Saturday, September 10, 2011


This morning after reading a few bummer emails, I read a very mysterious email.  It was a story.  This story: 

Once upon a time there was a princess, and she wanted a prince that would give her relevance in the game. though there was a deal breaker. he must be a real prince with good credit, have a sweet ride, and must not have any article of clothing that resembles ed hardy in his wardrobe.
this princess traveled to the likes of portland and the democratic republic of congo to find her man. there were a plethora of princes, but homegirl had a hard time figuring out if these dudes were legit. for example, a guy who claimed to be the prince of new york picked her up in 2003 ford focus. 'what the fuck is this shit?' the princess thought to herself as prince flavor flav drove her to white castle. nothing was going right. so at last she took her ass home, and was very depressed because finding a prince would mean she could not move out of her mom's sublet.

then one night hurricane irene decided she would fuck up everybody's weekend; it rained and poured and was over-hyped by american media; indeed anderson cooper went overboard that night with his predictions.
in the midst of the storm there was a loud banging at the front door, the princess wasn't gonna open it herself, so she sent her friend to open it. the princess wasn't really close to this friend because she slept with her ex boyfriend when the princess interned for nylon. the princess never quite forgave her so if said friend was kidnapped or harmed physically by the alleged sociopath who knocked at the door it would be her karma in the eyes of the princess.

instead of jeffery dahmer waiting at the door, it appeared to be what looked like a prince. his state was terrible but still bangable in the princesses eyes. kinda had that i'm dirty and filthy but will still be good in the sack kinda look. his clothes were very soaked and he looked like he had an arduous journey. this aside he finally proclaimed that he was a real prince named chadwick.

‘you gotta be fucking kidding me. this shit can't be true,’ thought the old queen, but she had the common sense to keep her mouth shut. her daughter hadn't paid rent in ages and even if he didn't turn out to be a real prince she'd be relieved to not have to pay her daughter's 'travel the world to find a prince on mom's dime' ticket anymore.
she made a mad dash into the bedroom and wikipedia'd his name but couldn't find anything. this chadwick guy is really good at the mystery thing she thought. too damn good. the queen then came up with a scheme that would make even bernie madoff blush. she removed all the sheets and placed a pea on the bedframe. the queen then stacked five hundred mattresses on top of the pea, and then five hundred feather beds on top of the mattresses. they had really high ceilings and an elevator that reached the top of the ceiling so the prince would have an easier process  reaching his place of rest. he would catch some z's here for the night. at sunrise they would grill him like a dog making him explain in detail how he slept. this family aint no joke.

prince chadwick responded: 'it was fucking awful'.'i didn't sleep a wink! like what the fuck was in that bed? felt like i was lying on something hard. felt uncomfortable. felt shitty the whole night. felt like climbing down the mountain of mattresses. felt like a cretin cause i agreed to take an elevator up to my bed. felt sad. felt like going back to my childhood home and being in the comfort of my mother's arms. felt like moms are underappreciated. felt like your mom tried to sexually assault me but failed because ambien makes my sex drive interested in princesses only'. the queen gasped at this statement and tended to her delilahs. 'anyway' the prince said 'my body aches and is black and blue and whatnot'. when the prince uttered this important statement, the family realized at once that he was definitely a legit prince cause he felt the pea through the five hundred mattresses and twenty feather beds. nothing but a real g could recognize its presence while on a potent sleeping pill (and some ruffies the queen slipped in his mojito).

alas the princess married prince chadwick and she was now sure that she had finally been blessed with a real prince. the pea was put into a museum of famous peas where it still may be gazed at if the old queen hasn't pawned it for some rock (even the privileged can fall on hard times). prince chadwick and the princess now reside in a fortress you can't afford somewhere in the midwest.

True muthafucing story!

The story was based on my blogger bio.  After some Google detective work I found that peterbd99 at didn't have an identity and has sent a few stories/poems to other blog people I guess based on their blogs/bios.

I did find a little wordpress attached to the email: 
I guess over the summer peterbd99 was unemployed.  I wonder if peterbd99 is employed now since the poems had a short run.  I thought they were pretty awesome though like the story of Prince Chadwick.

Lesson of this blog post, a stranger made me feel better. So be a stranger sometime and make people feel better people. 

UPDATE:  I have been informed by Diana Sailer that DJ Berndt has complied the works of PeterPD:


  1. Great work. Glad I stumbled in here. :)

  2. Oh my god! I got one from this guy! A few in fact. I googled his name and found this page. Here is mine:

    a face of a young man. a face only god could create. a face that looks like he did mushrooms while listening to dr dre. circa 1998. who are you young sensei? pretty boy harry. mr. wittles. last name rhymes with skittles. you have to love skittles. right? they rhyme with your last name. i bet you dougie in the dark eating the green ones. while listening to purple rain. prince would be so proud that you go so hard like this. eating the sweetest candy and paying the upmost homage. but let's get back to your face. ok? i don't believe you for a second. your not some smart alec frat boy. someone who doesn't give two shits. in fact i know nada about you besides seeing right through your pic. like the great biggie smalls says "he's the playa president". your face is that of a playa too. but don't play to much or you'll find the right one and they'll crush your heart. blacken your soul. your face will lose it's shine. it's luster. melancholy and the infinite sadness will set in. your face will turn to stone. you'll end up looking like a fucking gargoyle. i beg of you be nice mr wittles. you seem the right kind of talented. keep progressing in whatever it is you do. life is sublime. your face will shine. be yourself. don't break any hearts. never be afraid to dream. and keep on carrying on the legacy of the notorious b.i.g. :)

  3. He just sent me the creepiest email ever. I fell on your web site while running a search for his email adress...