Consumer Suicide

He’s naked dancing across the hardwood floors wearing only his socks, holding the shotgun he purchased at Walmart earlier in the day. The radio is tuned into a sketchy far away rap station, while the TV silently reels “The Playboy Girl’s Of Soccer”. He puts down the gun momentarily to take a bite of the BBQ sandwich he picked up from Lil Piggies on the Service Road, he figures it’ll be his last. There’s a freedom with death, even before it happens. There’s a freedom to the idea of heaven, even though he isn’t there yet. Neither is she.
“We’ll be there together!” he yells out to the jiggling pairs of tits running across the glass TV screen.
While at Walmart he realized he may need some pen and paper for the notes. The fire of drama puts a burning hot feeling in his thighs that creeps warmly into his small stiff cock. He’ll be legend once they are both dead, he’ll be king, martyr, slave, and relieved of duty. This is just the pre-party to the post-party aftermath he’ll never have to weep for.

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