theatropoeia (theatropoeia) wrote,


Once upon a time there was this guy named Bob. Bob was dissatisfied; he hated his life. So he decided that he was going to destroy himself. One day, he told this to his best friend, Pete.

Pete, being the great friend he was, told Bob, “If you want to destroy yourself, you should try suicide. Everybody’s doing it.”

So Bob decided to kill himself. First, he thought about slitting his wrists, but he was afraid of sharp things. Then he considered taking too many of his paraplegic, war veteran grandfather’s happy pills with vodka, but the thought of taking away his grandpa’s happy place made him feel like a Bad Person. Then he considered shooting himself, but he worked a minimum-wage burger-flipping job at McDonald’s that was about to be outsourced to the mole people, so he couldn’t afford a gun. So he decided to hang himself with Christmas garland, only his girlfriend, Lisa, found him and sent him to a shrink.

Bob sat down on the shrink’s couch and told her his story. Being such a wonderful professional, the shrink said,

“If you really want to destroy yourself, you should try alcoholism. Most of the people I treat are alcoholics and they’re a bunch of pathetic fucktards.”

So Bob went to the bar and got five shots of vodka. Since Bob was only the third person this week to do that, the bartender, Steve, asked what was wrong and Bob told him his story.

“Well,” Steve said, “if you really want to destroy yourself, you should try some drugs. They’ll expand your mind so far it’ll pop, but you didn’t hear that from me, okay?”

So the next day Bob went to the Bronx and bought a pound of marijuana. The dealer invited him to sit down and smoke some. Right as they were about to light up, the dealer asked Bob why he’d bought so much and Bob told him his story.

“Ay man,” the dealer said. “You wanna destroy yourself, you should try smokin’, man. I mean, my sister knew this guy, who knew this guy, who knew this guy, whose aunt smokes so much she EXPLODED. An’ it’s less illegal, padre.”

So Bob went to the nearest convenience store and bought a carton of cigarettes. Then he got on a subway and went to Central Park. He sat down on a bench and was about to light up when Joe, his old friend from altar boy duty with Father Miller, came by. Joe had just left his therapy session and was very happy to see Bob, only the cigarette in Bob’s mouth was a little disconcerting, so Joe asked what was up, and Bob told him his story.

“Dude,” Joe said,” if you want to destroy yourself, you should go to Studio 69. They’re CRAZY!”

So that night Bob went to Studio 69, only to find out that Joe had sent him to a gay bar. But at least there were hot prostitutes outside. Bob bought himself a whore with a sweet ass, but he seemed in need of Viagra and she asked what was wrong. So he told her his story.

“Honey,” said the strumpet, “if you want to destroy yourself, you should try anorexia. That’s what killed my best friend, Jenna.”

So Bob decided that he wasn’t going to eat. He woke up the next morning and threw out all the food in his apartment. Then he spent four hours trying to snatch flies out of the air. And then Pete invited him to lunch; Bob had water and a cheese cube. Pete, being so astute, noticed this and asked what was wrong, and Bob told him his story.

“Man, I told you, you should’ve killed yourself!” Pete said, feeling very proud of himself.

So Bob killed Pete and tossed his body into the Hudson River. Then he went to the roof of the Empire State Building and got ready to jump. Right as he was about to jump off onto the hard, cold pavement below, Buddha showed up, floating in the lotus position right in front of his eyes.

“Bob, you don’t really want to kill yourself, honest.”

But by the time Buddha said this, Bob had jumped. He crashed onto the pavement with the dull, wet smack of meat.
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