What Is a Fake Friend?

A fake friend may leave you feeling emotionally exhausted due to their inability to be genuine, keep your interests in mind, or respect you. In a healthy friendship, there is a sense of mutual positivity and reciprocated admiration. However, this is not the case with fake or toxic friends. When interacting with them, you may feel like you have to act or behave in a certain way to avoid harsh criticism. When it’s obvious that this person no longer has your best interests at heart, it may be time to consider ending the relationship.

How to Know if Your Friend Is Fake: 15 Signs
The signs of a fake friendship may not look the same in every situation. Nevertheless, if you examine them closely, you’ll notice similar relationship patterns, qualities, and characteristics. Often, you’ll notice a lack of commitment on your “friend’s” part. They are frequently self-absorbed and more focused on their own personal feelings, rather than yours. Having this type of relationship can feel incredibly one-sided and hurtful.

Here are 15 signs of a fake friend:
1. They Don’t Support You
If a friend is never available for you when you need them, they’re probably not fully invested in your relationship. Rather than listening and offering emotional support, they may give you unenthusiastic affirmations or comments. Real friends will pay attention to your needs and provide encouragement.

2. They’re Overly Competitive With You
Friendships can sometimes include a healthy level of competition. However, you’ll know when the limit of this has been met. In fake friendships, competition is not good-natured or fun. Rather, it comes from a place of jealousy or their need to feel better than others.

3. They Make You Feel Bad About Yourself
Fake friends will often make backhanded compliments, quiet judgments, or disapproving looks in your direction.  Sometimes, these behaviors are not outright or obvious. Still, they can leave you feeling betrayed and hurt.

4. They Turn Others Against You
A fake friend may act sweet and caring to your face, but gossip about you with others. This type of behavior is a form of relational aggression and is a distinct sign of a fake friendship.

5. They Always Need Attention
We all know someone who loves drama and being the center of attention. Friendships with a person like this may be conflictual, one-sided, and manipulative. Attention seeking behavior does not always look the same, but it is often an indicator of a fake friendship.

6. They Peer Pressure You
When a friend attempts to encourage or convince you to behave in a way that is not characteristic of you, this is known as peer pressure. Peer pressure can be direct or indirect, and can occur in any type of social situation.

7. They’re Narcissistic
Sometimes, self-obsessed and attention seeking behaviors can be indicative of an underlying Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). Friendships with a narcissist can feel superficial, as your friend may act moody, hold grudges, be hypersensitive to criticism, or crave constant attention.

8. They’re Jealous of You
Jealousy in a friendship may stem from feelings of insecurity or fear. When left unaddressed, jealousy can lead to anger and resentment, inevitably causing irreparable damage to the friendship.

9. They Emotional Dump on You
Emotional dumping is a toxic form of venting that occurs when a person continues to share their thoughts, despite cues that it’s time to stop. When you find yourself constantly listening to someone behave in this way, you may grow frustrated and discouraged.

10. They’re Energy Vampires
Fake friends are like “energy vampires.” Their consistent negative attitudes, need for attention, and judgmental behaviors can leave you feeling both mentally and emotionally drained.

11. They Share Their Bad Moods
A fake friend doesn’t necessarily care about hurting the people around them. This may be evident in how they force their negativity onto others. For example, they may show up to a party in a bad mood, and take any opportunity to infect other guests with their toxicity.

12. They Hold Grudges
We all make mistakes, but a fake friend is going to struggle to acknowledge this. A true friend may be hurt by a mistake on your part, but will move on from it, because they love you. Fake friends will typically hold on to grudges for a long time, despite your attempts to apologize.

13. They’re Focused on Appearances

For some, the way a friendship looks on camera is more important than how it does in real life. If your “friend” is overly focused on making sure others know everything you’re doing together, this can be a sign of ingenuity. Pay attention to when they become shallow and determine whether or not you should end the friendship.

14. They Judge You
A friend should never be overly critical of you. If you notice that someone is constantly questioning your behaviors, ideas, or choices, you may be dealing with a fake friend. While some disagreement is unavoidable in any relationship, an obscene amount is never a good sign.

15. They Only Reach Out When They Need You
Frequently, a fake friend will only make an effort to contact you when they need something. If you struggle to find ways in which your relationship is benefiting you, it may be time to set some boundaries or move on.

Final Thoughts
Fake friendships can negatively impact anyone. Everyone deserves to surround themselves with people who love and respect them. Be wary of fake friends, try your best to avoid them when possible, and acknowledge when it’s appropriate to move on.

I did find this information on-line and I found it to be quite informative. This is in response to another blog on GD. Many of these points do describe the writer of the other blog and so it seems to me, that person is truly the fake friend. One person who doesn't like "you" doesn't convince others to go along with them. They are finally seeing how you really are and they don't like it (I am guessing).
I do have to comment on that remark said about not being vindictive in a room.... In a blog they had inferred that they knew things that had been said in a conversation that they would/ could use against them. (This person has said she takes screen shots of all her conversations.)
Those other people are my friends and have you ever realized that we all have families, problems, things going on and just because we don't advertise things does not mean we don't have them too?
One final thought,, Marc does get a lot of things right. Maybe you should rethink things because to me, it seems insulting to say the people who used to be your friends were fake...
Sorry for this long blog and I hope I don't need to write another one in the near future. I am just tired of one person thinking the world revolves around them!!!

Have you ever notice , when one of a group or things and sometimes even people others being around the bad one can cause the others to go bad. I was checking my potatoes the other week and I saw one one of my potatoes was starting to grow eyes and get soft. I did not have time to deal with it at that minute, so I left it and got back to it about a week later. By that time, they were all growing and getting soft. In just a week one bad potato ruined the whole bag.
Today I went to a room I used to practically live in. Said hi like i always do, and only 1 person spoke. Now here is the thing, many of them used to say hi. Sooooooooooooo the real question isssssss did the bad potato spoil the bag, orrrrrrrrrrrrrrr were they never really my friends in the first place? Another good question is why do i care. If they are that easily turned or if they were faking it, they are not worth my time anymore.

I know I annoy people, A LOT, sometimes. I was just suggested I take a chill pill. lol Not the first time someone has told me that. Like I said, I am aware I annoy some people sometimes. What you all do not get is I rarely do it deliberately. Most times I do not even know I did it, till someone has the brains to tell me i annoyed them, or hurt their feelings. One can not even try to fix a bad behavior IF they have no clue it's bugging people.
Then you will occasionally get those people that say "YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID" well if I knew I would not be asking what I did. My neighbor across the street called me a hypocrite one day. I asked her what she meant and why she thought that, and she said you know what you did. We are talking again, but to this day i have no clue on what she based that assumption.
I am aware of a few things I do without realizing it. I say you know wayyyyyyyyyyy too often, as a way to see if the person I am talking to is paying attention. I know I talk way too fast sometimes , thing is in my head it does not seem fast till someone tells me it was too fast. I will then make a continuous effort to slow down my speech. IF I KNOW I AM DOING SOMETHING THAT BUGS SOMEONE, i will make an effort to stop it. Grant it sometimes the mental patch does not hold and i end up doing it again, but it is not for lack of effort to fix it.
I have many friends and family who can not help being on the net on their cells, even when they have company. THAT IS ANNOYING TO ME. My brother's family is a perfect example of that. He asked me down one Christmas, a couple of years ago. They ALL had their noses stuck in the phones and tv. So I said to him, why did you invite me if you were all going to ignore me in favor of your devices? He has not asked me back. That is fine with me, because his favorite hobby is picking at everything I do. I thought I had made the point for him to stop that. It lasted about 10 years, and he has started it up again. Like I said, sometimes mental patches on irritating behavior do not hold. People can try to change things. That is all they can do, either the changes stick or they do not. I have noticed a few people that have read my blogs are annoyed by some of them, and whether I like it or not they will tell me so. Wish everyone would learn to speak their mind.

Did you ever notice when you are already fighting with depression, the stupidest little things will make you cry?
Did you ever notice how some people will turn into the same kind of personality that they themselves hated just a short time ago?
Did you ever notice how some people will leave their old friends behind when they get a better job?
Did you ever notice when you are worrying about something, EVERYTHING bugs you?
Did you ever notice that sometimes people that mean the world to you can walk out of your life and not look back like you never mattered?
Did you ever notice things that matter to you do not matter to others at all? kind of like this blog lol
Did you ever notice sometimes writing a blog or talking to people help when you are not in a good mood?

Szczęśliwej Polski już czas
Pokłócili nas dla elektoratu braw
Dla partyjnych swoich gier
Dla swych prywatnych spraw
Zakłamali sens nieskalanych dotąd słów
Byle sondaż lepiej stał
Zniszczyli tyle cnót
Tyle cnót

Nauczyli nas podejrzewać wszędzie kant
Widzieć w każdym stronę złą
Mieć na każdego hak
Podpalili stos, gdzie się wątły płomień tli
Już się ogrzać nie ma jak
Nie siada przy nim nikt

Już nikt

Szczęśliwej Polski już czas
W której bratu ufa brat
Której świat nie jest wbrew
Polski, gdzie masz swoje miejsce ty i ja
Dumnej z nas

Jaką drogą iść, żeby nie dać zgubić się
Czy to nowa wojna jest
Znów dzielić mamy się
Nie podzielmy się
Może uda nam się to
Złe energie przegnać precz
Oczyścić wreszcie dom
Nasz dom

Szczęśliwej Polski już czas
Takiej jaką w sercu masz
Jeśli wciąż serce masz

Starczy nam sens
Choć nie równo biją w nas
Mija czas, czas, czas
Mija czas

I życzę nam, życzę sobie, życzę państwu
żeby ten czas lepszy dla Polski, dla nas
żeby nas już nie mijał
Niech chociaż na moment przestanie
Bo to jest czas najwyższy

Lecz nade wszystko słowom naszym
Zmienionym chytrze przez krętaczy
Jedyność wróćmy i prawdziwość
Niech prawo zawsze prawo znaczy
A sprawiedliwość sprawiedliwość

im done thank you all you fucking cheaters

If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always got. When we grow up without clear direction, without plans or goals. Without any idea of who or what we want to be, we are left to drift amongst the wants of others and be placed into the category’s society has assigned to us. A category gives us a sense of belonging, but also creates a limit of who we are supposed to be. We become conditioned by our beliefs and are a product of our environment. Everything we think, do, act, is a choice. If you are more focused on how another person acted rather than how you reacted, you are inadvertently placing the blame on someone else. Choosing to be a victim to your outcome is easier than taking responsibility. Understanding that you choose to be a victim toward a situation is a hard pill to swallow, but without awareness you can’t change it. Change; its simple to know, but hard to follow. We live in the paradox of wanting to be better without truly wanting to do better. We want to remain within the comfy space we have created, leaving it for the unknown feels more uncomfortable than remaining in a place we know is no longer serving us purpose. We are constantly faced with contradictions in our lives, “nothing grows in your comfort zone” but “the grass isn’t always greener” Without a thought audit, we don’t question why we believe certain things or why we do things a certain way, we will continue to be the same person, with the same core beliefs. The intention to be better, is easier than the action to do better. We may tell the universe we want more money, but deep down we believe ourselves to be poor. We may tell ourselves we want to be successful but deep down we believe we will amount to nothing. Denial feels comfier than acceptance. Blame is easier when its placed upon others, rather than ourselves. Hiding from the past is easier than healing from it.  Humans are like water, we take the path of the least resistance. I know I'm not alone in avoiding being uncomfortable, we are creatures of habit and changing the routine causes our brain to go into a bit of a frenzy. Its easier to stay the same but nothing great in life is easy and the only way I am going to change my identity is to put myself in situations of discomfort, to become comfortable with the feelings of rejection, failure and boredom.

This is a cautionary tale and - unlike most of the other reviews on this product - this is a true story and its authenticity can be qualified by a small news item that appeared in the Toronto Star's local news section during the month of April in 2013, much to my chagrin.
I would consider myself a prudent man. Not given to bouts of outspokenness or craving attention, and certainly not one to rock the boat. On any given day I can be found reading a crime novel on a park bench in the middle of the city, soaking in the opulence of nature while nibbling on my tuna fish sandwiches and fending off the voracious gulls and squirrels that threaten to spoil my repose. This is me. Law-abiding and introspective. Which is why it came as a shock to me to find myself incarcerated because of the Devil's Confectionery, Satan's Sweetmeat, Lucifer's Lozenges - the horror that is known as 'Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears".
I'll set the scene: It was late winter / early spring in Toronto and the city had just been digging itself out from a late season snow-storm. I was heading to Pearson International Airport for a redeye flight to Amsterdam in order to give the Dutch arm of our company some training on the new software that had been installed (I'm deliberately being vague to prevent my place of work from being linked in any way to the incident that occurred). I had just finished packing, checked the time and found I was running late, my flight was at 7:10 PM and it was now almost 5:00 PM. Cursing softly, I ran out to the car and threw my bags in the trunk, hitting the gas a little harder than usual in my haste to make it to the Long Term Parking Lot as soon as possible. Luckily traffic was light on the 401 and I made it to the airport in record time, but knew that my chances of making the flight were still at risk if I didn't use my time wisely.
I hadn't eaten since lunch, and I was feeling a bit hungry, my stomach rumbling loudly in protestation, which caused me to look around at the other travellers rushing past me in the busy terminal, mortified that my bodily noises might be heard by others. I briskly checked my watch and decided that I had enough time to grab a quick snack before going through the baggage check and security, and would get something more substantial once I was checked through security. I spotted a vending machine nestled in a relatively low-traffic corner of the terminal and rushed over, already pulling out my credit-card and mentally assessing what I had a craving for so as to save time interacting with the machine. My eyes scanned the colourful array of confection quickly, coming to rest on a tantalizing, rainbow-coloured bag of gummy bears with the simple white and red logo "Haribo" emblazoned across the bag in what appeared to be a slightly tweaked Helvetica Rounded font.

Now I'd to pause here in the story for a moment to underscore the importance of making proper choices. I was hungry. When you're hungry, you should eat FOOD. FOOD is defined as "a nutritious substance that people consume to maintain life", this is what food is. These days, the definition of the word 'food' has been bastardized and the meaning has been broadened to include veritably any material that can be digested, or rather, chewed and swallowed without causing death or severe illness. "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" are NOT food. They aren't even from this planet. I imagine their origins being conceived in a boardroom in hell by a top team of Creative Pain Administers, with senior level Demons rubbing their hands together in ghoulish delight as Hell's Chief Chemist slowly lifts the veil on their new creation.
The point here being, I made a very, very, very poor choice. I pushed the button and the vending machine ejected the brightly coloured bag into my awaiting hands. I had always liked gummy bears - they were bright but rather innocuous, they weren't overly sweet so as to become cloying and - of course - each candy came in the visage of a rather happy, docile bear reminiscent of the picture one's mind's eye holds of all anthropomorphic bears from Yogi to Winnie.
The way I figured it, I was taking a bit of a holiday from life, so I could relax my fastidiously regimented daily schedule a little to allow for some frivolity. After all, I was going to be in Amsterdam come morning with 16 hours to kill before I had to be training the Dutch employees, maybe I would take a trip down to one of the Coffee Shops in the Red-Light District and really let my hair down! No, I wouldn't do that. I would see that area of the city from the bus as I went to the hotel where I would eat at the hotel restaurant and drink sparkling water. So I'd better enjoy the gummy bears, my one extravagance to commemorate my break from routine.

I joined the queue in the KLM line, which was mercifully short, most likely because all of the passengers for my flight had already been checked through as the flight was scheduled to depart in an hour. I checked my watch again, frowned, and absent-mindedly opened the bag of "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" and began to munch on them as the line slowly advanced. To be fair, they tasted fine - just like every other manufacturer's brand of the colourful candy, and they were sugar-free to boot. This is what made the whole incident that followed so baffling - if they had tasted 'off' or 'different' I most likely wouldn't have continued to shovel them into my mouth absent-mindedly while daydreaming about what I would order to eat from room-service in my hotel in Amsterdam.

As I gave the attendant my e-ticket and she weighed my bags, the first of the pains began in my stomach. I thought nothing of it at first, chalking it up to the fact that I needed something more substantial than gummy worms to tackle my hunger, but over the course of the next five-minutes the shooting pain began to come in more rapid succession. At this point, I had my boarding pass printed and rubbing my stomach a little, I proceeded to security. I briefly entertained the thought of trying to find a restroom before going through security, but at that point my discomfort was manageable and I didn't think it was get any worse, certainly not within the amount of time it would take to clear security.

I joined the line and started fishing for my passport to present to the agent checking tickets, I felt a thin sheen of sweat break out on my forehead and underarms, and my features flushed for a moment as a wave of heat washed over me. I didn't pay it much heed as going through security always caused me great anxiety and I chalked it up to pre-flight jitters. It was only as I stood face to face with the agent and handed her my passport and ticket that I had a glimpse of the agony that was about to begin. It felt like time rippled for a moment, as if my consciousness buckled so intense was the pain that fired through my bowels. I grimaced spastically and emitted a low moan, and felt myself take an involuntary step sideways. Stars shot though my head briefly and my vision blurred and then snapped back into focus. The agent was staring at me with slight consternation and asked me if I was alright. I pulled myself together, stood up straight and declared that I was fine, mortified that I had had a lapse of decorum not only in public but at the security clearance in an airport!
As I fumbled off my belt to go through the metal detector, the pain in my stomach increased and I practically had to sit on the floor to take my shoes off, terrified of what would happen if I bent at the middle to do it. It was becoming increasingly more evident to me that this wasn't just a stomach ache. No, this was something much worse. As a child I had had a bout of diarrhea after a trip to Mexico with my family, I remember the feeling of nausea that swept through me before my child self had surrendered to the gas pains and parked myself on the toilet for an hour, s***ting until I felt like I didn't have any bones left. And that was how I was feeling now, with several key differences - the pain was worse, the sense of an impending bowel movement was so formidable it gave me temporary amnesia, and it took all of my will-power, all of it, to clench my butt cheeks together to prevent my sphincter from exploding.

A sudden shock of pain racked my body, and I half wondered if I was going to give birth to a Tasmanian Devil. The crazy, fever-induced image of said cartoon animal chasing Bugs Bunny through the splashy, volcanic s***-kettle that was my stomach, caused me to illicit a short, maniacal bark of laughter as I approached the Metal detector, a wild, distant look in my eyes, sweat now beginning to poor off of my like a long-distance runner in Kenya. The security agent on the other side of the detector shot a quick glance over to her co-worker who narrowed his eyes and made a subtle movement towards his holster. My breathing became uneven as I entered the metal detector and I realized with alarm that I had taken off my socks without even registering it, and one of my shirt tails was untucked at the front. I held my breath, my eyes bulging dangerously from my head as the machine scanned me. As I shakily moved forward towards the agent for a pat down, my stomach began to illicit sounds that can only be described as otherworldly. It started off a sort-off bubbling sound heard from afar and grew in pitch and intensity at an alarming rate. My jaw dropped in shock as what I can only describe as the sound of an agonized wailing alley-cat in heat with a persistent Doppler effect added to it's voice emitted from some nether-region of my intestines. The officer's eyes widened in alarm, and she kept her eyes glued to my stomach as she thoroughly patted me down. As she reached my shins, I felt my innards suddenly expand, and plummet towards my rectum. With cat-like reflexes I squeezed my sphincter shut with what seemed like nano-seconds to spare, and I knew, I KNEW that if I didn't get the bathroom immediately I would s*** myself.

With a Herculean effort and all of the strength that I could muster, I forced my buttcheeks together knowing that one false move would open the floodgates. I began to walk like a duck, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, not even caring now what other people were seeing in front of them - a disheveled, barefoot 40-year-old business man, red-faced and bulgy-eyed, sweating profusely, shaking slightly and walking without bending his knees. With single-minded intensity I grabbed my carry-on, shoes and socks from out of the plastic tub that had passed the x-ray inspection, and without putting anything back on, I turned on my heels with the intention of finding the nearest restroom and slowly dying there one squirt at a time.

But that's not what happened.

I turned to go and found myself staring at three armed agents who stopped me and asked if I would follow them. "Why, what's the matter?" I stammered, wincing slightly as the act of speech seemed to strain the tenuous and extremely fragile truce I had negotiated between my bowels and the tempest that raged within. "I have to go the bathroom, RIGHT NOW" I pleaded. "Just follow us please", they said, leaving no room for argument. The other travellers clearing the security check stared with curiosity and revulsion at the spectacle unfolding before them, whispering amongst themselves and hurrying to pack up their belongings and get as far away from me as possible, no doubt assuming that the airport had nabbed some sort of domestic terrorist. If I hadn't been feverishly trying to hold back the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, I likely would have died of shame.

With each step I took towards the room that they ushered me into, I felt that my legs would give way. I marvelled at how strong the human will could be. Marvelled at what was essentially patching a hole in the Hoover Dam with bubblegum could actually be sustained indefinitely. Maybe I would make it through this ordeal after all. The room they brought me into was an examination room. I had pretty much stopped registering details of my environment as my consciousness closed off all but the absolutely necessary functions - breathing, ability to walk - but I snapped back to reality when I heard the snap of rubber. The slow dawning of realization poked through my agony and stoic resolve as I turned to face an agent dawning rubber gloves.

"Sir, we are going to perform a cavity search on you", a young fresh-faced agent stated in a firm but emotionless voice. His short-cropped, blond hair was immaculate and for a crazy moment I wondered if he was an actor and this was all some sort of elaborate practical joke done to amuse bored kids watching Youtube. He must have taken my tortured silence for resistance because he looked at me sharply and said "Lower your pants and underwear please, and face the desk". Panic started to grip me in it's icy grasp and the sudden adrenaline threatened to destroy my sphincters bulwarks and rend my anus in two. I inhaled sharply and with a pained gasp I doubled up my efforts to clench my cheeks together. "Sir, please", I begged deferring to this kid in an act of desperation, "I have to go to the bathroom. You can follow me into the stall if you need to but I had some bad "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" and now I feel like'", but they had stopped listening and smirked at each other, two of the other agents - a tall, dark-haired female and a shorter, balding fat man - looked away from me and I could see them shaking a little as they stifled their laughs. "Sir, face the wall, put your hands on the desk and spread your cheeks" the young agent stated, a lop-sided grin on his face. "But'", I began to protest, and then a fresh shock of pain forced me to stop and lean on the table for support as an ungodly howling rose from my stomach, something between the dying moans of a Wholly Mammoth, and the sound of bubble-wrap popping underwater. I exhaled shakily and my focus began to narrow, as I rallied for the final battle. Shaking uncontrollably and sweat literally raining down onto the tabletop in from of me, I turned to face the wall and heard a meek childlike voice, pleading from somewhere in the room. "Please", it said, and then again, "Please". From somewhere within me my mind recognized that this sound had issued from me, although my consciousness had now begun to separate from my body and I held my breath and prayed to God for strength.

"He probably has some heroin or something up there that opened up", the female guard said as a part of me that hadn't escaped into the ether yet acknowledged that she was behind me to my left, "probably high as a kite, LOOK at him", she said. The shorter guard agreed with a snort, off to my right.

"Spread your cheeks" the young agent said, his voice directly behind me and lower than the other two, "and bend over".

"Pleasegodpleasegodpleasegodpleasegod", I whispered in a desperate, maniacal mantra, not even aware of my surroundings anymore. I felt like I was lost in an opium fog with half-snatched images and sounds filtering through to create a nonsensical version of reality. Another volley of pain tore through me and I involuntarily leaned forward over the desk, my focus completely narrowed now to a spot on the wall two feet in front of me, a curious imperfection in the what seemed to be white-washed stone wall. It was a dark blotch about five millimetres long and shaped like a smiling bear, a yellow dancing bear. No, a green bear. No, red. It was all the colours of the rainbow. My god, it was beautiful.

It just took something as simple as a slight breeze to trigger Armegeddon. That's all. No trumpets, no fanfare, no fire raining from the heavens, no dogs and cats living together in harmony, no finger on the button, no prophet to predict it, no nothing. As I stared at the rainbow bear smiling and dancing in front of me, my mouth agape, drooling, eyes glazed and blood-shot, face coated with a sheen of sweat, I heard the softest sound, an exhalation from the young agent behind me, and then at the same instant the warm air of his breath feather across my butt cheeks. For just a moment, maybe less, maybe a split second, even a nanosecond, I felt the presence of God there with me in that room as neurons began to misfire at a blinding rate, nerve ending bristled and muscles twitched reflexively. I stood on the brink with one foot hovering over the edge, and then without taking a step, I found myself plummeting.

With a sound like an extra large plastic ketchup bottle being run over by a Mac truck, my sphincter released. The pressure of the blast pushed me hard into the desk and the legs of the desk screeched as they scraped across the floor. My body remained rigid for a moment and I experienced a relief that can only be described as orgasmic in it's purity. My eyes rolled back in my head and my tongue lolled out of my head like a half-retarded dog and I emitted a low, sustained groan that grew in pitch as the filthy torrent pushed its way out of my body. Tremors wracked my body and I must have looked like a fish out of water with an endless stream of s*** firing out of its ass. Other sounds and sensations started to filter in now as my consciousness began to materialize once more. The muffled scream of a dungeon filled with prisoners near death radiated from my stomach, the rushing sound of litres of liquid trying to escape through an aperture too small to accommodate it all at the same time, the omnipresent sound of chunky liquid spattering against a hard surface with great force, the high-pitched screaming of a woman's voice calling out to God, another voice sobbing uncontrollably imploring to "make it stop!!!" and my own ecstatic, monotone wail.

When my ordeal had eventually run its course, I was left panting for breath and wobbly legged, half-crying, half-laughing with relief, barely lucid and feeling as if I had birthed an elephant. My colon felt like someone had poured chile sauce all over it and then sent in a colony of fire ants to eat it. Through my sobs I heard the sound of dripping, like when the sprinklers are eventually turned off after an office fire, or after a thunderstorm when the willow that overhangs a pond continues to rain down long after the sky has stopped. From behind me, the sobbing continued and I heard someone trying to speak into a walkie-talkie but nonsensical words were all that the man could speak, which sounded like the ravings of a lunatic.

With great relief, I slowly pulled myself off the table, legs trembling, my stomach eliciting one last sound, a loud prolonged gas bubbling that eerily resembled a pig orgasm. I slowly turned my head to survey the devastation and in that instant, if I had had a pencil or some other sharp object, I probably would have gouged my eyes out in revulsion. And the smell. The smell was enough to drive a man insane. It was the stench of rotting potatoes mixed with sulphur and ammonia, cooked in a broth of chicken feces and left to age for two weeks in a yeasty stew at the bottom of a French outhouse. After half a whiff of this ghoulish brine, I immediately stopped breathing through my nose but the taste was to remain in the back of my throat for months to come.

The young agent had taken the brunt of the foul witch's brew, and at first I couldn't process what I was seeing. I thought somehow the young blond kid had been spirited away and replaced by a brown Golem, or a ATV rider that had spent the better part of a day driving through every mud puddle he could find after a torrential downpour. With some degree of compartmentalization I came to understand that for some unfathomable reason this kid hadn't moved - or hadn't been able to move - through the entire fecal deluge. He had weathered the entire assault head-on like some sort of hero from Greek Mythology. I had given this poor schmuck a one-man Pooty bukkake that would make a Brazillian pornographer retch with disgust, and he was still in the same position he must have been from the moment of first impact. I tried to comprehend how he must be feeling, what he must be going through psychologically, but it became evident very quickly that he had become very broken. No doubt forced so deeply within himself once the firehose has been turned on that there was little to no hope of him ever coming back from it, certainly not without extensive psychotherapy or a lobotomy. I looked beyond his quivering, catatonic crouched form to see a perfect outline of him cutout on the white wall behind him, either side filled in with a dripping, opaque layer of alternately pulpy and runny fecal stew. I noticed two quivering masses at either extremes of the room and realized they were humanoid in form, although the caterwauling that was coming from these broken creatures was just blubbering gibberish. And this was the tableau that was burnt into my mind's eye for eternity.

Needless to say, I missed my flight.

In fact the next week is a blur. I have vague recollections of an army of Hazmat clad figures looming through the brown landscape of the soiled room, the slopping sounds of rubber boats squelching in puddles of fetid detritus, uncontrollable wailing and animal-like sounds issuing from the mouths of creatures that had been traumatized beyond their capacity for being put back together, the complete loss of sensation from my waist down as I was rolled through the room on a waterproof gurney, it's wheels struggling to surf on top of the s***-soaked floor. I spent a week or so in the hospital enclosed in a well ventilated, sealed room, with suited doctor coming in on the hour to monitor my vital signs as they tried to rehydrate my body. I had apparently expelled every available drop of water from my body that was possible to sustain life without for a short period of time. All of my clothes were incinerated in the hospital's crematorium, and the soiled bag of "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" was never recovered.

This is my story. It is inconceivable to think that this kind of product can be sold legally and be misrepresented as 'food'. I was lucky, I survived. But as for the families of the survivors, and the survivors themselves, they will forever live with the trauma of the events that took place at Pearson International Airport on that snowy day in April 2013.

WARNING FOR ALL MALES FROM ME when buying a security device for a loved one. Last weekend I saw something at The Gun Show that sparked my interest. I was looking for a little something different for my wife Dana. What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Tazer .The effects of the Taser were supposed to be short lived, with no long term adverse effect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety...??WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home.. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was disappointed I learned, however, that if I pushed the button and pressed it against a metal surface at the same time, I'd get the blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs .AWESOME!!! Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Dana what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave. Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two AAA batteries, right? There I sat in my recliner, my cat Leo looking on intently (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target.I must admit I thought about zapping Leo (for a fraction of a second) and then thought better of it. He is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised .Am I wrong? So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a singlet with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, and Taser in another. The directions said that: a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; and a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries. All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference (loaded with two itsy, bitsy AAA batteries); pretty cute really, and thinking to myself, 'no possible way! What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best .I'm sitting there alone, the cat looking on with his head cocked to one side so as to say, 'Don't do it stupid,' reasoning that a one second burst from such a tiny lil ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad.. I decided to give myself a one second burst just for heck of it.I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and...HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION. WHAT THE... !!! I AM CERTAIN I JUST MET JESUS!!!I'm pretty sure Hulk Hogan ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs! The cat was making meowing sounds I had never heard before, clinging to a picture frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an attempt to avoid getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room. Note: If you ever feel compelled to 'mug' yourself with a Taser, one note of caution: There is NO such thing as a one second burst when you zap yourself! You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor! A three second burst would be considered conservative !A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape.· My bent reading glasses were on the top of the TV.· The recliner was upside down and about 8 feet or so from where it originally was.· My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching.· My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs.· I had no control over the drooling.· Apparently I had crapped in my shorts, but was too numb to know for sure, and my sense of smell was gone.· I saw a faint smoke cloud above my head, which I believe came from my hair. I'm still looking for my testicles and I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return! PS: My wife can't stop laughing about my experience, loved the gift and now regularly threatens me with it!

Imagine yourself carrying anywhere from 80 (minimum) to whatever your personal limits of pounds on your back. It is hot -- as much as 130 Farenheit. Begin walking. Make sure you remain vigilant in surveying your surroundings as you continue to walk, for death can come from any direction. It could come for you -- or worse, your friends who march beside you. You're already well acquainted with the ghosts, because they are already with you from past months.
Keep walking, and keep watching. It's a really busy day, war-wise, so it's just too risky for helicopters to arrive with more ammunition -- or water, or rations. The enemy is shockingly unmoved by your logistical problems, so continue to maintain your vigilance. Since it is such a busy day, your buddies joke about wearing your helmet, which no one can possibly do, because it's made of metal and it's 130 out.
Man, a shower would feel good right about now, but you haven't had one of those in months. Your two uniforms are uniformly filthy, and, since they weren't manufactured to withstand months of sweat and blood and filth in a climate with as much as 100% humidity, are really more like rags. What they no longer cover the sun blisters.
Keep walking. Here's some water to cross -- time to see who wins the "most leeches" contest. There's a possibility you may get some sleep tonight -- maybe even your full two hours -- but again, maybe you won't.
Live like this in your thirst and your heat and your filth for 13 months, but keep moving, because death is watching for you around every corner.
Manage to live out your enlistment and come HOME. Hooray! No -- complete strangers will spit on you and call you a baby killer. Live with your rage for 50 or 60 years.
Thank a Vietnam veteran today. They learned more about life and death by 17 or 18 than most of us ever will -- and they did it so we wouldn't have to, because old men in air-conditioned offices decided that it was their obligation.
Let us never, ever, repeat these sins with future veterans. God bless the fallen.