Tuesday, July 31, 2012

You ever see the video for the hey, man, nice shot guy? Not the music video for the 90's song but the video that inspired that song? It's not about basketball, as I thought in my junior high days. It's about this dude R. Budd Dwyer. I'll leave the googling to you, because it's one of the worst things I've ever seen. Every day I wake up, I wish I was dead, the reason I'm not dead yet is because of that video. Dude shoots himself in the head and blood flows like you won't imagine. I haven't killed myself because I want to find a way that's not as messy. I don't want to leave a mess behind for some poor bastard to take care of. With that in mind, if I'm taking the quick way out, I want the quick way out. Drowning terrifies me. It seems slow and agonizing. Not the way I want to go, no matter how drunk I am. I think of the dipshit who got too drunk and walked on the unfrozen river in January and it scares me. Until I can find a way out that's quick and not messy, I have to keep getting up and putting up with the self-doubt in my head and the dicks in this world. My grandpa recently found out that the drinks he drank copiously along with his cigarettes would ultimately kill him. It sounds like it was quick, but he was in a home for years, dealing with institutional food and the indignity of being in an old people institution. That's not how I want to go, either, watching the Cubs suck it up every year, eating Snickers, wearing diapers, telling grandkids that the only way to make it in this world is to rob a bank. The day I picked up my brother for that funeral, I stopped at song swap Tuesday, saw something I didn't like, came home and drank a half bottle of good Whiskey. Really good Whiskey, the stuff I got for St. Patty's celebration this year. I don't know if I can go back to the cheap Bushmills after that. My brother asked how I wasn't hung over after that half bottle. I explained that, after the gamma rays, I don't get hung over anymore. That's my incredible Hulk ability. I lost my left arm, but don't get hung over anymore. Not a fair tradeoff. My bro was hungover for the funeral, I figured Grandpa wouldn't have it any other way. I still really hate funerals. My moms tells me funerals aren't for the dead, they're for the living. I've detailed specific plans for my funeral to my family because I will be there in spirit. If my plans are not followed, I've let them know that they can expect to be haunted. Fury and hatred rule my life and, from what I can tell from all the books on ghosts I've read since I was a kid, anger is the prime residue required for paranormal activity to exist. Let's face it, if I'm not already in hell, I'm bound for it anyways, so I might as well make things worse for everyone else.

said Tommy T. at 11:02 PM - #

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