Terror Firsthand #79: The Fakest People

 ©Terror Firsthand is a fictional blog series that was created in 2024. It is for entertainment purposes only, and I wrote it from the top of my head. Photos are reenactments and dramatization. The following story is for mature audiences only. Please, do not try anything dangerous at home. 

Warning: extreme terror

Terror Firsthand: The Fakest People 

In Charlotte trying to get a acting job

The next day, I went to the casting call in Charlotte. I took some new pictures for my social media before going. After I got to the casting call, I sat in there for two hours and then realized it was a scam. The casting director said that all of the gigs were located in Los Angeles and that the talent agency doesn't pay for travel fees or hotel accommodations. Also there was another $2,000 fee just to get signed. It was a bunch of bull. The casting director was like 80 years old and looked 50. Probably because they're busy sucking the youthfulness out of everyone else.

I began to get frustrated and felt like I had wasted my time. I started screaming in the parking lot and started crying. I felt like I would never get anywhere! After I left the casting call, I went to a nearby chicken joint and then went to the liquor store to grab a couple of margaritas for myself.

After I left the liquor store, I went back to my campsite. There was a loud party going on nextdoor and a bunch of hooligans were out there laughing loudly and blasting a bunch of outdated lame ass music. I was really mad about it. I did not want to hear their ghetto asses. I wished that they would have taken there black asses back where the hell they came from. No one was at the campsite when I first got there. I thought I was secluded. 

The hooligans pissed me off so bad with their loudness that I started screaming again like I did in the parking lot at the casting call. I felt like I was literally living in a nightmare. I wanted to pack up all of my sh*t and move to another state. I called Tracia Pueblos back in VA for help.

"Hi mom. I want to come back to your house for a while because I'm tired of the loud partying noises at the campground in Charlotte." I said. 

I really hated asking Tracia for anything. I hated the way she treated me when GD6 was beating me up. She acted ghetto like she didn't give a f*ck. Her attitude disgusted me. 

"What do you mean you're tired of the loud noise? It sounds to me like you're just jealous because you weren't invited." Said Tracia Gayblos.  

I immediately hung up the phone and realized that she wasn't going to help. I started packing up my camping equipment. It took about one hour, and then I left Charlotte North Carolina and drove to New Bern, North Carolina. There was no one at the campground when I got there. I was happy that I was able to escape those ghetto ass hoodlums. They looked like bullies and they all looked smelly and gay in the face. I was actually scared of them. I didn't like the way that their voices and faces sounded. It hurt me just to glance at them for a split second. I thought I was going to vomit everywhere. 

At the new location 

After I got to New Burn, I fixed a pink lemonade margarita and lit a candle. Then I ate a box of gourmet chocolate covered pretzels. I sat in silence and meditated on how bad people treated me in all the states that I had visited. It really sucked. I realized that I would never believe in god ever again. 

Realizing that god isn't real was actually the best thing that I could have realized. That way I could move on with my life and stop praying to something that doesn't exist. That's why my mental health is bad. Because I spent a long time being brainwashed into believing in something that isn't real. Some people choose to believe in god because it's working out for them, but I don't believe because god is not for me. It's for those other people. Everything isn't for everybody. For me, believing in god is like drinking urine and eating out of a trashcan - I just won't do it because it's nasty. 

I cut on YouTube and turned to First Street Beatrice. There was no episode whatsoever. Then I turned to the Stayin' Stuck Podcast and they had announced that Beatrice Nothings was deceased. She died of a self inflicted gun shot wound to the chest. She had high levels of crack cocaine in her system when she passed. No one had a vigil or anything for her. Homer Rosenberg stated that Beatrice's aunt and uncle were going to pay for her burial. 

Vannessa Rosenberg- Gustavo and Pancho Gustavo in their new hair salon 

After learning about Beatrice Nothings death, I turned the channel again, only to see Vanessa Rosenberg Gustavo and Pancho Gustavo showing off their salon again. They were such a bore. The name of their salon was called Gustavo Hair Place. They had hired several new girls and guys to work for them and they chose hair instead of makeup.

I didn't know what else to do so I just sat in more silence. I didn't really want to be in New Bern, but I couldn't think of another city to travel to. Everywhere was fu*ked up. In my life I am forced to take dangerous risk all the time, and I never know what the outcome is going to be. I could die just like anyone else.