Pooooopies!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!1!

Hey, guys. It's Willie the Aspie here, and I've got some crazy news about Poppy. Apparently she's gotten bitten by something or other, and I'm not talking about genital crabs or anything like that. I don't think she's caught my Ass Burgers, as she'd say. Well, maybe she has. She sure likes to get in there a lot. I don't rightly know what's gotten into that crazy girl, but she's been even more shit obsessed than she usually is. The whole thing started a couple of days ago. Since I help her with posting her tard stories, it hasn't really been obvious that she's been out sick. She thinks I have some kinda special connection to retarded people for some reason. But whatever. She came home on Friday with a bite mark on her hand. I've never known Poppy to be much of a fighter, 'cause she's not violent if it doesn't involve defending her corn or fisting a shit hole. I helped her bandage her wound and put some honey on it for disinfection purposes. Normally I wouldn't have gone all out like that, but with her shit fetish there's a lot of infections she can get. The funny thing is, the bite was starting to get all rotty and nasty, even though she insisted it was pretty fresh. I asked her whose ass didn't agree with her, and Poppy told me it was a mouth, as sure as we were breathing. The next day the poor girl came downstairs looking like hell and not feeling much better. I asked her if she wanted anything to eat, expecting her usual retort of screaming "Poopies!" Oddly enough, she was so sick she actually ate regular people food, like cereal and stuff. Of course, by that point keeping down anything was a miracle for her. I suggested she call in, and she went back to bed. I was visiting because I had to take care of dad. He's come down with something, too. I got over to the house on Sunday, and all I can say is "holyshitohmygodpleasesaveme." That ain't too eloquent, but I was never a poet. I've got Poppy's laptop right now, and I'm sitting out on the roof outside her window. She's beatin' on the glass like she wants to break it, and she and dad are all moaning like a pair of pornstars. They just keep moaning "Poopiiiiiiiieeeeeees," and I ain't going back in that house until she takes her fist elsewhere. She's never been that insistent, and she's succeeded in scaring the shit out of me. But no matter how much I throw in the window, she just wants more. I'm empty, people. There are a lot of people gathering around the house putting up the same chant. I hope I can survive this night of the poopy dead.

Willie is all grown up!

Hey, everybody. Your old pal Popanator is a little bummed right now, and not "bum" like poopy hole either. See, I just found out yesterday that my autistic brother Willie had himself a girlfriend. I never even met her until I found out that they'd eloped and moved off together. I know he's technically a little older than I am, but I've always felt like his big sister and the guardian of his poopy hole. Between this and having that crazy boy get promoted, I don't know what to think lately. Your pal the Popanator is just a little depressed.

I mean, who am I going to chase around the house when he starts running around doing that "fire alarm" thing autistics like to do every so often? When we were kids I used to pretend there really was a fire and drag the hose into the house to put it out when he'd do that. Later in life I matured into putting a tube up my shit hole and just spraying diarrhea everywhere. Oh, the memories. At least he's happy, I guess. Since he's older I can't really complain that he got married first, and I really do want what's best for Willie.

I just wish I'd gotten to meet this girl first. I barely know anything about her. One day she came to the door and I honestly thought she was selling something. I'd just invested a lot of my poopies into a venture I'm keeping a secret for now, so I wasn't sure if I'd be able to produce a suitable payment for whatever it was. But then she said her name was Cheri and she was Willie's wife -- and I had to admit she had a nice rock on her finger.

After I picked my jaw up off the floor I called Willie into the front room, and the way he leaped into her arms was both surprisingly agile for an autistic and something I'd never thought possible. Normally he's all weird about touching anybody, but the way he snuggled up into her chest and said "Murr" was total, true asspie love. I was also impressed by how strong she was. Willie's not a small guy, but Cheri held him up like... uh, something that's really easy to hold up.

Then he just moved out, like he was going to the store or something. And I'm sad. I guess I can share my poopies with Jay, but... it's just not the same. I want my brother back!!!!!!!1!!!!

Asspie Power!

Sometimes I forget how a person can have so many sides to their personality. Take my autistic brother Willie for instance. He's an ass pie with some superhuman abilities, but he's also kind of a dunce sometimes. I'm not calling myself a rocket scientist, although he might be able to pull that off. I'm just saying I have no idea how he got promoted the other day. See, Willie works for the same company I do, just in a different section. I work in the call center dealing with people who can't poop (poor souls), while he works in some office with computers and numbers and stuff.
He got promoted, people. I'm not happy about that. I mean, I hang out with Willie sometimes, and he's a pretty good brother but he's not that responsible. Sometimes we like to sit up on the hay bales and shoot pebbles out of our poopy holes. It's a neat little bonding ritual we've got, to see who can shoot stuff a little farther than the other can. I was impressed one time when he shot a bottle cap out of his ass, because those things chafe somethin' awful. He even made it spin somehow, which gave me some respect for the boy. I still call him a boy even though he's 30 years old- he earns it.
I don't see how he can make it to management. Willie's just so immature I can't see him managing anybody. He can't even make a sandwich for himself! He ties his shoes in sailor's knots, and half the time he ties them to his pant legs. I don't know how he manages that. It's like some kind of autistic mystery.