How to commit suicide
Grandad December 28th, 2009
I don’t know why, but I get quite a few people visiting this site looking for ways and means to top themselves.
Do they visit here just to confirm their worst suspicions that life is hopeless? Or do they think I really do know all the answers?
Frankly, it’s not a subject I know that much about. If ever I feel a little disgruntled I go out and set fire to an SUV, or maybe whack an American tourist, and soon enough I find myself feeling gruntled again.
If I ever did decide to end it all, I’m not quite sure how I would go about it. There are so many ways, but they do have their disadvantages.
One way is drowning. That would be quite effective as I can’t swim. However, I am not particularly fond of water as it tends to be a little on the cold side and thus a little uncomfortable. Therefore I would have to travel to a warmer climate before Doing the Deed, and that seems to be a lot of trouble. There must be a simpler way?
Another possibility is to chuck myself off a tall building. That would be quite effective but it does have one major problem – suppose I change my mind half way down? I would imagine that that would be one of life’s biggest ‘oh fuck’ moments? No. I’ll skip that one.
Tablets? I have heard a few things about people taking tablets. Apparently it isn’t as guaranteed as you might think, and there is a high probability that I would just end up on a life support system for the rest of my days, and that is a thought that would quite frankly make me want to kill myself. Tablets are out.
Another popular method is the old exhaust pipe connected to a hose trick. I have my suspicions about that one, as having spent so many years sitting in traffic jams in the rush hour, I would imagine that I am pretty much immune at this stage. My lungs almost crave a blast of exhaust now that I am retired, and anyway the smell would just make me think I was on my way to work. Depressing.
I could blow my brains out. That would be quick, but it is so fucking messy. There is no dignity in having one of Ireland’s finest minds splattered all over the walls and ceilings. The one thing I deserve is a little dignity.
I could walk into the Irish rugby team’s dressing rooms and shout “who’s a gay boy then?”, which you would imagine would be fairly effective? But supposing they all secretly kick with the left foot? I would just end up being rogered by an entire rugby team which isn’t quite what I intended?
I don’t know.
I really am not an expert.
For the sake of my readers, if you do read this, and you do have the answer, could you please let me know.
But only write if you are successful.
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