Hello there my suicidal friend. If you were seriously contemplating suicide before reading this article then chances are you'll be dead by the end of this article, now seek some proper help!
I suggest that you should only try any of these methods of suicide if you're a skinhead, an ex-member of the Nazi party and/or Pat Robertson.
Gas yourself to death with Mother's hairspray. If she tries to stop you halfway through, spray it directly into her face and continue on as normal.
Go outside and find a large rock. Now run a hot bath. Bring the rock with you into the bath and use it as a sponge. Don't stop until all of your skin's been eroded (you'll lose consciousness a long time before this point).
Turn up at a Nazi meeting, dressed as your grandmother, draped in an Israeli flag. Make a pass at the first skinhead you see. If he doesn't acknowledge you, dance over to his genitals and kiss him on the balls.
Go on a hunger strike and lock yourself in the cupboard. If anyone tries to rescue you, threaten to ring the police.
Visit your local zoo, strip naked, scale the fencing to the tiger enclosure and go for a piggy back on the alpha male.
Go and see Coldplay play. Your heart is bound to stop from abject misery 20 minutes into the set. Even before they get to 'Yellow'.
Lie on the freeway with a massive notice by you with the message 'The first person to run me over, wins $20,000″. Be sure to write down your parent's phone number down, clearly in big characters.
Arrange a meetup with ANYONE from Dark Starlings. The member-base is solely comprised of serial killers and cock-doctors.
Run into your nearest military base draped in the Iraq flag. If this doesn't get you shot, ask for the sergeant and call him an unpatriotic, commie, horse lover.
Fly to Tennessee with your girlfriend/boyfriend, enter a bar and announce that your lover isn't a relative.
Buy a bottle of vodka, pour all it into a tall container, break the bottle over your own head and pour all of the broken glass and blood into the vodka. Drink and bleed until the lights go out.
Eat at McDonalds for a year, crap into a black bag and at the end of it all, ingest the contents of the bag. If your body hasn't already went into toxic shock after 6 months of the diet, you are Satan and therefore invincible. I recommend placing the bag over your head, travelling down to Houston, Texas, once there announcing you're the Second Coming of Jesus Christ.
Arrange for Michael Moore to squat and fart on your face.
Join the US military before the troops withdraw from Iraq. You've got to be quick as this is imminent! Once you make it out to Iraq, dress up as the Statue of Liberty and stand as still as possible just like one of those street performers. Ask one of your colleagues to write "If Allah was real, you'd shoot me in the balls!" in capital letters (preferably in Iraqi).
Clean your bleep with a hedgehog twice a day for a year. Beware, this is a slowwww, painful way to die.
Go to your local water supply dressed as Osama Bin Laden, ring 911 and tell the authorities that you're about to take a crap in the water supply. Wait until the swat team arrive and lunge wildly at the tallest one there.
Lock a boa constrictor in your neighbours mail box, sneak out at night and taunt the snake by waving your ass in at it.
Drive to a forest outside Mountain Hat in Canada dressed solely in a jacket made of ham. Do not move until the bears arrive.
Buy 500 rolls of black lipstick and eat them all over an hour long period. Refrain from vomiting or calling the emergency services and you should die within the next 96 hours.
Masturbate to this picture of Condoleezza Rice for 24 hours straight without cumming. After the 24th hour your heart will explode out of principle.
Change your name officially to Jesus Christ, move to Houston, Texas and wear a pink toga with the words "I'm A Queer, Darling!" scrawled on it in black ink. Dance into the nearest Baptist Church and scream "The Rapture Cometh" before masturbating furiously in front of the minister. God will strike you down before your balls explode. Either that or one of the old ladies at the front will gouge your eyes out with a pen.
Emo Does Not Rock. It Sounds Like A Shopping Cart Rolling Down A Metal Staircase.
Ok I know that everybody is perfectly entitled to their own opinions of music. However, mine just happens to be that Emo is one of the worst types of music in the world. While most music seems to have a distinct purpose and even sometimes a message it seems that the goal of Emo is how quickly it can give the listener a chronic headache.
Shopping Carts all across the US have started committing suicide after hearing that Boy Out Fall are planning to start using them as legitimate musical instruments on their next album.
Yes, I know everybody has different styles, but that still does not make it acceptable to stand on a stage or even in a recording studio and bang stuff together and scream every so often and call it music. If you are going to act like a band, then perhaps practicing what music really is might be a great first step.
Those who really love Emo music are usually unable to explain exactly why they love it. I really wish they could though; maybe I am just missing something. Perhaps I need to go back to school and learn how to speak Emo then it might make a lot more sense, but at this point I still stick to my original thoughts that it really is the worse sounding music, and I use the term music lightly, that I have ever heard.
Fall Out Boy Aren’t Really A Band - More Of A Mental Disorder
This is Fall Out Boy. They are all the rage with all of the young emos these days. I've been asked by my readers why I dislike the band. Well the truth is I don't. I think they are hilarious. Look at the picture below for Gods sake.
They are serious musicians. Now for a little background on the band in case you are wondering who they are. Fall Out Boy originated from a *** store in Chicago and were founded by bassist and part-time transvestite Peter Wentz. Peter, like all red blooded males enjoys sexual experimentation. One night when he was closing up the store he decided to "slip one into" a dummy in the store front. This was his fatal mistake for little did he know that his boss was watching him from behind a display cabinet. He was dismissed immediately.
After this somewhat embarrassing incident, Peter became increasingly bitter towards the world, eventually deciding to form the band. He chose the name Fall Out Boy not in reference to the Simpsons character but as a quiet nod to his risque encounter with the dummy back in the *** shop.
Recruiting the members was pretty easy, he simply cruised around a red-light-district in Chicago, picking up only the seediest looking members on the sidewalk.
None of his new recruits could play their instruments which wasn't much of a problem considering 99% of the bands target market are either deaf or women.
Since then, Peter has spent too long trying to cut himself with everything from toothbrushes to soda cans and not long enough on writing songs. But his fan's don't care. Most of them would love it if he just stood there for an hour and a half smashing his guitar off his head until it was in matchsticks. In fact if you've listened to 'Infinity on High' at all you'll have realized that the band have used this technique to record all of their songs.
Now I don't mind Fall Out Boy's material. It's kinda cute. I just don't like all of this self harm business that goes along with it.. Peter's in danger of taking this too far and setting fire to his testicles in public or something. This is the last thing we need as a God fearing nation. Can you imagine Fall Out Boy fans across the country trying to replicate this act? Aren't the fire department busy enough these days? I really don't wanna see anyone getting hurt.
And that's the problem with the whole emo scene. It will all end in disaster. Some poor boy will drive his bike into the river in bondage gear, deliberately weighed down by alienation, boredom and despair.
It's probably best that all Fall Out Boy fans are referred immediately to psychiatrists who, God-willing, will prescribe them all enough Prozac to kill an African elephant. Acknowledging that Fall Out Boy are a serious symptom of an underlying mental illness is the first step into securing the future of Generation Y. Otherwise it will gouge, burn and slit itself until there's nothing left but Meatloaf.
Mommy I am only 8 inches long but I have all my organs. I love the sound of your voice. Every time I hear it I wave my arms and legs. The sound of your heart beat is my favorite lullaby.
Month Two
Mommy today I learned how to suck my thumb. If you could see me you could definitely tell that I am a baby. I'm not big enough to survive outside my home though. It is so nice and warm in here.
Month Three
You know what Mommy I'm a boy!! I hope that makes you happy. I always want you to be happy. I don't like it when you cry. You sound so sad. It makes me sad too and I cry with you even though you can't hear me.
Month Four
Mommy my hair is starting to grow. It is very short and fine but I will have a lot of it. I spend a lot of my time exercising. I can turn my head and curl my fingers and toes and stretch my arms and legs. I am becoming quite good at it too.
Month Five
You went to the doctor today. Mommy, he lied to you. He said that I'm not a baby. I am a baby Mommy, your baby. I think and feel. Mommy, what's abortion?
Month Six
I can hear that doctor again. I don't like him. He seems cold and heartless. Something is intruding my home. The doctor called it a needle. Mommy what is it? It burns! Please make him stop! I can't get away from it! Mommy! HELP me!
Month Seven
Mommy I am okay. I am in Jesus’ arms. He is holding me. He told me about abortion. Why didn't you want me Mommy?
Every Abortion Is Just . . .
One more heart that was stopped. Two more eyes that will never see. Two more hands that will never touch. Two more legs that will never run. One more mouth that will never speak.
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