[Freck turns on the radio]
Freck Suicide Narrator: Charles Freck, becoming progressively more and more depressed by what was happening around him, decided finally to off himself. There was no problem in the circles where he hang out, and putting an end to yourself, you just want a large quantity of downers and took them with some cheap wine. The planning part had to do with the artifacts he wanted find on him by later archeologists. He had spent several days deciding, much longer than he had spend deciding to kill himself. He would be found lying on his back, on his bed, with a copy of Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead", and an unfinished letter to Exxon, protesting the cancellation of his guest credit card. That way he would indite the system, and achieve something by his death, over and above what the death itself achieved. At the last moment, he changed his mind on the decisive issue, and decided to drink the pills with a Con Azur wine, instead of Rip Alert Thunderbird. So he sat off on one last drive over to Tiny's Liquors, which specializes in fine wine, and bought a bottle of 2001 Isalea Springs Merlot, which set him back almost seventy dollars. Back home again, he uncorked the wine, let it breathe, drank a few glasses of it and tried to think of something meaningful, but could not. And then, with a glass of Merlot, goped down all the pills at once. Howether, he had been burned. Instead of quietly suffocating, Charles Freck began to hallicinate. The next thing he knew, a creature from the twenty dimensions was standing beside his bed, looking down at him dissaprovingly.
Freck: You gonna read me my sins?
[Creature nods]
Freck: Eh, it's gonna take a hundred thousand hours.
Creature: Your sins will be read to you seaslesly, in shifts, throughout eternity. The list will never end.
Creature: [starts reading] The Sins of Charles Freck.
Freck Suicide Narrator: Charles Freck wished he had taken back the last half hours of his life.
[Creature continues to read]
Freck Suicide Narrator: One thousand years later, they had reached the sixth grade, the year he had discovered masturbation.
Freck Suicide Narrator: Charles Freck thought: At least I got a good wine.
itt
Freck Suicide Narrator: Charles Freck, becoming progressively more and more depressed by what was happening around him, decided finally to off himself. There was no problem in the circles where he hang out, and putting an end to yourself, you just want a large quantity of downers and took them with some cheap wine. The planning part had to do with the artifacts he wanted find on him by later archeologists. He had spent several days deciding, much longer than he had spend deciding to kill himself. He would be found lying on his back, on his bed, with a copy of Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead", and an unfinished letter to Exxon, protesting the cancellation of his guest credit card. That way he would indite the system, and achieve something by his death, over and above what the death itself achieved. At the last moment, he changed his mind on the decisive issue, and decided to drink the pills with a Con Azur wine, instead of Rip Alert Thunderbird. So he sat off on one last drive over to Tiny's Liquors, which specializes in fine wine, and bought a bottle of 2001 Isalea Springs Merlot, which set him back almost seventy dollars. Back home again, he uncorked the wine, let it breathe, drank a few glasses of it and tried to think of something meaningful, but could not. And then, with a glass of Merlot, goped down all the pills at once. Howether, he had been burned. Instead of quietly suffocating, Charles Freck began to hallicinate. The next thing he knew, a creature from the twenty dimensions was standing beside his bed, looking down at him dissaprovingly.
Freck: You gonna read me my sins?
[Creature nods]
Freck: Eh, it's gonna take a hundred thousand hours.
Creature: Your sins will be read to you seaslesly, in shifts, throughout eternity. The list will never end.
Creature: [starts reading] The Sins of Charles Freck.
Freck Suicide Narrator: Charles Freck wished he had taken back the last half hours of his life.
[Creature continues to read]
Freck Suicide Narrator: One thousand years later, they had reached the sixth grade, the year he had discovered masturbation.
Freck Suicide Narrator: Charles Freck thought: At least I got a good wine.
itt
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)