The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal – Episode 3 – Supermarket [Part 1]

Bob, the Chronic Suicidal, goes off on his memory of when he went to the supermarket to return some bottles and cans.

Episode 3: Down at the Supermarket [Part 1]

So, I bet you’re wonderin’, “Bob, what the hell do you do with all this ‘free time’ that you have?” Well, a lot of things really. I mean, I don’t always just off myself [or for you sick fucks out there, get myself off. What the hell’s wrong with you?]. No, sometimes I do things for the better of humanity, granted no one would ever give a rat’s ass of a care in the world, but fuck ’em. In any case, that’s a whole list of shit that goes on, I’ll share all of those secrets in time. So, don’t worry your pretty little head off.

One day, I was on my way to the market, I wanted to take back some beer and soda cans. Now, you know those machines they have there that crunch the ever-loving shit out of the cans and bottles? Well, here I was, mindin’ my own business, and this kid here. . .must’ve been around the age of my one boy, Chad. Well, this lil’ shit had put his favorite stuffed animal [I can’t remember if it was a bear, a tiger, or some fuckin’ thing. . . It was just an animal, alright?]. So, everyone’s wondering what to do, kid’s screaming his head off having a meltdown, and the mom’s freakin’ out.

Well, nobody was doin’ anything, so I stuck my hand in there and fished around a bit. Well, apparently, there was a can that was still rollin’ around in the back. The next thing I knew was, I had a hold on the stuffed lil’ shit, and then my hand started gettin’ torn to fuckin’ shreds. I had to fight to get my arm back. After I pulled out [ah ha, I know.] and I saw what was left. . .a stump. Between the blood that soaked the machine’s maw, to the bottle room that was gettin’ a fresh red paint job. I tell ya, there was blood shootin’ everywhere. I even got some in the kid’s eye, and all over his mom’s chest. There were pieces of the stuffed animal here and there, all good and bloody. Things went from bad to worse, faster than someone who claims that they can rub one out super quick.

Well, someone nearby just so happened to be trained in the medical field, because they took the shirt off their back and started wrappin’ my “hand,” and used their belt as a tourniquet. I had lost a bit of blood before I blacked out. I remember bein’ in the back of an ambulance. They were trying to stop the bleedin’ but it was no dice. I think we were about two blocks away, and the ambulance got wrecked by a drunk driver that blew through the red light. Thankfully, the guys treatin’ me lived and made it through, bless ’em for tryin’. The driver of that old station wagon though didn’t make it, and, nor did I. But hey, one less drunk on the road, and since I can’t die, why not?

I think I had like 26 bucks in bottles too. . . ah well. I had a few trips to the market. This was just one of those days I guess.

The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is an ongoing writing project by Robert J. S. T. McCartney, here at A.B. Normal Publishing.
This ongoing story is a work of fiction.

Author: Sincados

Writer, gamer, foodie, brew enthusiast, and awesome dad. Also likes to make explosions...but not in any particular order.

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