The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal – Episode 4 – Truckin’ [Part 2]

This time around, Bob recalls his attempt of tree hugging, telephone pole humping, and making a glory hole at the wall of an abandoned factory.

He didn’t actually make a glory hole…it came down on him. All over him. His dead. Wrangled. Lifeless. Body.

Now, I know what you’re thinkin’. “Bob, why are you so selfish? Doin’ all these heinous acts and subjectin’ people to this kind of nonsense.”

Well, guess what? It ain’t your life or your story to tell, bub. That’s what. Besides that I already said that I felt regret in the fact of havin’ my kids, my wife, parents, so on, and on, and fuckin’ on, all of them watch me die. Well, the people that mattered, and the innocents that I kind of ruined. But hey, if they don’t see it now, they’ll do it themselves, one day, or they’ll find one of their friends hangin’ from a beam in the middle of a room, or their throat slit, gunshot to their head, dead in a bathtub. Face it, folks; it’s the real world. These things can and do happen.

Now, I wouldn’t say that this is an ‘educational experience’ or whatever…well it is for me I guess, but that’s beside the point.

Now then, let me get back on track of the one time I wondered what it’d be like to hit a telephone pole, a tree, and a brick wall full speed.

As I said before, I get these itches…they can range from anythin’, sometimes from an idea, act, hunger, so on and so forth. Who knows why I do, and what the cause is, but I find myself entertained by it sometimes, so why not.

Well, I had one when I was drivin’ down the old main drag here. I thought I wonder what it’d be like to hit a tree. Just full out. Trees are pretty tough old broads; they’ve been around for awhile, right? I drove down the street…found one that I liked on the edge of town. Hell, I even got out and looked ‘er over. There were even a few couple’s names carved into the bark. Ha!

Well, what happened next was I got in the car, drove down into town, and waited until the night had settled in good and well. I started comin’ in fast. I ended up catchin’ the attention of a local cop, which I mean, props really. The guy was doin’ his job. Tax dollars at work there, I was glad to see it in action. I came around that bend and found that tree. I met that sappy tree bastard right quick.

For added effect I tried without my seatbelt on and well, in short, that sucked. A lot. The force of hittin’ the tree wasn’t the thing that did me in. That wasn’t as bad as going over the steering wheel, gettin’ caught on it, smashin’ through the windshield, smackin’ the hood of the car and the tree, and then breakin’ an arm between the tree and the car. Yeah. That was a lot of fuckin’ fun. Five out of five would never do that again.

Honestly, it was more painful than when I basically repeated the same thing, but instead, I wore my seatbelt and kissed a telephone pole (though, one trial I did without). Same cop mind you. Nice guy. He was even there until the end for me. If I remember, I outta write the precinct he’s at and say he deserves a commendation. Anyway, the three results of the telephone pole incident were this…

  • Outcome one (and two): My insides became a stew, with broken ribs, sternum, snapped neck, bleeding on the brain, and jello for brains. Mmm mmm, tasty. Bill Cosby would approve. That was all before the electric line came down and started a fire. Once, I was trapped and left to burn to a crisp. The other, I was pulled out and pronounced dead on the spot due to all the internal bleedin’ and shit.
  • Outcome three: No seatbelt, see above for huggin’ a tree. Just more limbs got bent, and I took out a few blocks of power.

Now, I know…they’re not that excitin’ as kissin’ a Mack truck and whatnot. I got some more bad news bears for ya, folks. Ramming a brick wall ain’t that excitin’ either.

Alright, so basically, there’s an abandoned factory in town, right? It’s just sittin’ there doin’ nothin’. Well, out of the kindness of my heart because no one else needs to go down for my stupidity, I figured it was my safest bet.

I couldn’t go balls out floorin’ it through the town to get to it, so I improvised. I led the cops on a little chase around the block…y’know the kind…Joker style, the uh, Heath Ledger one…that one scene. Anyway, once I had their attention and knew no one was goin’ to be followin’ (essentially) I drove straight to the factory. I made my sprint across the parking lot, hit that wall, and down it all came.

That’s right. I came for a brick wall, and I got the whole shebang. A good portion of that factory landed on me, but it was alright. My trial was concluded, and I reached the verdict of never again, would I ram a brick wall…or a buildin’. Suffocatin’ is one of my least favorite ways to go, let alone bein’ crushed to death, but hey, it’s all part of the learnin’ experience. Ya know what I mean?

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.

1 thought on “The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal – Episode 4 – Truckin’ [Part 2]”

Leave a Reply