Early Grave

Early Grave

The best way I can explain it would be to say that I’m shooting for an early grave…

Die hard suicide king…

Terrible puns… sorry.

Anyways…

For as long as I can remember, I never had plans to make it past my 18th birthday. Sure, I had job aspirations and shit like that, but they were more survey answers than actual goals.

Check the box next to Law Enforcement.

A major in Criminal Justice, minor in psychology.

Just answers to avoid the awkward silence sure to follow the question, “What are you doing after high-school?”

Fuck, I’d say… I don’t plan on living that long.

If the good die young, somebody out there would see the messiah in the boy hanging from the banister.

No joke, the last time I answered that way I spent half the year with my guidance counselor.

She told me to find something that makes me laugh, this wasn’t hard for me. I work at a grocery store that holds more poor minorities than Harlem for Christ sake.

Things that make me laugh…

Milk that expires on my birthday.

Parents that say “stop by the count of three”, then commence to break the space between two and three into millions of tiny units. Hit the damned kid and get it over with.

A little morbid, I’ll admit, but it makes me laugh…

Anyways…

People would always ask me how many kids I wanted, what type of wife I was looking for. So many bullshit space fillers.

I would tell them how I wouldn’t make a good father, mine was hardly ever there. I would have no example to follow.

I’d get lost trying to follow in his footsteps.

As for a husband, my last girlfriend left me for another girl…

She had a really nice ass though… so I can’t really blame her.

But this isn’t a porno, it’s my thought… so don’t worry. No further.

I wouldn’t make a good husband, again for the aforementioned lack of an example.

Eat, drink, leave, drink, scream, drink, eat, drink, sleep, ect.

Divorce… Drink.

You get the picture.

As dad used to say, “Never get married, the worst mistake was marrying your mother.”

Words of a specialist in the field of failed marriages, grunted between sips of high profile vodka.

I think from the time I was born to the time I’ll be put in the ground, all I’ve been doing is postponing the inevitable. The way I see it, by doing this I’m fixing my procrastination.

Hit the cigarette.

Take the bottle.

Go out in a blaze of glory.

The way I see it, I’m going out with no regrets.

After all… I’m just shooting for an early grave.