Posts Tagged ‘suicide’

I drive a 2001 Gold Subaru Forester. Ultimate chick magnet mobile. It actually came with a condom holder it was designed to attract women so badly. It does not run on fuel. My car runs on Axe deodorant. If you see me driving without a hot babe beside me take a closer look. Her head is probably somewhere else. Yep, driving a long-lasting automobile is the way to go if you want to make a woman preen with sexual desire.

Okay, maybe no girl will ever fall for me over my car. I’m not even sure if it’s a 2001 or a 2002. I’m that unknowledgeable about these devices. I feel like a rhino could write Shakespeare before I could ever build an automobile. And the only thing rhyming with rhino is gyno or wino. Gynos can’t write poetry and neither can winos. Cars are not something that are very important to me. Sure, I’d love to drive a Porsche with a door that opens upward. I love things opening upward! Star Wars doors are fantastic. Or maybe I’m thinking of garage doors. Either way, both are badass.

 (I could totally see Storm Troopers blast out of that garage. The lesbian riding shotgun even has a Luke Skywalker hairdo)

My life has had two cars in it. My first was a 1998 Red Dodge Intrepid. Boomhauer from my post Weird Kids would always tell me that it was a Chrysler. I knew it wasn’t a Chrysler because it said Dodge on the back. I had a lot of problems with the car. My first day driving it broke down two blocks away from my house. Mechanics said it was because the previous owner was probably old and drove slowly. The computer must not have been used to the way I drove. Sounds like they’re confusing cars with girlfriends. They’re mechanics. Cars sometimes are the only women in their lives. I also went a few months with my driver’s door not working. I would have to slide across the passenger seat. I still managed to get my first girlfriend despite this. And she didn’t break up with me because of it! Thank goodness I was too out of shape and boring for her. I might have felt bad otherwise if my car was to blame.

The old car broke down quite a bit. Brand new engine and everything. Maybe it needed a new hemmy? I don’t know what a hemmy is. Men with large guts in truck commercials seem to get hard-ons talking about them. The current car runs pretty smoothly. It’s always been rather loud which can be a pain during a drive by shooting or child abduction. I get why gang members always drive new quiet cars and why bitter weekend dads keep up with their oil changes. You don’t want everyone looking at you before you commit the crime. It gives them time to let your face sink into the minds of those snitches.

(All smiles as Roy finishes up his oil change in preparation to kidnap his teenage children from his ex-wife with precise precision and not a sound)

As well as the car runs, things are not near perfect. The backseat is consistently filled with trash. If I had someone to impress or wasn’t so lazy as to bring my car trash can back out there then maybe things would be less of a mess. It’s really not that bad. I’m not one of those people with M&M shells lying around. I hate sitting in a car with M&M stains on the seats. That’s always a sign the driver is a diabetic. I’m not very good at keeping things clean. Neat I can do. It’s things like dust and hairs I’m horrible with. I think there are still hairs on my emergency break from before I last cut my hair in November. They’re pretty long and the only other people allowed in my car are members of the Aryan Brotherhood or lesbians who think they’re pixies.

 (Once Katie Holmes climbed into my car with a pixie haircut. She yelled at me to “Drive Elron Hubbard damn it!” Tom Cruise injected her with a needle and she agreed to do that Queen Latifah heist movie instead of the second Batman)

The Check Engine light is something I have come to assume needs to be flashing in order for a car to work. I was bringing my car in so often the mechanic told me years ago that it’s just something that will happen with older cars and not to worry. I was told by a teacher to tell this mechanic I was a student at the high school I went to. The mechanic’s son went to that school before dying as a freshman. Wouldn’t mentioning that I was a junior in that school make him sad? I never got a discount or anything. I did leave my student planner with the high school’s logo sitting on the passenger seat as a subtle way of relaying information. I did find a few tear drops on one of the pages. I felt so bad I didn’t mind paying $800 to have my windshield wipers replaced in order to fix my brakes.

A broken windshield is the only major thing I have had wrong with my car. Something large flew up and left a huge dent in my windshield. I was on my way to work. On a Saturday too. Then this happened. I had a man come to my apartment and fix it for me. He put duct tape on the edges to be safe. He said to take the tape off in 48 hours. I was so frightened I left it on for 2 months. The company even emailed a picture of him to me so I could know who to expect. That’s kind of weird. Am I supposed to care what my repairman looks like? If he’s a certain ethnicity should I be more weary of the job he’ll do? Safelite repair, Safelite racist.

The strangest problem I’ve been having with my car involves those racks above the car. Are they called racks? I might just be calling them racks because I’m constantly thinking about breasts. I may even post a picture of breasts below for your enjoyment! One of the notches had broken off at some point. Probably before purchasing. I’m not sure if they’re called notches either. I’ve just been thinking about belts a lot too. Anyway, what I guess happens is when I drive at highway speeds the horizontal racks go up and down. I only know this because several drivers have pulled up alongside me, pointed up, then imitated that action. Two people did it all of last year. Three people have done it this week. The yarn I used to tie it down must have only snapped off recently. That or people don’t care enough about my safety in the winter. God forbid they roll down their windows and let their heat escape.

(Chicken breasts are still breasts. Sorry if you were expecting something more satisfying)

What about your car sucks? Don’t say the air conditioner does not work. Nobody’s air conditioner works in their car. I’m convinced they were designed not to. Henry Ford enjoys the smell of sweat.

(Cheese from the television show The Wire. His real name is Method Man. This has nothing to do with him)

My girlfriend and I argue about a lot of things. For one she thinks drowning would be a peaceful way of dying. I even showed her the movie “The Prestige” where Michael Cain says that drowning was like “going home” then at the end says that it is “agony.” She’s still not convinced even after everyone else agrees with me. I’ve offered to hold her head underwater so she can experience that peace. She refuses. This proves she knows she’s wrong.

I’d mention a few things that we argue about that I’m probably at fault, but this is my blog where I am perfect. She can start her own or create a Livejournal account to complain about how she never really liked me. I had a girl do that. That was depressing to read that someone really doesn’t feel like seeing you and you’ve only been dating a week. Christ. You’d think I’d have at one point hit a woman. I don’t hit girls though. Unless they ask me to. Believe it or not, more than a few have. Females are sick.

One thing that my Old Lady (I’ve been catching up on Sons of Anarchy and really want a motorcycle gang. First rule of SAMCRO is to call your bitch your Old Lady) has said to me is that she thinks if she were to break up with me that I would kill myself. I’ve thought about this. I don’t think I would. I hope I wouldn’t. I spent the first 21 years of my life practically alone. Losing someone who you actually love would be cake. I could ease back into the single life no problem, right? Honestly I know I could never kill myself. I still have to abuse alcohol and drugs first, write more poetry, give up everything that I already love to do, get really fat or really skinny from not caring about my diet, and possible do a few more cries for help such as posting Dashboard Confessional lyrics as my Facebook status.

I’m curious though, her thinking I would kill myself. How does she think I would do it? I asked her and what she said didn’t make sense. She said I would hang myself. Hmmm that wouldn’t work. I need to figure out which rhetorical way of killing myself would be best.

1) Hanging

Like I said, she thinks I would hang myself. It’s how most people kick the bucket when they take their own life. I could not do this. It took me until 3rd grade to stop wearing Velcro shoes. I still rarely untie my shoes. I’m terrible with knots. There also isn’t anywhere in my apartment to hang from. Shower curtain rods are too weak and where I hang my shirts is too low. I also don’t want to die in the closet. People would make too many gay jokes at my funeral.

2) Gunshot

This is probably the way I would go if I really had to. It’s messy and sends a message that I really was upset. But if I was ever going to shoot myself I would have to go out and get a gun. I’d probably have to wait a week to get it. My emotions sway so much that by the time I got the gun I wouldn’t be so upset anymore. Then I’d be stuck with a gun and nothing to do with it besides flash it at parties. I won’t be eating a bullet. Too much paper work.

3) Jumping

Falling off of something high would be the best way for me to go in theory. I broke my leg falling 3 feet from the air. I broke it again when someone slid into my leg. I’d probably splatter into soup if I fell from 10 feet. There aren’t any really tall buildings near me though. That’s going to be a problem. I also don’t have access to a ladder. And, looking down from a high place, I know I’d chicken out. I’d have to get a good job or a penthouse apartment to really accomplish this. If either of those happened I’d have no reason to jump.

4) Wrist Slitting

I would never slit my wrists. That really creeps me out. My wrists are really thin and girly. I really feel like I don’t have forearms, just one vein running from my elbow to my hand. I have plenty of sharp objects I could do this with. I’d have to do it in a bath tub too. I still don’t know though. Dying with my head that close to the toilet? What if I become a ghost and have to be in that bath tub forever? People will have sex and masturbate on my soul. Yeah, not a good plan.

5) Car Crash

I don’t know if people kill themselves by purposely causing car crashes too often, but I’m running out of ideas. This is a risky one. There’s no guarantee that you’ll die. You may end up paralyzed and miserable. Or paralyzed and become an inspirational speaker. It all depends on how fat your tongue is and if you are a people person. I could easily crash my car. One time I’m pretty sure I did it subconsciously. I was driving straight minding my own business and for no reason at all my car swerved off the highway into a small ditch. I was fine and still have no clue what happened. I took my car in to see what was wrong. One of the mechanics asked if I use my car to “go Mudding.” I didn’t know what this meant so he laughed at me. I hate when people laugh at me. It makes me want to drive off the road into a tree.

6) Pills

Again, this is a risky one. You might end up throwing up all night. I hate throwing up. I haven’t done it since Christmas Eve when I was around 10 years old. I have an iron stomach. I can eat an entire box of high fiber cereal in one sitting. The only side effect is that the next day my stomach hurts and it shoots out the back of me. I learned not to do this. It took a couple tries, but finally I know not to eat like a pig. I don’t know what pills I should take to snuff myself either. Allergy pills would probably just make me never get a sniffle again. Why is suicide so hard?

7) Electrocution

People don’t usually electrocute themselves to death. There’s the old toaster in the bath tub trick. I don’t own a toaster. I could always throw my laptop in there with me, but I have 180 saved Word Documents saved. I’d like some of them to make it. This again means that I’d have to die with my head near a toilet. It reminds me too much of Elvis and I’ve never been an Elvis guy. Plus, don’t I have to be naked to die in a bath tub? The water will be cold by the time someone finds me and we all know what happens when a naked boy is cold. I don’t want to end with that false legacy.

8) Carbon Monoxide Poisoning

I think that’s what comes out of cars. I don’t own a garage. You need a garage or at least a random tube to connect to your tailpipe to do this. I know the guy from Boston used a grill inside his home to do himself in. I don’t own a grill either. Shit. What do I own? This also takes too long. I’m very impatient. Especially in the car. I definitely won’t be doing this ever. I’m not a garage guy. Garages are for people who own bikes and a second refrigerator

9) Oven

I haven’t used my oven once since I moved into my apartment. It took me 9 months before I used the stove top. The pilot burnt out after a month. I don’t have strong enough knees to put my head in the oven. My head is always probably too big. I’d have to take out the racks first. I’ve already made it pretty clear that if I kill myself I won’t be working hard for it. Ovens are for baked goods, not sad boy’s heads.

10) Train Hitting

This is actually pretty trendy. All of the hipsters talk about it. Whenever I see a train speed by I think about that part in Hostel when the Asian woman with the eye hanging out of her face jumped in front of the train. That last sentence was written poorly, but it’s taken me too long to try to figure out how to reword it. I’m around enough trains, but it’s nothing I’m interested in doing. I’d be afraid of being dragged or having my arm cut off. It’s weird that planes still hit people. I’ve known people who’ve known people who had that happen to them. It could have been a lie. People like to brag about knowing cool folks.

When it comes down to it, there is no perfect way for me to kill myself. It’s just too much work. Another thing my girlfriend argues with me about is saying that I’m a quitter. Fuck you whore. I made a list of 10 ways for me to kill myself. I thought I was going to stop around 6, but I didn’t quit. I kept trucking along. You’ll argue that I’m still a quitter because I didn’t do any of them. Then I’ll feel bad about myself and make a new list of things. It’s an endless cycle of pain, but I still love you. Bitch.

P.S. This is my last post of the year. I wanted to let you know since this was all about killing myself that if I don’t post for a few days, I am not dead. I am busy changing my thousands of calendars.

Thank you for a lovely year. Writing this blog has been helpful for several reasons. Most importantly, self discovery. I do not wish to get sappy, I will save that for a future post I have planned. I hope you all have a Happy New Year and get to kiss someone hot at midnight.

Christmas, the most wonderful time of year. I know it’s not specifically Christmas. Chanukah is also part of the most wonderful time of year. I don’t consider Chanukah very wonderful though. It’s a celebration of not running out of oil for 8 days. My car can only last about 5 before I have to fill up my tank. If my car got better gas mileage than maybe I would understand Chanukah a little bit more. And why am I spelling it Chanukah? I’m used to Hanukkah. I don’t get it. Why two spellings? I’m sure it has something to do with translations, but why not make up your mind? Oye Vey! I hate indecisiveness.

This is the first holiday season that I’m feeling terrible about it. I never used to get those jokes about Christmas Suicides. I always thought it was funny because who would ever kill themselves on Christmas? It’s such a happy day. You get presents and time with your family. The older I get, the lonelier I get. The lonelier I get, the less people I have in my life. The less people I have in my life, the angrier I become. Skip forward a few more cause and effects and we got to the point of feeling the holiday blues. I totally get this now. Most holidays I feel pretty bummed out myself. They’re not the same as they used to be when I was younger. Now they feel forced. Almost as if the family is trying to recapture the wonderful moments of ignorance we had when there were children involved. It’s killing me inside to continue to pretend that I believe in Santa. But I’m doing it for the family. I want to keep this magic going. The second I admit I know the truth they’ll make me bathe myself. I have short arms. There’s no way I can cover every inch of my body with these things.

(Sometimes I forget I have arms, they’re so short. I really should just have hands that shoot out of my shoulders like this guy)

It’s not necessarily the holidays in general that I think bum people out. December is pretty gloomy itself. It’s dark by 4:30 and starts to become cold. This would make anyone with a heart depressed. Being alone on the holidays is something that I know I will have to endure at some point in my life. It’s slightly scary but I know that I’m not alone in that. At some point we all have to spend the important holidays alone. Unless you’re a Siamese twin. I’ll bet that a Siamese twin never reads this. When I say Siamese twin, I also mean that both their legs have to hit the ground. I don’t count the ones with someone attached to their forehead as Siamese twins. As Doug Stanhope said, they’re people with midgets attached to them. I’m sure you know the TLC whore I’m talking about. You’re probably more confused as to what a TLC whore is. It’s someone who is on the channel TLC way too much. Usually they’re freaks.

(You monster)

My holiday woes are simple. I have to be in too many places at one time. Don’t tell me to go out and rent “Four Christmases” so I can have something to relate to. Reese Witherspoon hasn’t been cute in years and Vince Vaughn hasn’t been funny in centuries.

(“Vince Vaughn, very funny.” – Caveman, 10,001 B.C.)

There isn’t an extensive travel list that I have to go through. It’s just that I have to travel at all that bothers me. Christmases past I wouldn’t have to go anywhere. I liked those years. I would go into the front yard and play catch with my dad with my new football. Or if I didn’t get a football we’d play catch with one of my sister’s gifts. This year I’ll be at every corner of New Jersey over the weekend. I’ll be traveling 500 miles total in 3 days. I know, I thought New Jersey was pretty small too. I could probably get to the Carolinas for that mileage. I don’t know what I’d do there. Visit Raleigh? Get away with a hate crime?

The more I think about it there are Christmas images that beg us to all kill ourselves. Wreathes look like green nooses. Angels are everywhere and that’s what we turn into when we die. Look how cute most of those angels are! I want to be one of them. Then there’s that whole random Jesus aspect thrown into Christmas. I don’t get it either. Jesus is such a deathly image. He’s always on a cross looking like he’s in agony. We used to have one of those hanging above our house phone in my childhood home. Then we found out that we were the only family in the world that still used a landline so we threw it in the garbage disposal. I’m kidding. It was the trash. No way in hell would we have a landline but be able to afford a garbage disposal.

I’ve never known anyone to kill themselves around Christmas. Most suicides I know of happen around Thanksgiving. I never got that. That’s like killing yourself on a Monday. There’s still time. There’s still hope. Tuesday and Wednesday are the perfect days to kill yourself. All hope of having a good week might be gone and you’re too far away from a fresh start. If I ever killed myself it would be on a Tuesday at midnight. That’s called suicidal compromise. I would not do it around Thanksgiving either. Thanksgiving makes me hopeful of having a good Christmas. I already know this year will be pretty lame (how can it not be lousy with that attitude?) but that’s okay. Whether or not my Christmas is good or if I go into it with a negative attitude, it’ll happen. All over the world children will be eager and wake up early. I’ll probably rise around 10 in the morning and won’t talk to anyone until noon. Maybe a neighbor. And what would I even say to them? “Merry Christmas I don’t know you.” That’s exactly what I will say. Christmas has no boundaries when it comes to wishing someone to have a merry one. You don’t have to know a person to wish them luck. Maybe that’s what it’s all about. Connecting with others. Making someone feel special. Smiling for no reason other than the fact that you have something in this world.

I wrote this hoping to complain about how much I am not excited about Christmas this year. Instead I found its true meaning. Not worrying about how it will turn out. It’s still Christmas whether it’s a good day or not. That’s all that’s important. That it happens. Good, bad, or neutral. Christmas is coming. Don’t kill yourself until after it sucks.

(I’ll need a lot of acid if I want my Christmas to look a thing like this. Although Bunsen does remind me of my Grandma)

“Merry Christmas to all and to all a good fight!” – What Michael Buffer should say if there’s ever a big Christmas boxing match