Hidy ho, folks. I’m here to spread to you the good word. What word you ask? Well, lemme tell ya all about it. Death, and with that notion…suicide: hangin’, slit wrists, gunshot wounds (head to toe), train, plane, and what leads me to…automobiles!
Yeah, I know it’s not my best Ned Flanders, but fuck it, I don’t care. So, here I was driving down US-127, and the thought came to my mind. I wonder what it’s like to hit that median goin’ full out on the road? There was also the idea of what it’d be like to hit a utility pole, a tree, that huge ass puddle of standin’ water full speed ahead, Captain. The one though that kept creepin’ on me was what it’d be like to get hit by a Mack Truck.
I mean, sure there are clips of people becomin’ mush or soup on the internet, along with some lovely photos for your scrapbook. But you don’t know how it feels. That was the ticket for me. Well, there was no one in the car with me. I mean I am an asshole, but I am not that kind of twat that would kill himself and then leave his wife and kids to scream (and probably die) while he enjoys his demise again. So, you sick fucks get that thought out of your minds.
Now then, what happened was I pulled over on the side of the road. I even did that whole courtesy thing of putting on the hazard lights and stuff. Well, I got out and made it seem like I was gettin’ ready to change my tire or pop the hood and make it look like I was in distress. Well, I ended up gettin’ some guy to stop and help me out. I had told the guy no thanks and that I was okay. Well, I guess he was a do-gooder or somethin’ because he was pretty damn adamant about helpin’ out dear old Bob. Honestly
Honestly, it made me want to die a lot quicker than it was draggin’ out to be. So, I took note of the semi that was comin’ up real fast. I had to time it right, though, ya see, because I didn’t want to give the guy much time to stop, let alone alert the other drivers that I had a death wish.
Finally, ‘Big Bertha’ as she was called, let’s just say her and I got acquainted real quick. Pow! Right in the kisser, the jewels, everything. I kissed that grill pretty good I’ll admit, and I gave that old girl a fresh new paint job.
I felt sorry for the guy who tried to help, bless his goody-two-shoes’ heart. He tried to stop me…and his kids saw a random guy go splat all over the interstate. Bottomline I guess is be careful who you try to help out, and if someone wants to die…they’re goin’ to find a way. Life has that sort of thing where things happen a particular way.
By the way, if you’re wonderin’ what I felt when I got smashed to mush? Nothin’ much, just a whole lot of force, a brief sensation of pain, and then lights out.
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.