Sometimes I get the strong urge to kill myself. Not because I’m depressed or mentally unstable or my life sucks or anything like that. It’s just because I’m lazy. Some days, it seems like it would just be easier to kill myself than to get up at be at work by 9:00 and pretend to be returning emails for 3 hours while I google news articles about domesticated animals attacking their owners. Like, some days I would rather just kill myself than have to go to Dillard’s to buy a new pantsuit because I left my Uniball in the pocket when I washed them and it bled everywhere. Tom from Accounting was like “Anyone ever heard of pocket protector?”  And I was like “Fuck you Tom. The last thing I need is for you to give me shit right now. I have enough going on. Mr. Peterson has been up my ass lately about these M-93′s and I would seriously rather kill myself than sit here and listen to your bullshit. Plus, a pocket protector wouldn’t stop me from washing my pen, you cleft-lipped faggot.” Then he whispered something to Pudding Dickenson in the cubicle next to me. That really burned me up. I’ve had a super-mega-huge crush on Pud ever since I started working here. I know that he’s engaged and I’ve actually met his fiancé Sharon, who is a really nice lady. Too nice if you ask me. Seems like she’s hiding something. Just saying. I’m not saying I would do anything to break them up. I don’t want to complicate me and Pud’s relationship like that. He just gets me. Ya know?

Listen to me! I’m sorry. Back to the topic at hand. Sometimes I would prefer to just off myself than deal with all that jiz-unk. Like, I would rather kill myself than have to call the guy to come fix my garbage disposal, then wait around for him to show up to fix the garbage disposal, and then maintain small talk with him until he’s finished fixing my garbage disposal. Uuuuuuuuuuugggggggh! That’s the sound I make when I get the urge to kill myself. Gotta wash my clothes? Uuugh. Gotta put air in my tires? Uuugh. Gotta go around getting my neighbors to sign these sexual predator forms? Uuugh. I honestly would rather end it all. I have this feeling almost every time I have to do something I don’t want to do.

This often leads me to think, how would I choose to kill myself? Obviously I would lean towards something that doesn’t require a lot of energy or set up. I would rather kill myself than have to set up some elaborate means of commiting suicide. I want something quick and easy. I’m not trying to make any big statement or anything and I don’t have time to set up some Rube Goldberg suicide machine, where I get my shirt ironed, an egg fried, my ficus watered, and dozen poison darts fired at my face. I think one of the best ways to kill myself would be to let a domesticated animal kill me. I’ve done a lot research on the google and found that it has several distinct advantages:

1) It’s effortless. All you have to do is hold still. Just let your domesticated animal do all the work, whether it is a chimp, elephant, pitbull, or whatever. It doesn’t get any easier than that, unless you choose to starve yourself to death but that takes such a long time. You’ll end up just sitting around for days waiting for it to kick in. And as far as I’m concerned, I would rather kill myself than have to wait on myself to starve to death. Whereas with the domesticated animal route, it could take as long as a couple seconds.

2) No clean up. Especially if you are working with a domesticated tiger or something. Chances are, if you give them enough time, they will eat you entirely. In fact, they will buff and polish the floor with their sandpapery cat tongues to get every last bit of your tasty remains. Considering that people don’t prefer to buy the apartment where some guy was just mauled and devoured by an animal, the shiny floors might actually help the resale value.

3) Circle of life, bro. It’s mother fucking nature. And I, myself, am I huge Elton John fan, so I would consider this kind of a dedication to his songwriting. You guys remember that scene in Almost Famous when they sing Benny and The Jets in the airplane? Classic.

Ugh, I don’t feel like writing anymore. I would rather kill myself than keep writing this blog piece. Seriously.