He Sucks at Suicide

He Sucks at Suicide

A few years ago, a friend attempted suicide. When he failed, he dropped off the face of the earth and re-appeared three-years later with a flurry of text messages.

Aiden: Hi Jew, since I failed at the dirt nap thing, I figured I’d get back in touch and see how my darlin’ is doing.

Me: Dude, only you could fuck up suicide. Though, I’m hardly surprised. What is so complicated about whacking yourself? How can you live with yourself knowing that you failed at something so easy as suicide?! Are you suitarded?

Aiden: Would love to hear your voice!

Me: Means a lot to be back in touch w/ you.

Aiden: Thanks for understanding ~ it takes a while to get out of a serious funk, but I am so back. Miss you…

Me: A serious funk? Is that what we’re calling a vortex of depression so fierce, you attempt suicide?  I was devastated that you never told me how severe your depression was. You hurt me, fucko. I still love you. And, I fucking hate you. WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS, DICK FACE.

Aiden: I know, whore bag. I FUCKING LOVE YOU!!

Me: What kind of drugs are you on now? You sound bipolar-ish, fab.

 

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