Ending it All


I want to end it all. I can’t take it any longer. This life, this tragedy I call my life has to go on to the second act or be burned down in a fiery pit, down to ashes. It’s not my day that has caused me to take this stance, not the week or month, not the year but my life as a whole. Everyone wants me at once to satisfy their needs and instead of killing me right there, they feed off of me just enough to let me live long enough to heal and then the feast begins again.

Every other night my ex-wife calls me up to tell me how much she misses me and how much she loves me and wishes we were back together again. After an hour of her sobbing on the line she slowly works her way into how pathetic and dismal her life was with me and how now her life is so much better without me. She glorifies the sex she has with her new, much younger, man. And she rages about how if I wasn’t such a loser she wouldn’t have to go through so much therapy. I only listen to her go on like this because I want to hear her choke on her bottle of cognac and die there in her shitty apartment. The scars on my face where she dug her nails in while the officer pulled her away to jail still burn … restraining orders are not all they are cracked up to be.

My landlord is nothing but a jerk. He comes by to see why the furnace isn’t working and proceeds to tear the whole thing apart taking a break only to go through my kitchen for something to eat. When he gets it back together he sighs and says he knows what the problem is but I need to pay him an extra $50 a month to get it working again. He’s a tiny man, someone that could be easily beaten into submission but with his ties to the mob I’ve been reluctant to shove my foot up his ass. He snickers and tells me that he’ll even turn on the gas to my furnace for another $25 a month so I have something to heat with in the newly fixed unit. That asshole. Before I end everything I’m going to go down to his apartment and piss on his bed and then grind Viagra up into all his food and drinks. You know that warning about getting to a doctor after four hours with an erection? He won’t know what to do with himself after four hours but fall over dead in my piss.

Then there’s my co-workers that constantly hit me up for anything they can think of. Money, food, place to have sex with a prostitute, unmentionable stuff too sick to even think about. And what thanks do I get? Nothing. Geurge Blue Spear, what a moron, what a waste of intelligent design. God really screwed up on this sack of meat. Always keep your passwords safe but tomorrow Geurge is paying me back for everything. I’ve cleaned out his bank accounts and signed him up for subscriptions to a variety of gay-porn and uber-religious services that will climax with the discovery that I soaked his entire condom supply in hot sauce for a couple days … pleasure for both him and her!

Now my lawyer thinks he needs more money in my case against the guy who hit me while I crossed a street. No mention if I’m going to get anything from the insurance but he says if I get him a few extra hundred it will fold into thousands on the suit. I’m going to write him a big fat rubber check then steal his car and sell it for parts. He’s the reason my ex-wife is so whack now. She met him to discuss our wills and next thing their rolling around in his office testing the load limits of the furniture and the soundproofness of his oak shelving. Turns out she’s in love with him and he helps with the divorce but once the checks have cleared he denies any love for her and kicks her to the curb. I keep him just to spite her for her good deed. It will all work itself out.

So I went to the hardware store and picked up some generic supplies and then stopped down at the fertilizer plant to get something to help with the garden. After filling a couple cans with some diesel fuel I’ll make my rounds and make sure everything is nice and tidy before I strike a match to anything. Life sucked anyway so death can’t be much worse.

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