metres away from any attractive female on the beach (under eighty and in possession of a pulse qualifies as attractive in their book apparently) staring fixedly at her while practising their juggling under their towel, at least that's what it looks like they are up to anyweay! And can anyone tell me why it is that in these times of gender equality women don't behave like this when they see young men at the beach? I've certainly never been pestered but I imagine my ugly pink legs sticking out of the baggy shorts, my hopeless suntan and my growing tummy are explanation enough for that lack of attention. I come up with only two real solutions. The first one is suicide! The second is, (now that I've heard from Felicia that Lucy has become a surgeon), surgery, you know, just take away some fat, create some built up body and somehow some sexy tan. The last idea (which is not a solution at all) is like Kurt Cobain said "I am ugly but (at least) so are you" P.S I cannot give an e-mail address right now because of some problems. See you all in hell, at a surgeon or disgustingly on the beach!
08 Jul 2003	Felicia had a breast implant done.	You know, I was always wondering about Lucy Cortina and Billy the Freak. I read all of Lucy's posts. Then I read Billy's. Yes, Madame Lucy, I am but nosey rather than big busted and I'm one of your greatest admirers who wished to have replicas of your wondrous casabas. One night I was looking at the SPICE channel for a good hour. I analyzed it and realized that all these entertainers had breasts enlargements the size of cantaloupes with marshmallow-like qualities. Most of the girls were lesbians I suppose, so if I stared long enough, no doubt, I think I might be lesbian; However, I like men at the same time, especially the ones with effeminate qualities like Clay Aiken of American Idol. (Sorry Clay, you kind of stick out like Barry Manillow in the crowd. But I bought the front cover of you for the Rolling Stone. I still love you though.) Well anyways, one day, I took a trip to a breast surgeon. Paperwork had to get filled out and I was wondering if I had insurance coverage for extensive cosmetic surgery. In the charts, I was advised if the surgeon can suck out the fat from my tummy and stick it in my chest or use that silicone stuff that Demi Moore and Carmen Elektra uses. I decided to go for the works. In a display case, I saw the silicone models and picked up each one to feel the texture. One felt cushy like a slipper sea urchin. It wiggled like jello and it slid out of my hand into the plastic case. The second one felt like a sandwich bag filled with silly putty. It just felt so artificial and pokey. The third one felt like a silk glove, so I chose that one. It balanced so perfectly in place. After my selection, the doctor got a marking pen and placed circles and lines all over my upper chest, and I was given chart diagrams for particular breast sizes. Staring in the mirror for a long amount of time, I looked like the directional chart for a football game strategy itinerary. That final day came when the anesthesiologist put the triangular orifice over my teeny flat nose and mouth. Under my hospital gown, my boobs were covered. A breathing respirator was to my left, and a needle was placed in my right arm. The anesthesiologist directed me to count from 100 backwards. I did. 100...99...98....(my head started buzzing and everybody sounded like children on helium.) (Then lights out.) I slightly woke up again and felt my head circling from nausea. There was Lucy Cortina standing before me in doctor garb. OMIGAWD!!! She's a doctor. She took her doctor hat and facemask off and whispered in a sweet voice; "Now Felicia. Abracadabra! You now have wondrous casabas!" An hour later, I was then wheeled to the recovery room to have relief from the surgery. Three weeks later it was time to have the stitches removed. Bandages were still in place and lights all pointed to my chest. Dr. Cortina removed the bandages and removed the stitches, and later I stared into the mirror. My mouth flew open wide. - to be continued till next week.
07 Jul 2003	Felicia, your daily advisor.	One night, my heart was pattering so fast because I thought of this one guy, who I thought, digged me. Then I kept rewinded the thought in my head, the bittersweet words he spoke: " I was just using you for sex." Now just thinking about this would make anyone feel like ending it all. In short, some of you would say, "That's really fucked up! Chuck the bastard!!" You know that thought... It's like having a water hose stuck in your left nostril with water pressure on full power. Of course, literally, it would help you wash those awful thoughts away, and actually you would end your life by drowning, which I don't recommend. Rejection is a daily cycle of life in which we all have to accept. We cannot force anybody to love us any more or any less. If things always happened our way, we would disturb the "natural order" as quoted by our dear old friend, Shakespeare. The world would be utter chaos if things always happened our way. If we tried killing ourselves, we would take life into our own hands, and cause a disturbance in this world. If you tell yourself that you don't matter, it would be the same as telling me that I don't matter. We have a purpose to this society whether it would be negative or positive. Don't contemplate that portal to self destruction. Why? Because down the road there may be something in store for you that you will really miss. ...And that would be finding YOU.
03 Jul 2003	Lucy Cortina	For some reason there are a lot of wobblers in the town where I go to college.. I think it must be a special fat town, like when they have special beaches for people who like to go nude etc. Not that I'm complaining.. life could be worse.
27 Jun 2003	Lucy Cortina	Just agirl and co, life IS what you make it. If you think it's shit and you're a freak, hell, you will be. Ignorance is bliss, and what you think becomes true. Like me, I kept on using daily affirmations and saying to myself "these former boobies WILL grow back to their former glorious selves". And surprise surprise, they are back! Ok, so maybe a surgeons knife gave them some assistance, but that's life innit! My life is full of madness all the time. I used to donate sexy pics of my boobs to porn sites. I pressed my hefty weighty breasts onto the scanner, and they came out as big as Pamela's. And that wonderful thing my nipples do when I press them against a cold window! It's so glorious! I was reduced to this just so I could afford some NEW boobies. But I take it all in my stride. Boobies, bras, my sister, poop in my bed, it all happens, and I get suicidal. Why else am I on this website.
21 Jun 2003	Lucy Cortina	People may be wondering if I finally did the decent 'thang' and killed myself. Sadly, you won't find me hanging from the shower curtains of President Bush's en-suite. No, I'm still here. In a library. Looking at a suicide website. Librarians walk past me in disgust. They have nothing better to do than pass judgement. Their lives are filled with powdering their delicate noses, walking around in slippers, and engaging in lesbian acts in the resource room. But me, I'm here having just been on a trip to the Bronte museum. How.. er... exciting it was. The debate of the century was... whether or not Mr Bronte was, ahem, 'gay'. Yup, Lucy's still here.
21 Jun 2003	will	hi everyone. at the moment im trying to be positive. i have thought of so many ways to end my life. ie exhaust fumes, tablets etc. but then, if i end it others win. why let them win? particularly my dad, who's been dead since 1987, but he still screws me up sometimes, the old paedo! i read some of your troubles, and it reduces me to tears. there is so much hurt in the world, and i do wonder what's the point! ummm, i'm not making much sense, back up the loft.......
16 Jun 2003	just a girl	i hope life isn't one big joke... because i don't get it...
15 Jun 2003	Sethron	Dare we speak of such disturbing matters? *The evil grin slowly draws across her lips* Suicide is a work of art--and skill. You have to do it without maiming the body. After all, if they can't identify you, how can the necrophiliacs have their lovely dreams of taking their fun with young children come true? Tie yourself up in a garbage bag, Darling, and wait for the oxygen to run out.
10 Jun 2003	Brendickle	the answer is simple, come pay me a visit. I won't get violent, I will just subject you to my poetry. I am not as good as Mouchette, but it still might do the job of killing thee. here is a sample: the sweaty cheese man came down from the loft to purchase a roll of floss much to his chagrin the shop wouldn't tell him the aisle, much less they wouldn't tell him the cost! the loft dweller offered to give over his life, or anything the cashier wanted. your spikes your spikes spike me with your spikes! but the cheese boy looked away and was daunted all i want is to floss my teeth! they are made of cheese and they're sweaty!! all you girls and your punk rock fetish, why are you all so petty?!
05 Jun 2003	Lucy Cortina	Too true Felicia. Every day is your birthday, and everyday is a day for boobies. Weekend is for cocks.
04 Jun 2003	will	well, i came down from the candy flossed loft (try saying that after a few). And i ventured to town, only to be manhandled (or is that womanhandled) by three teenage girls. Trouble is, i'm gay. They were interested in only one thing, yes my spikes. ie my spikey hair! I now get called spike around town..... ummm, talking of boobies, i had a nice pair when i was fat. But they have dissappeared since i became skinny. My strict diet of candy floss. Oh well, back up to the loft for another munch....
03 Jun 2003	Lucy Cortina	Just a girl, thankyou. Thinking of my boobies up there, wearing silken flowing bras and dancing in a ring with other well-known boobies (like Lolo Ferraris), it brings me such joy. I only hope they are permitted by the Head Boobie to join in fun and games with the Dicks (a la the 'boys'). Yes, 'tis a nice thought. It proves that the bond between woman and bosom can never be broken. Just severed.
03 Jun 2003	just a girl	"my shoes" Lucy baby I am still here... do not be troubled... do not worry... oh no... do not be overly concerned :) I know how much you must miss your dearest friends, who yes, selfishly left your side... (or front rather) to go to another place... which was probably a better place than this earth... (boobie-heaven perhaps).. but I do wonder.. what do they do up there everyday? I can just image them as happy 'new-comers' who join in and frolic in the wilderness with all the other greatly missed boobies.. most likely having the time of their 'lives' (death's rather).. and I know u must be thinking.. "how could they do this to me!".. but remember.. we must be happy (and remember u got me!).. for they truly have 'gone to a better place'.. or so we hope (but then again.. what could be worse than this reality we live in?) This morning as I got out of bed.. my head span a little (as it usually does).. when I noticed I too was missing a few of my friends.. my precious spirits were all gone.. all drained.. all left transparent.. all left vulnerable.. and empty.. (why is it everything I touch mimics myself.. and eventually turns to shit? I don’t know..).. anyway after this dreadful incident I somehow managed to drag my pathetic sorry ass into my shower (with the kick! of a vodka shot).. after removing my innocent pjs, I realised my intoxicating friends were not the only ones I was missing.. I have no boobies? I guess because this fiasco has been going on so long and has literally taken the life out of me, I failed to notice that the price to pay for being oh-so beautifully thin was indeed my own warm friends.. (try not to cry for me luce).. I mean, of course they were still 'there' (for I hadn’t had surgery overnight.. I think?) but they were dead.. and lifeless.. not their 'usual-selves'.. they kinda reminded me of an old pair of shoes I used to wear.. at first I loved them.. hell everyone did!.. and they were taken care of.. and used ;).. they were the centre of attention and had everything in the world and everything to live for.. but after a while.. they just got old.. and stretched.. became dirty and lost their innocence.. and no longer were they full of feet (or love).. and they just became empty.. (I told u everything I touch turns to shit!).. well it’s like that with my boobies too! they are still there.. but they feel like potato chip bags.. you know the individual bags you get in like a pack of 12? Well it’s like the bags are still there.. but the chips have been demolished.. and sadly destroyed.. Who is to blame for this I hear you ask? probably myself.. but they were first neglected by another.. who gave up on me.. and in turn.. my boobies.. oh how they used to love all the attention and wonderful compliments.. I guess after 'he' left.. so did my boobies.. they gave up.. realised there was no hope.. no reason.. and no point in this demeaning life.. they decided they didn’t want to live anymore........ I told you everything I touch mimics me... So lucy.. in conclusion to another pointless story of mine.. u can now see how I feel your pain.. and I know what you’re going through.. for everything in its own time and place, will eventually end up like my shoes.. unloved.. uncared for.. and inevitably wanting to die.. But hell maybe my boobies are up there with yours.. frolicking in the wilderness together! :)
02 Jun 2003	Felicia was rescued by Lucy	It has been exposed. The #1 killer of the brain is excessive television with numerous amounts of reality shows involving "contests with boobies", The subliminal messages in those shows during commercial breaks are quite harmful. You see skinny attractive youths on cell phones, bandashering their silicone filled boom booms and bare midrift tubbies. Some of the teenage girls say, "Look at me! Look at me! I can flash my cute pertly titties! ( I see Lucy doing the same on the sidelines here.)" Of course the little boys get horny, and here I am feeling, very, very, "without". It so bothersome sometimes as I turn off the set and head of to the market to purchase a pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream after a brief commercial. On the way home, I pull out a drawer, peel the ice cream lid and start scooping. Then I start crying.... and then I start scooping, because my boobs aren't big enough. I head up the stairs and look in my drawer of "not nots" and "what nots" then all of a sudden, out of the drawer appeared a set of water boobies that Lucy Cortina bought for me last Christmas. I sniffed it slowly since it still had the scent of plastic, placed it beneath my bra, pushed up my boom booms and shook again to the rap song of "Baby Got Rack!" As daring as I was, I drove to the record store wearing a tight top and curvy belly midrift pants. The guys did stop and stare... Yes... I saw a set of long, longs, across the way. The cashier at the front of the store rung up my cd and all he stared at was my breasts. I then looked up and found he was handsome and hand a long, long. It was then that he asked me out for coffee. Thanks, Lucy Cortina, SS Double Agent 00, I love you!!!! Thanks for saving my life... By the way, what's up with Billy the Freak?
02 Jun 2003	Lucy Cortina	Just a girl, don't do this to me. You know full well that my dearest passed away more than a week ago. They were my only weapons. When I was sent to my psychiatric unit, they searched me before I went in. They even removed my bra (big mistake!), so as I couldn't hang myself with it. As soon as they had lifted this dam, my oceana of breast-flesh was released. They seemed unbothered and just carried on with their search. "What, no weapons of mass destruction?" I said, even though my weapons were clearly in front of me. It's not as if I could use my breasts to slash my arms or anything, though. "We have to check everyone", said the nurse. "Well you should check my home then. My sister shits on my bed, my dog eats my bras, my dad is a tranny and got mum pregnant by getting mum to sit on his dick and do the work herself, and my uncle is from a pre-Beatles era. Go on, go on then, check me you bastards!" I was discharged within the hour.

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