The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal [Fourth of July Special — Part Two]

Part Two of our Fourth of July for Bob, the Chronic Suicidal.

Burning wicker man.
Photo by Wicker Paradise. Wicker Paradise has no affiliation with me or A.B.Normal Publishing Media Group, nor do they support my work and/or practices.

So, I had my fun with goin’ out with a bang. I mentioned last time about grillin’ and well…let me just get ya up to speed.

The few guys I was havin’ over wanted to have a grill out. I figured, bah, why not. Wouldn’t be too bad. Then everyone was launchin’ their shit. Dogs were barkin’, cats were goin’ crazy, kids were screamin’, it was just a clusterfuck.

Well, I had about enough of it. Sure, people were havin’ a blast and a grand old time, but old Bob? Nah, he wanted no more of it. I had just put the burgers on the grill when it happened. It was automatic I’d say, but then again, it wasn’t the first time where I went “fuck it” and just did what I wanted to do.

So, Bob’s burgers are on the grill, wandered on over to the gas can in the garage. Walked out to the middle of the street and poured it all over me. Flicked my lighter and toasted myself to a Happy 4th of July. A lot of people just stood there in shock that they just saw their quiet neighbor torch himself in front of everyone. Some attempted to be quick on their feet, but dear old Bob had a backup plan for that. Ya see, I placed a few firecrackers in my pockets. Ya know, for that added pizazz and flair. I gotta say, though, it wasn’t a great way to go. Self-barbeque. It’s not what it’s cracked up to be, and it hurts like hell. Eventually, though, your brain shuts you down, and well, your body gets well done. In my case, though, I was more…medium well.

I did a few different takes on the day. Each reset I was at a different friend’s place. Each time was a different way to go. M-80 in the gas tank of the car drivin’ into the creek, playin’ Foghat’s Slow Ride. Made a custom M-80 vest and wandered out back of my pal Sid’s place and lit up, like, well…the Fourth of July. At Jerry’s I fashioned a few makeshift cherry bombs and made it look like I was takin’ a sip of beer. Only to have my face and hand blown off. Then there was Terry’s place. We had decided to go into the woods. I had decided I would be a wicker man. So I outfitted myself with I don’t remember how many and kinds of fireworks…but when we got to the spot and unloaded. I told the guys I had a show for them. They all laughed and said “Alright, Bob. Can’t wait.” That night I lit myself up and gave them a show to remember.

The last time…was where I had no itch and where I wasn’t really in a care for offin’ myself. I decided to spend it with my family and enjoy the time. That night, my wife and I got to coupling. In the end, it was a good day. Hardly anyone shot their shit off. It was pretty nice. Later on, though, as it rolled into the 5th, I ended up dying in my sleep.

I know, I know, you’re thinkin’ “Bob, you didn’t kill yourself?” You’re right; I was amazed as well. Still, at least I shot my rocket off, and it ended up bein’ a happy endin’.

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. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.
Photo by Wicker Paradise. Wicker Paradise has no affiliation with me or A.B.Normal Publishing Media Group, nor do they support my work and/or practices.

Author: Sincados

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

Leave a Reply