Short Fiction from MZ's Joey Bag-O-Donuts

Forest thought of this idea while he already had a razor blade held to his wrist. If all the suicides in the world had this idea, maybe the world would be a better place. Maybe it would be a place where suicide didn’t even cross one’s mind. 

Instead, Forest saw the world as a giant trash can somehow convinced it was responsible enough to empty itself. He disagreed. The world was not fulfilling its duty to skim the filth off the top. This meant, to Forest, that normal, everyday people would have to intervene, but in order to make such drastic changes one had to sacrifice their own life. Something Forest would never have done if he had not just found his pregnant wife enthusiastically fellating his own nephew in the bathroom of a Chuck E Cheese. 

He wanted to blame some physical person standing there in front of him but he was too smart. People aren’t naturally wired to act like this. Fifteen year old nephews are not supposed to be attracted to older pregnant women, but when their friends start daring them to watch more and more disgusting online porn videos, things change. Pregnant housewives aren’t supposed to be so open to such scandalous behavior, but when they stay home all day watching reality television they begin to feel that their role in society isn’t enough for them. They then opt for the far more exciting bathroom-floor-dick-sucker role. To say that Forest fully understands this transition would not be totally accurate.

The culture we’re stuck with now would never let anybody exterminate one of its revenue-generating components. Those at the top of the whole mind-fuck were making way too much money to care about individual people. Cultural progress had been pushed into the direction of financial gain and nothing worthwhile was coming out of it. This last ditch effort would be for the good people still wallowing in the filth, like billions of unwanted babies in the rusted, overstuffed dumpster that is modern life. Those who lived on afterward would be better off. Perhaps Forest would save at least one other lost soul from ducking out early like he was about to. 

*** *** ***

He was supposed to be a comedian, but he wasn’t really funny. He glorified the absolute worst elements of our culture. His name only got thrown into the hat because one of his commercials appeared on the television as Forest was making the lottery. The black and yellow Bruins hat was filled with nouns. People, places, and things that Forest felt never should have existed in the first place. If he was going to off himself anyway, he might just as well hook everybody else up with a minor victory. If he could just scrub off one ugly piece of graffiti from our walls then he would feel a lot better in his last moments. The catch-22 was that he might see the light at that very moment. Something about fixing society a little might be just the thing he needed to pull him out of this slump. By then he would be waist deep in shit. Once the process was started he couldn’t back out. Even if he didn’t follow through with the second act of his murder-suicide plot, he would be a fugitive. He would never be able to relax again, but Forest would just have to roll the dice on this one.

He bought the ticket. The gun was already loaded, lying under a pile of towels in his closet. Once you didn’t care about making it back alive, putting these types of projects together was easy. He giggled to himself when he realized this would be the last time he’d ever have to parallel park in a crowded Boston street. Then he set the alarm just for the hell of it, walked into the club, and sat in the very front row.

His name was Larry the Cable Guy and even he saw it coming. 

Forest got ‘er done...