Yep. That’s my body hanging up there by the noose. And if you look up at me, right now, you’ll see that my eyes have opened and I’m staring down at you!
(Boo!)
Just kidding! I’m really dead! So, with that out of the way, let’s get down to business.
Before we go into any discussion about intent, or why I did it, or who exactly is to be blamed (spoiler: every girlfriend who ever dumped me), I’d like to make one thing clear: This was, without a doubt, a full-blown suicide. There is no way this was one of those “accidental deaths due to autoerotic asphyxiation†things. That would be way too embarrassing.
Now, whether the person reading this is with the authorities or one of my sure-to-be-distraught family members, I bet you have a whole bunch of questions. The first one, obviously, will be why I’m not wearing any pants? Well, listen. You probably don’t have as much experience with depressed people as I do. (Since, obviously, I was pretty depressed.) So you wouldn’t know that, in a lot of cases, depressed people just stop wearing pants. No need to look it up in any psychiatry manuals. You can just take my word for it
The next question, I’m sure, is what’s the deal with my arms and legs being hogtied behind my back? (Following this, quite obviously, will be how I got myself into such a position. But that answer I’m taking to the grave! Mwahahahaha!) That’s mostly just because I, uh, wanted to make sure I killed myself this time? Sure. Let’s go with that. With my previous attempts, my arms and legs were getting loose all the time and I was able to undo my noose. But this time, to prevent myself from untying the knot, I went ahead and tied back my arms and legs. The point is, it was nothing sexual.
As to why I’m wearing a blonde wig, mascara, a whole bunch of lipstick, leather chaps, high heels, a diamond necklace, high school class rings on every finger, a pink feather boa, painted toenails, a tiara and two large black dildos stuck firmly in my anal cavity? That’s just me being eccentric. If Crispin Glover can get away with it, why can’t I?
Oh, one more thing. You’ve probably noticed by now that I’ve (probably) ejaculated all over the ground. (If you haven’t noticed that yet, watch your step!) Well, let’s just chalk that one up to the wonders of the human anatomy. Ever hear that urban legend about how a person’s bowels go slack when they die, causing them to expel any feces they have left and shit their pants? Well, that’s what happened to me. Except with sperm.
And there was a whole lot in there. Why? Because I never masturbated before in my life! That’s also embarrassing.
So, once again, in conclusion, let me make it perfectly clear: What you see before you is a blatant suicide, not an accidental death due to autoerotic asphyxiation. I wouldn’t be caught dead doing that.
LISTEN while youre busy driving your cocaine submarine, i was out here defending the idea that all star survivor is better against scooter who thinks its a bad idea, JESUS CHRIST YOUR JIMMERY KNOWS NO BOUNDS
Quote:
Originally Posted by neverstop in a PM
. . .
But whatever, yes I can be a huge canadian faggot and you can be terrible yourself but theres no reason we shouldnt be able to co-exist at the very least, ya feelz me??
But who is the victim of your intellectual theft of decent-ish copy?
Punning is never tight when you draw the attentions of Punning Men - like myself - to it. Loose and sloppy, like my Whore Mother's...well that was an ill-advised attempt at analogy. I blame impulse.
*note: As you will, vastly more often than not, be suffering the readership of moronic fools who require stage light illumination of puns...you should light them up in far more hof manner than a noose "c what i did there", which makes me want to noose. bad righters.
Seriously. If this guy were not already noosed, I would feel compelled to do it for real.
boo?
just kidding?
Nup. I cannot be expected to stand for this. And I should not be expected to. Not whilst my Gods skatz about the sky like an Israeli 6 Day War pilot, unfettered. and shit.
boo? I'll give that writer fucking boo. fuck me, that's just horrid. approaching terrible.
Deliberately, with a steady hand, he took the dirk that lay before him; he looked at it wistfully, almost affectionately; for a moment he seemed to collect his thoughts for the last time, and then stabbing himself deeply below the waist on the left-hand side, he drew the dirk slowly across to the right side, and, turning it in the wound, gave a slight cut upwards.
DEFINITELY NOT AUTOEROTIC ASPHYXIATION
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