I’m a comic, but I’m not going to kill myself.
I mean, I am looking forward to the sweet release of death, but I’m not going to do the dirty work myself.
I’m going to staff that shit out.
I’ve decided that autoerotic asphyxia is the way to go. I’m going to hire that
Portland model, I think his name is Tattooed Hipster ManBun. He’s hot, but I think he’s in the STD ads, too. Not that THAT matters!
I’m going to sign a waiver, and then get him to choke fuck me to death. Like one last big bang, and then the great nothing. It’ll look like we accidentally went too far… Whoopsie!
I’ll leave him some cash for the trouble. I’m even kinda’ looking forward to it.
Of course, you’re going to have to tell my kids that I slipped and fell on the tiled stairs in church. IN CHURCH.
The only thing is, I think I’m going to require that he shave his balls. Then he has the option to leave before the cops get there, and, also, I think it’ll be funny to watch him drag his taint across the carpet for the next week, from beyond the grave.
That’s a haunting.
I'm Jane Malone.