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Suicidal Means Attention Whore
Internet, pick up your phones and dial a suicide hotline. Now ask the inarticulate empathetic little bastards who attend those phones about how many lives they've saved today. The Answer: None. Do you honestly know what this means, Internet? It means I am sick to fucking death (pun intended) of hearing emo/goth wanna-be's and middle schoolers talk of killing themselves and never actually following through with it. This shit is the epitome of attention whoring. It's beyond sad, it's just utterly morose. I hate the fact that these little bastards constantly crave attention and in not receiving it, they pretend they're going to immediately down 40 fucking Motrin tablets and chase it all down with Ginger Ale. You've got to be fucking with me.
Do you know the people whom actually contemplate the act of Suicide, Internet? It's the fucking people who aren't 14 years of age that don't shop in the discount cosmetics bin looking for black eye-liner. It's the people of this world who you can legitimately frown upon in pity. The likes of single mothers who have lop-sided breasts, crooked cops, and the homeless people who can't get enough Franzia for the night. These are the people worthy of government aid and curious stares from onlookers who can only think "What the fuck?!" These are the people I admire. Not only will they fail to tell you that they are committing Suicide, but they'll brave this selfish act without leaving a mess behind for you to clean up. That's Fan-Fucking-Tastic!
I grow tired of constantly watching you all compete for attention, Internet. Who the fuck cares about you? No one, not even your parents. They raised you, they know what a piece of shit you are and they knew what a piece of shit you would become before you even outgrew fucking diapers. This whole fucking craze is ridiculous. Internet, there is no such thing as a cry for help. Stop cutting yourselves and calling it a disorder. No one gives a shit if you can find something sharp and make superficial cuts into your skin. As a matter of fact this makes you an unsanitary fucking idiot and a good possible candidate for Hepatitis. No one gives a shit if you're prescribed to Xanax and Zoloft. Depression is not the fucking reason you fail to get your inept ass out of bed day in and day out. It's the fact that you're dosing yourself with enough Benzodiazepine to incapacitate a fucking queer Elephant.
Do you know what the fuck purpose a therapist serves, Internet? A therapist is the equivalent to a bartender. They both couldn't give an Altar Boy's asshole about what problems you have in life, they just want your fucking money. It's as simple as that. Internet, you think support groups matter? Yes, because if I have a fucking problem with life I want to be around 13 other clueless motherfuckers with the same problem. So we can all cry on eachother and discuss how there is more than one dumb fucking ape in the world. Bottom line, If you're going to off yourself, then just shut the fuck up and do it.
Don't leave a fucking note to tell the world why you killed yourself. The damage is already fucking done. You're dead and nobody is going to fix your fucking problems now. Don't call people while fucked in half drunk, and declare your life over. All this proves is how you can't hold your fucking alcohol and how you're a bitch. Don't go around telling any hapless service worker about how your life is shit. Odds are if someone is performing a service for you, then they're life is infinitely more fucked than yours.
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