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Day Twenty-Five.

My friends are pretty worried about me. They gave me a sort of emotional intervention today. An emotional intervention involves sharing your feelings— it does not happen like other interventions where people are secretly angry that you’re not sharing your drugs with them. I’d gone over to Bryguy’s and most everybody I kind of care about was there.

“Charlie, we’re worried about you,” Krisandra said.

“Yeah, Charlie. You’ve been very depressed recently— ever since Katy left,” Jaye said.

“Really?” I said, right before ripping on the bong for a record two minutes. They continued while I inhaled.

“We just want to make sure you’re OK. Are you?” Exhale.

“Sure,” I told them with smoke still coming out of nearly every one of my orifices. “That was a mighty bong rip,” I said.

“Sure was,” Bryan said. He had a look of pain on his face. Must have been a hernia or something. A hernia. That’s definitely what it was.

“Tell us how you feel,” Jaye reiterated. And I’m not one for sharing my feelings unless it involves my hatred of horses. Horses are terrible animals. For one, they can’t swim— at least, all the horses I’ve been taking out to the ocean can’t swim. And two, you can’t look a horse in the eyes. It’s impossible; you can only look them in the eye one eye at a time. Shady fucking beasts. Three: They’ve got huge pupils— so huge that they must be taking ecstasy and not be sharing it with you. What kind of a friend is that? A friend that doesn’t share their ecstasy with you, that’s who. And it bothers me when people say that horses are like big dogs because horses aren’t like big dogs. Horses are like big land manatees that can’t control when and where they shit. And when and where do they usually shit? On the shoes you bought them. On the shoes they need. Dogs don’t even wear shoes.

I figured I’d throw ‘em all a bone and maybe it would help me bang Bryan’s girlfriend. Or anybody. I miss pussy.

“Just tell us you’re not suicidal,” she said. Shit, did I forget to respond?

“I’m not suicidal. I just…you guys see me on Wednesdays. Wednesday is the darkest day of the week. It truly is the eye of the storm: two days to the weekend, and it doesn’t matter if time is going forward or backwards.”

“That’s true,” Bryan said, like the good friend he is. Shame I want to steal his girlfriend.

“And if I was planning on killing myself,” I continued, “I’d be starving right now.” It was time for another bong rip of the holiest acumen. Nobody said anything, but I could feel that everybody wanted to know what I meant.

“What I mean is, if I kill myself I will probably poop myself. Doesn’t matter if I hang, cut, or shoot myself to death: poop will be there.”

Bong rip. Exhale. Good weed. Gonna have to let Aaron 4 know. I pulled my phone out and texted him.

Thanks for the help with the homework. It got me high as a fuck stick.

“The body,” I continued, “will begin bloating from the death action. My buttocks and leg areas will absorb the shit water and I’ll start to smell.

“I don’t want you guys to find me dead because of the terrible smell that comes with my death crap. I want you to find me because you miss me.”

“That doesn’t—,” Krisandra paused, “Bryan, you tell him.”

Bryan still looked uneasy. Now I was staring to get what what was going on: he didn’t want to do this intervention. Krisandra was putting him up to it.

“It sounds like you’ve thought about killing yourself,” he said.

“Who hasn’t?”

Nobody raised their hand. “I’ve thought about it but I haven’t planned to do it, either” I don’t blame them for thinking that I was considering suicide— and sure, I am, but I’ve always been suicidal. In fact, I was in a much more fragile emotional state when I figured out Santa Claus wasn’t a fan of Jews.

“The best way to kill yourself, anyways, is to do it like the Egyptians did: by swallowing tons of salt.”

Everybody looked at me.

“I mean, by trying to swallow tons of salt. So if you see me starving myself for three days andcollecting salt packets then you’ll have every reason in the world to worry. But until then, let me be at peace.”

“OK Charlie, well thanks for listening,” Krisandra said.

“You didn’t say much of anything so it was particularly easy,” I said.

I’m going to go now. All that emotion from earlier made me tired. I won’t respond to any comments tonight too because I don’t want anything to disrupt my planned masturbation to any video tagged under the category “Flapjack circus titties”.

And I have to hide all this salt I’ve been collecting.

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