Many people today, in America and around the world, have been taking a greater interest in the behavior of the people of the Mid-Atlantic States. While many scholarly studies have been done on the behavior of these strange creatures, who I often encountered during my years living in Baltimore, one I would like to bring to your attention is the scholarly article I wrote on the subject as part of a "study" I was doing in the late 1970s.
As you know, in the early 1970s I was forced to go back to grammar school after arriving with my mother from the side of the Berlin Wall you were just thinking about a moment ago. We were new to Baltimore and I was a murderous young man bred for the single purpose of genocide, so I was already feeling different, and you know that comes with many struggles since you are a complete loser yourself, and now I was a man in his 40s sitting in classes with seven-year-olds. It was humiliating in a non-sexual way.
I used my size and experience to my advantage, and joined up with the bullies to more efficiently beat down the wimps and nerds. My forty-year-old man fists pummelled many a wimpling's face into hamburger when they didn't bring the money I told them to bring from home that day. I was relentless, and I taught those children more than they could possibly learn in "math class." I taught them about life. Yes, I was bitter because I was forced to go back to school because my schooling had been in government run "Youth Schools" in Germany when I was growing up in the 1930s and 1940s. None of that was my fault. I was forced into that. I NEVER asked that hairless animals be forcibly inserted into my anus. They made me accept those animals in there. I didn't have a choice. I am not a bad man. I am your friend.
What I would like to do is to convince you to let me take care of one of your relatives and then to be okay with it when I replace their elbows and knees with gears just to see how that goes.
Still here in 1878 Bavaria waiting for the trees to attain full and total consciousness. I will learn their plan for destroying the human race in 2031. I will stay until I do. Enrico Fermi will not let me leap out until I do. He needed help, so I contacted the Joan Crawford work group in Hades and had some help brought in. Reaching into the extensive collection of "scientists" in Hades, I brought in Niels Bohr to help Rico out. Now, things will go much more smoothly. Both have decayed levels of self-respect and morality after long stays in the pits of Hades, so it is easy to bend them to my will. You can't stop them. They are too smart and they are like Frankensteins to my monster.
I'm not sure if that is right.
Back in the 1970s, I was writing down this scholarly article, "The Sex Dreams of the People of the Mid-Atlantic States" on the back of cocktail napkins that I picked up in bars before following people home from the bars. I would then find a way to get into their home after they went to sleep and hover over them like a spectre and watch them sleep. Then I'd write down any mutterings they made in their sleep or how often they touched their genitals. I would send the notes to their parents after compiling them, but I also collected them in a photo album, along with the many pictures I took of these creatures while they slept, that I passed around in the bars and then decided to craft it into a scholarly article.
One of the things I noticed during the late 1970s, when I broke into the homes of thousands of people and hovered over them like a spectre while they slept (maybe you were one of them? maybe your grandpa? MAYBE? Think about it), was that a common factor in the sex dreams of the people of the Mid-Atlantic states was that their hands drifted towards their genitals when they said the word "so good" in their sleep. I have this written down a lot, even though sometimes I forget because it happened while I was putting on my favorite old ratty bathrobe before hovering. I like to be comfortable when involved in scholarly projects such as this one. It also gives me easier access to my "items" if an adjustment needs to made. I've taken scissors and pocket knives and X-Acto blades to my genitals so many times that discomfort on a regular basis is only natural. Maybe you are like me. This would explain our friendship and why it needs to be deepened by letting me live with you for six to eight months later this year going into next.
I began to put together some charts highlighting some of the key things I learned about the sex dreams of the people of the Mid-Atlantic states. I don't know if any of you people know what "charts" are, but they are drawings that show things in a "format." When that format is converted by the brain into thoughts the chart rearranges itself into its proper order. This is the purpose of charts.
These charts showed commonalities, or elements of the dreams that appeared in many different people's dreams. They also showed some weird stuff, usually only occurring one or two times in one or two test subjects. While I could go back and do follow ups with those I didn't have to suffocate with a pillow because they'd seen my face, the point was already made. There are common dreams and unique dreams amongst the people of the Mid-Atlantic States. Some of these people would writhe around moaning and shoot semen or vaginal holy water out into the room, but that was rare. It was more common to hear a particular name repeated as the person moaned. At no point did any of them moan out "Oh, friend Behr," which was disappointing. I do not note this in the final academic paperwork that I submitted to the school where I was formerly a fully-tenused professor of ethics. I have also lectured on this topic in the classes I taught. Therefore, my data is sound.
There was a follow-up to one of my favorite shows, Star Trek which is a mostly forgotten show from the 1960s most of you here are too young to remember. This follow-up was not widely seen, and was called Star Trek: The Next Generation, you probably haven't heard of it. Was on about thirty years ago. It had a character named Data that had a really great ass. The way he looked when he bent over a console was always impressive to me. I don't generally like to sexualize characters on television, but like his predecessor, the character Spock, the addition of these well-assed characters to a show that was hard to follow really helped move it along.
When compiling data on the sex dreams of any group of people, you have to take into account the culture of the area. The culture of the Mid-Atlantic States is shallow and baseless, and so are many of the dreams of the well-hung sailors (and the women who love them) that live there. Since we are compiling specific data on this specific group, people from the Mid-Atlantic States, this commonality resolves just about any question you could have about their sex dreams. All they have is a distant memory of the Jamestown colony and no other cultural references. You can't do much with that, and so they dream about sex with farm animals and women with huge boobs and men with yak heads. There is no two ways about it. This is fact.
I submitted my report and my scholarly article about that report to an ad I saw in the back of a magazine at the barber shop. Two weeks later, I got a letter in the mail saying I had been nominated for a Nobel Prize for my great work. I had to fly to San Bernadino, California, to meet with a man named "Omar X" and when I did, he stabbed me with a long switchblade knife and took my luggage, my money, and my scholarly articles on the sex dreams of the people of the Mid-Atlantic states. It seemed all hope was lost.
Something wasn't right. Omar X had paid for my plane ticket and had sent me a $20,000 advance on my scholarly articles just to rob me of five hundred dollars in travellers checks and some suits? I realize that the man who robbed me could not have been Omar X. He was a fake. The real Omar X was still out there waiting for me, or maybe switchblade man had stabbed him as well. This was one of the events that happened in relation to my scholarly articles, The Sex Dreams of the People of the Mid-Atlantic States, which is an excellent scholarly article of note.
A lot of my data was difficult to compile. A lot of times I had trouble getting out of an apartment or split-level because a boyfriend, husband, or weird uncle came home in the middle of the night. I would have to beat them unconscious in order to continue studying the dreams of my test subject and at times the body count was getting too high to be manageable within the constraints of academia. There had to be another way to get this important data.
What I decided to do was to purchase a 1970 Ford Econoline van, drive around neighborhoods in the evening and look for sleepy people. Then, I would leap out of the 1970 Ford Econoline van, put a chloroform rag over their mouths and drag them into the back. Once I had seven or eight test subjects piled up back there, I went to a filthy, abandoned factory and threw them down on the floor. I injected them with any kind of chemicals I could find at the time to keep them asleep and then dutifully wrote down notes on what each was experienced. With those that suffered permanent brain damage, I was able to effectively interview them later about their experiences before putting them out of their misery with a single shot to the back of the head.
So, some of the data was, in fact, gathered under different conditions that other data. Some have told me this could cause my scholarly paper to fail a "peer review" since it is one of the papers I am submitting for my doctorate in ethics. This is a piece of paper I would like to have in my pocket when I challenge President Trump for the Republican nomination in 2020. It is something I will speak about as we have become an ethically challenged nation and I am a leader in the field of ethics now.
Of the thousands of test subjects and those I encountered during the projects, there were 872 casualties. This could not be helped, and because of constraints of time and money, I threw the bodies in an open grave near Blinker's Mill and urinated on them while laughing my ass off. It was a good way to relieve the stress that comes with many hours of work on scholarly papers of note. This does not diminish their impact on the final scholarly article, but it does tell you some things about me.
Here are some of the most memorable dreams I witnessed amongst the people of the Mid-Atlantic states:
- One man dreamed of two women who covered him in syrup and licked him clean before putting their fingers in his bum
- An uptown woman dreamed of being courted by a downtown fishmonger
- A couple both dreamed of putting each other on a medieval rack and stretching each other to the limits of each other's pain (but they didn't tell each other about their dreams)
- A young woman who had just been fired from the secretarial pool dreams about a teddy bear with a strap-on dildo
- A fat man dreamed about having a trout mouth stuck completely around his genitals
- An elderly woman dreamed about being taken by a 1920s era carnival barker in the back of Woolworth's
- Fish was very common in these people's sex dreams, including many about making love with shellfish
- Many Civil War Re-enactment type sexual scenarios
- Dreams where someone had broken in during the night and was hovering over them while they slept
As you can see, quite a lot of variety in these dreams, but many commonalities that draw together the people of the Mid-Atlantic states into a singular, cohesive unit. They might be considered their own ethnicity from this point forward, Mid-Atlantic Peoples. We need to honor them in the U.S. Constitution.
In the 1980s, I was able to track down the real Omar X at a hotel bar in Cincinnati. I was there speaking to a conference of American businessmen of note when I spotted him out of the corner of my eye. He was sitting with the man who had stabbed me drinking rum and coke drinks and I went over there and confronted them. Where was my scholarly article? I demanded it be returned.
They were street toughs, and so they tried pushing me around. While I had not yet realized the full power of my X-Man type hand, I have always been good with my fists. After I snabbed switchblade man's neck and his body dropped to the floor, Omar X took me to the safety deposit box where he'd put my scholarly paper, knowing it was potentially worth millions, and then I dropped him with a single gunshot to the head.
Being a scholar is not easy work, and most of you don't know what it is like to get past even the fundamentals of your schooling. It is said that the average noder drops out of school in the fifth grade and never learns anything for the rest of their life. I would say the average education level here is even lower that than, with myself as one of the only exceptions, one of the rare few with any kind of college degree at all. I have written a scholarly paper. I have written many of them. I was a fully tenured professor of ethics and a professional business man. You were never these things. You are lucky you keep your job bagging groceries. You only come here for the Pokemon jokes. You need to get yourself more new learnings and get yourself out of that mess. Come on, girl, you can do it. Pick up a book. Read some scholarly articles like mine.
It will expand your mind. You can start at your local lending library. Ask a librarian to help you and don't take no for an answer.
My friends.