Oh, to be a fly on Dick Cheney’s pitchfork. To know all the secrets behind his calculated, yet-to-be-alleged evildoings.

Of course, he won’t give us that satisfaction. But that doesn’t mean we can’t satisfy one another, secretly. That is, share our own secrets.

As big fans of the website postsecret.blogspot.com, which is a delightfully haunting voyeuristic read through other people’s secrets, compiled anonymously and posted publicly, we decided to compile our own local version of our deepest and occasionally darkest. We asked friends, friends of friends and plenty of complete strangers to share with us their inner pinings, fantasies, indignities or whatever they deemed secret. The result? There were some transgressions. Some confessions. And even some booger-consumption.

All were gathered with a guarantee of complete anonymity, so we frankly cannot say whether or not Cheney participated in this survey. It’ll be his little secret.

I adapt dialogue from Miami Vice into my memos at work, and so far no one has noticed.

My family inherited a castle in Ireland but couldn’t afford the upkeep, so we never went to claim it.

I lied to get out of a class after the drop deadline.

I was in the final three to be the Pampers baby but my parents wouldn’t take me to NYC.

I can’t eat egg salad. I associate it with an incident in third grade. We had a little girl in our class who had a speech impediment, among other things. She opened her lunch one day and bit into her sandwich and then purred, “Mmm. Egg dalad danwich.” I didn’t like it then, but now I have trouble even being in the same room as it.

I sell Mary Kay.

In second grade I told my teacher I was having a “nervous breakdown” because I couldn’t draw Ramona’s jump rope correctly for my ceiling tile. Drama queen.

I’m a member in good standing of the PTA (Past Tarzans Association).

I went to a Catholic grade school. During recess we used to play hide-and-seek, and a friend of mine and I used to hide in a closet inside the church confessional. Once we were locked inside that closet when our teacher, a nun, came and one of the priests entered for an off-schedule confession, which we heard through the door. She told him she had cancer, breast cancer, but was afraid to tell her students because they were too young to understand the disease. A couple of weeks later she left the school and was replaced with no explanation. We never saw her again, and my friend and I never said anything about what we knew.

My sister made jewelry out of dead animal parts.

Spanish guitar makes me happy.

I always wanted to get in a fist fight.

Although I have an outgoing personality and will speak to anyone, I am really shy when I like a guy. I get nervous and insecure and then put them on a stupid pedestal they clearly don’t belong on. ... Sad.

Reading is my vice. I read at stoplights.

I wish my father would die, so I can live.

In New York I entered a building and just brushed past a security-desk guard who was making weird noises and whose eyes were rolling around. I thought he was retarded. When I eventually came back down, there was an ambulance outside and no security guard. Seems he hadn’t been retarded; he’d been choking. No idea if he died or not.

I applied at Starbucks but just because I wanted to work with Chris, the cute straight guy.

I collect accordions and ukuleles.

I burned down a building by accident.

When I was in high school, during the holiday season, a friend and I once took a plastic jar shaped like Santa’s boot filled with donations to the Salvation Army off the counter of a movie theater because we had the munchies.

I worked in a bar at age 6, roller-skating on the bar top so I could make money to go see Stephanie Mills in the first national tour of The Wiz ... gay ... gay ... gay ... gay ... gay.

When I was in middle school my family had a pet guinea pig, Chewy. It was my job to clean out the thing’s cage every week, which I absolutely hated to do. I would take Chewy out of her cage and put her in a box while I got down to the unfortunate business of scraping dried pee and poop pellets off the bottom of her cage and then wiping it clean with some sort of Windex-type cleaning product. After that I would line the bottom of the cage with wood shavings and put Chewy back in. But before I would put her back in I’d pump a few sprays of Windex into her food bowl, as payback for having to deal with her pissy-poopy mess every week. One day my dad was giving her a bath in a bowl of shallow water, and he said that she just put her face down into the water and died. He was convinced that she took her own life. I’ve always felt guilty for what I did, as I’m certain that my cruelty led to her demise. Did the chemicals in the Windex cause her great pain? Did she develop a tumor? Did she see the bath water as the only way to extricate herself from the torment of a cruel and heartless kid doing one of those stupid things that kids do sometimes?

Sometimes I act artificially cheerful at the office on Monday mornings just to observe peoples’ reactions.

As a child I always dressed up like a gypsy on Halloween because I wanted to run away and be a gypsy. I loved wearing all that makeup and necklaces, earrings, bracelets, lots of full skirts and many scarves in my hair.

I didn’t kiss a boy until I was 18. It doesn’t seem that old now, but at the time I felt like I was destined to be an old, virgin shrew.

I once cut up my mother’s vintage dress because it wouldn’t fit me. I let my mother believe my stepmother had done it because I was too ashamed to ’fess up.

I started having panic attacks as soon as we got engaged. I was certain we would divorce. I just thought it would take longer than it did.

My family’s income relies on the pig industry. And every time we roast a pig for friends and family, I always lie and say it really tasted good, but I really only eat the roast chicken.

I wanted to be a goalie as a kid right after seeing Mighty Ducks.

I once stole a subject’s wallet.

I have always wanted to sing. The sad part is when I am by myself I actually think I can (if you are ever witness to my version of singing you will have a great belly laugh).

I’d been sleeping with your husband for over a year when you caught us. I didn’t think I’d feel so bad when you did.

I had a weird crush on a cartoon character -- the kid bear on Tailspin.

I used to be a bully. I’d pinch little kids—much younger kids—and make them cry. I was afraid I was a sociopath. But I don’t think so anymore. I don’t pinch kids anymore, either.

I once smoked so much pot that I passed out in the bed of my friend’s truck, awakening as he was placing an order at a McDonald’s drive-through.

I had a crush on the Asian guy with the mullet on 21 Jump Street. My sister always loved Johnny Depp, but I couldn’t understand why until I got older. Rrrow.

I like the idea of there being a choir in heaven where everyone sings with heavenly voices and I can finally belt out in song like a diva. But that’s because I’m tone deaf and as a little girl my dad told me I should never sing in public.

My family’s rich. But they all hide it.

There’s a hot but annoying co-worker in my office that I want to simultaneously make out with and strangle. Well, the truth is I want to do a lot more than make out. (That’s really a secret!)

I found my college roommate’s Social Security number and looked up her grades online, hoping she had failed out of school and I’d have the dorm to myself the next semester.

I once slept with a married man.

I almost got married when I was 17 to someone I met on the Internet.

The real reason I wanted to be a priest ... I loved the vestments and paraphernalia.

I would get really, really nervous before cross-country races, and, though I didn’t believe in God, one day when I was feeling especially sick with anxiety, a Jesus song from church crossed my mind and calmed me so much that I contemplated believing.

When I was 10 years old I attended a Catholic school. Let’s say the nuns and I weren’t on the same page. I knew if my parents attended the annual parent-teacher meeting I would surely be grounded. The morning of the meeting I made a special breakfast for my parents. I mixed chocolate chips and Ex-Lax into pancake batter with bunch of sugar and served a stack to my parents.

Midday my Father and my mother both came down with diarrhea. My Mother had the same symptoms and canceled the evening parent/teacher meeting ...

A lady at my community pool props the gate open with a rock, and I kick it out because I don’t like her.

My best friend and I once ate dog food as some kind of friendship pact.

When I was in college I secretly dated my general manager for several months. Gotta say—a little scandal is exciting.

When I worked at Kentucky Fried Chicken during my senior and junior years in high school, we intentionally cooked more chicken than we needed so we could trade the extra for wine coolers with the liquor store across the street.

Every year I buy a Jeopardy! calendar and write down whether I got the question right or wrong.

I’m leaving my job by August 15, maybe earlier.

I had sex with my best friend and his girlfriend my senior year of high school. It sucked. It’s one of the few experiences I hope never to relive, even through memory!

I have a deformity that most guys find hot when they realize it, and one porn star is known for it.

I despise most of the people I work with.

I always wanted to be “just friends” with Mel Gibson and Johnny Depp. No sex, just friends. Friends last longer than sex sometimes.

I secretly harbor a love for airplanes. I would love to have joined the Air Force and flown fighter jets.

Vegas, I wrestled with your 24-hour bars, parties, club idiots, derelict boys, being broke, hanging with millionaires, rock stars, f--king 115-degree heat in September and hated you for it. But I still miss you every day.

Although I rarely, if ever, go, and I am not a big fan of organized religion, I secretly enjoy going to church.

I don’t want to have children, but I find pregnant women incredibly sexy.

I had just sat down in my seat on a plane and saw a fat guy coming down the aisle, so I lowered the armrest just in case he sat next to me.

"Playing the harmonica" is my euphemism for masturbating.

I secretly wanted to be an FBI agent. I think it’s why I am so obsessed with TV shows such as Law & Order, The Closer, CSI, Without a Trace, The X-Files, etc. Or maybe it has something to do with being able to shoot someone.

My mother saves her frequent-flier miles in anticipation of a friend or family member dying.

When I am alone, I pick my nose and eat it. I wish I was kidding with this one. I am not.

Kate Silver is a former Weekly staff writer and a freelancer living in Las Vegas.

Illustrations by Dan Sipple