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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Day Nineteen (2).

Wait, I actually had a pretty good day today.

Went to the dollar theater (total cost: 2 dollars) with Krisandra, Jaye, and Carl. First time anybody let me out with their girlfriend since I started masturbating to Facebook pictures. Is there a correlation? I hope not.

Didn’t stop Todd from calling me and it definitely didn’t stop Carl from calling me, texting me, and— I think— getting one of his guys to show up and stalk us. That may have been Carl, the crafty Mexican. He’s not even Mexican— that’s how good of a Mexican he is. So Carl called and he asked me if I could pick him up to hang out. I pretty much coughed “yes” back into the phone because I’m a masochist. Let me be clear: I hate Carl. But I love pain— sometimes all the time.

“Is it OK if to smoke in your car,” he asked from the backseat.

“Yeah, I mean I smoke so go for it. Be my guest.”

I should have said “smoke what”.

Carl was Jaye’s— is, I’m sorry— Jaye’s dead-beat boyfriend. First of all, he’s German. Second of all, he’s got a GPS tracking anklet on because (thirdly) he’s had four DUI’s in 2 years. He’s been on house arrest for two years but that hasn’t stopped him from smoking crack out of an apple in my car.

Carl passed me the still smoking apple— “I’m driving, It’s okay,” I lied. It wasn’t okay to smoke crack in my car and I really wasn’t driving anymore; the crack was.

See, Chaz smoked me out a fat crack bowl earlier in the morning to take my mind off of the fact his girlfriend smoked all our weed again.Lets just— never mind, we’ll talk about it later. I would have smoked the crack but I didn’t want Jaye and Krisandra to think I am a crack-smoker; Katy would have found out.

Listen, I don’t normally smoke crack. I don’t smoke crack. But Chaz smoked me out this huge crack bowl earlier to take my mind off the fact his girlfriend smoked all of our weed again. Lets just— never mind, we’ll talk about it later.

Jaye is a mormon, which is weird too. Sure she’s a pot-smoking mormon but she still wears the magic underwear and the church still considers her a “trusted source”— whatever that means. But to me it’s weird that this mormon girl would be dating such a dead-beat shit-sucker like Carlos.

Carl is writing a novel about his life. Was, I mean.

“I had to restart,” he recalled from the back seat, “ the typewriter I was using burned down.”

“You mean your laptop crashed,” Krisandra said.

“No, I used a typewriter.” Carl thinks he’s brilliant And he thinks his novel is too. “It’s kind of a semiautobiographical novel about my about my life until I turned 21.”

“You’re 23,” Jaye said.

“Two years are the ‘semiautobiographical’ parts.”

I think Carl has actually killed somebody now that I think about it— maybe twice. Nothing bothers me more than a person who thinks their life is interesting enough to document before the age of 25. Court cases or not, I can guarantee that anybody alive today who is under the age of 25 and is writing their autobiography is just a hack-narcissist.

Anyways, the movie was good and so was the crack. See, Chaz smoked out a fat crack bowl earlier to take my mind off the fact his girlfriend smoked all of our weed again. Lets just— never mind, we’ll talk about it later.

I really need to smoke some weed. Maybe I should hide my weed from now on. There’s a good place under my lamp nobody will look. And behind the blinds. The blinds are a good place.

Blinds.

Day Nineteen.

Today was weird. For the first time in three years I received a phone call from a female before 9am. And it wasn’t a call from my girlfriend or my dead mother whom— by the way— didn’t even even call me for my birthday last year. Fine, mom. See if I call you on Mother’s Day.

It was Krisandra and Jaye who wanted to go to the dollar theatre and see a movie.

“You’re on speaker-phone with Charlie,” I speaker-phoned.

“Charlie, what’s up,” Krisandra said.

“Who is this?” I said.

“It’s Krisandra and Jaye. Did you wanna go to the dollar theatre and see The Lego Movie with us?”

“Really?”

“No.”

And that was my Saturday.