The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal – Episode 3 – Supermarket [Part 2]

Bob, the Chronic Suicidal, goes off on a tangent the other time he went to the supermarket to pick up his wife’s medication. Things get a tad crazy here.

Episode 3: Down at the Supermarket [Part 2]

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Once, I went to the market to get the wife her meds—blood pressure meds and whatnot. Well, I had been behind a lot of folks at the counter to get her stuff. Let me paint you a picture, soon to be literally in fact. Alright, so there’s this guy, a big one, real big. He’s makin’ a scene and yellin’ at the clerk about how he can’t afford the pills he was prescribed, and layin’ blame on the poor young gal that’s just tryin’ to do her job, ya know? I’m sure you know the kind, those ones that insist on bein’ right and that you should bow to their every beck and call.

Well, ol’ mouth shits here was goin’ off and eventually made her upset. So, she started cryin’, and he was makin’ fun of her some more. No one did a fuckin’ thing. Now, I am not one to be a chivalrous kind of a guy, but come fuckin’ on! You can’t be walkin’ all over someone doin’ their job, let alone dealin’ with your raggedy ass that’s shovin’ your ragin’ dickheaded nonsense down their throat. No, sir. So I did what any real person with balls would do. I found my balls, stepped the fuck up, and told that son of a bitch to calm the fuck down, and go take a time out.

Lemme tell ya, tellin’ a grown man, let alone a fuckin’ behemoth-sized one, is basically signin’ your death certificate. To me, though, I’d care less. I’ve been there, and I know what it’s like, and it bothered me none. He shifted his anger to me, which was fine. I could take it. Well, I did. Included were a few gallons of water and other fun liquids. So, I took a lot to the face, plus a monitor. That son of a bitch tried to smash my skull in with a fuckin’ monitor! Can you believe that?

Well, dumb ass there must’ve never got the memo on water and electricity mixin’, equals bad news bears. Yep, you guessed it. Poor dumb fuck got his ass shocked to death, with me takin’ the ride. It was pretty fucked up, but you know, that’s what I got for stickin’ up for someone. Now, granted, results may vary, and you might not have a juiced up, strung out twat-waffle that will bash your brains in with a fuckin’ monitor, but let’s just say if the opportunity presents itself, just go for their balls and end it quick.

I swear, though, I had a lot of bad trips to the supermarket. Another time I decided what it would be like to OD on all the pills. You know, try to live out the high. Man, I gotta tell you, it was some fuckin’ crazy shit. I hallucinated every kind of thing imaginable until I blacked out. You ever hear of the Exorcist? You know the creepy girl that does the whole projectile vomiting shit? Yeah, I was doin’ that on people, food, ha, you name it. I would say it was a pretty painful way to go, but honestly, I didn’t feel the vomit comin’ or goin’. Chokin’ on my own shit though while I was passed out was a bit lame, but y’know, these things happen.

Let’s see, what else happened? Ah, yeah, I tried to drink the whole liquor aisle. Now that one took some time. I almost made it too, had it not been for the cops showin’ up and arrestin’ me. How did I die there? Again, vomit. Fuckin’ vomited in the back seat of the car and croaked. At least I left them assholes a lil’ somethin’ special from dear old Bob.

The next time, though, things will be different. You’ll see.

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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