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

Part 3 concludes this Supermarket experience for Bob, the Chronic Suicidal. There’s candy, cereal, a knife, and a deep fryer. However, he’s by no means, a MacGyver.

Episode 3: Down at the Supermarket [Part 3]

Missed a post? Catch up here and here!

So, here I was gettin’ stuff for the long weekend. You know, Memorial Weekend? For me, it’s about as good as enjoyin’ a Labor Day weekend. The guys would round everyone up, have a bunch of brews, a cookout, the whole shebang. Now, I don’t have nothin’ against it, in fact, I’d look forward to it. Though, the last few years before I killed myself, things were goin’ down the shitter. Less folks were comin’ and eventually, I ended up havin’ to move away.

Well, I was gatherin’ stuff up for this…weekend barbecue shitfest at the new place and well, I wasn’t lookin’ forward to it. I was against goin’ to the store with the fam because I had the itch. I already offed myself in front of them, and I regretted it. Though they’d never remember it, it still struck a nerve with me.

I was wanderin’ around the home goods side of things, after gettin’ the charcoal, fluid, and other “fun” things. I happened to find those knives that they have for, uh, kitchen use. Well, that itch got to me, and I cracked open a package and gave myself a nice new set of lines up and down my forearms and throat. I gotta say, it was a nice contrast—white peppered tile—with that rich blood all over. I remember some folks screamin’ and runnin’, some shielding their kids’ eyes…that wasn’t my fault, they dragged their kids along to fuckin’ gawk at me twitchin’ and dyin’. Who the fuck does that?

Before I ended up blackin’ out, with the lights fadin’ and shit, I remember one guy put down a “Floor slippery when wet” cone. I am not sure if that final laugh escaped or not, but thanks, kid. You made a dead guy laugh.

Hindsight bein’ 20/20, I guess I could have gone to sportin’ goods, gotten a rifle or a handgun, maybe even a huntin’ knife…but that would have been a little more complicated, and they probably would have thwarted my attempt.

Another trip in, since it was a “soft reset,” I got all the shit I needed, avoided the knives, and made my way over to the deli to get some fried chicken and stuff for lunch. I still had that itch though and well, let’s just say it was just goin’ to be a long fuckin’ day.

I got over there and was lookin’ at all the great food. Usually, my mouth would be so wet; it’d be ready for mouth huggin’ some food ’til it’d make my throat orgasm. It wasn’t this time. Maybe it’s because of the itch, I dunno, and frankly, I don’t care. Either way, I kind of went into autopilot mode, and that was that. What happened was, I ended up goin’ over to a deep fryer, shoved a few people out of the way, and just slammed my face nice and deep in that vat of hot oil. It was for a good…I think 20 or so seconds? Eventually, I just kind of slid in a little bit and died there. My head was good and fried, though, to a golden brown I will add. I will say this…that hurt like a mother fucker.

Reset again and here I am, back at the store. Well, this time around I got the hunger itch. So I got to thinkin’, all this cereal, and all this candy…in one fuckin’ giant aisle. It’s a wet dream come true. So, for diabetics, kids, and curious folk everywhere, I grabbed a few gallons of milk, grabbed the candy, the cereal, and just ate and ate, and fuckin’ ate that shit up like succotash. It was an enlightening experience…until I got all jittery and started throwin’ up. Milk, cereal, vomit, and candy does not taste good, lemme tell ya.

Well, because of diabetes and whatnot, I ended up passin’ the fuck out, choked on my fuckin’ vomit again and was left in an awe inspirin’ decoupage of gluttony.

After that, it was another reset, but that part was borin’. It ended up bein’ an alright weekend, but I think I could have had more fun at the market. Sometimes, though, those damn morals get in the way of really havin’ fun…but I’m not that psychotic. I guess, though, if it ever came down to it, I’d hope that I would finally die.

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.

Leave a Reply