The Stalk-Forrest Group: Heavy on the stalk
Over at The Watchtower of Destruction, The Ferrett linked to this bizarre tale of a 46-year-old Minnesota man named Kevin Kupferschmidt who met a woman in a café one night two years ago, danced with her, shared a couple of hugs and a kiss or two, and never saw her again...
...and is now convinced she's the love of his life.
Every week for the past two years, Kevin has placed an ad in the personals of the local independent newspaper in an attempt to contact his unknown objet d'amour. Kevin even went so far as to have the mystery woman's name — Denise, or at least that's the handle she gave him — tattooed on his arm.
Dude, it's called a life. You might look into getting one.
Kevin says he isn't a stalker, because he isn't actually in contact with "Denise." Yeah, and Hitler wasn't a mass murderer because he never actually flipped the gas switch at Dachau.
I once worked with a guy who was a stalker. I didn't know he was a stalker during the time we were acquainted. He always seemed like a normal enough individual. He and I even had lunch together on numerous occasions, and I never sensed anything the least bit sinister about him. It was only after our mutual employer dismissed him that I discovered that he had been systematically harassing one of our female coworkers over a period of several months, both in the office and at her home. When I learned this, I recalled how friendly this guy and I had been, and my blood ran cold.
I suppose the old saying is true: No one really knows anyone.
But I'm betting there's a woman out there in North America somewhere, whose name may or may not be Denise, who's awfully darned glad that she doesn't know Kevin Kupferschmidt.
And that he doesn't know where she lives.
...and is now convinced she's the love of his life.
Every week for the past two years, Kevin has placed an ad in the personals of the local independent newspaper in an attempt to contact his unknown objet d'amour. Kevin even went so far as to have the mystery woman's name — Denise, or at least that's the handle she gave him — tattooed on his arm.
Dude, it's called a life. You might look into getting one.
Kevin says he isn't a stalker, because he isn't actually in contact with "Denise." Yeah, and Hitler wasn't a mass murderer because he never actually flipped the gas switch at Dachau.
I once worked with a guy who was a stalker. I didn't know he was a stalker during the time we were acquainted. He always seemed like a normal enough individual. He and I even had lunch together on numerous occasions, and I never sensed anything the least bit sinister about him. It was only after our mutual employer dismissed him that I discovered that he had been systematically harassing one of our female coworkers over a period of several months, both in the office and at her home. When I learned this, I recalled how friendly this guy and I had been, and my blood ran cold.
I suppose the old saying is true: No one really knows anyone.
But I'm betting there's a woman out there in North America somewhere, whose name may or may not be Denise, who's awfully darned glad that she doesn't know Kevin Kupferschmidt.
And that he doesn't know where she lives.
Labels: Ripped From the Headlines
SwanShadow was randomly pounding the keyboard at 3:06 PM
1 insisted on sticking two cents in:
Oooh, this takes stalker to a whole new level of creepiness.
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