1Emo Boy
It's not that he hated his life, exactly; it's just that he didn't like it very much.
The One Green Bean is not affiliated with South Park in any way, shape, or form.
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Today is a very special day for Kenny. Today, his cousin, Bob, ha come to visit for the first time. Kenny has to share his canned carrots with him.
Bob is emo. When they bunk down in Kenny's room, he talks on and on about how he wants to kill himself. Kenny is kept awake so long he wishes he could help.
The following day, while Kenny is at school, Bob explores South Park. He wants to smoke, but he's too poor to afford any cigarettes. He scrounges around for enough cigarette butts to make his own smoke.
When Kenny gets home, Bob is busy cutting himself in his bedroom. Kenny is pissed off. Bob is wasting the calories from his canned carrots.Even worse, Kenny's mom makes him share his spam loaf, because Bob doesn't look so well at dinner.
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One afternoon, Bob tries to join up with the Goth kids.
"No," says Tall Goth. "You're not 'punk-slash-Goth-slash-rebel.' You're just some poser who can't scrape up enough money to buy himself a decent Goth costume at Hot Topic, so you whine and cut yourself."
"Yeah, you cry to your mommy about how you lie awake at night," says Red-haired Goth. "Your life is pain. We're on morphine." He exhales a puff of smoke, and coughs.
"Go listen to your Good Charlotte and Linkin Park," sneers Goth Girl mercilessly.
"Conformist," adds the Baby Goth.
Bob turns and trudges away through the swirling snowflakes, back hunched against the cold.
Later, he comes back and collects their cigarette butts.
Bob watches Kenny die for the first time. A car slams into his cousin at forty miles per hour. Kenny is splattered all across the road, with a kidney on each side.
Wow, thinks Bob, I wish I could just die like that, and end the pain. He gingerly steps around the mice attacking Kenny, and onto the freeway.
All the cars stop.
The next morning, Bob goes down to breakfast, and lo and behold, there sits Kenny, jacket clean, and body intact. Bob's black hoodie still has a few bloodstains.
"Why, good morning, Robert," says Kenny's mother upon seeing him. She is busy spooning out a canned green bean for everyone. "We're a little low on food, so I thought everyone should get a light breakfast today."
Kenny growls at Bob when he makes a pass for his green bean. Nobody likes him. Bob makes a mental note to cut himself two extra times this afternoon.
"Mom, Bob's bleeding all over my green bean," says Kenny through his hood.
"We don't have any bandages left. How about you just reuse this one from last week?" She holds up a slightly crumpled looking piece of latex.
Kenny switches his bloodied vegetable with Bob's. Bob doesn't mind. He chews slowly on the slightly coppery tasting plant and reflects on the strange sensation of eating one's self.
I drink my own blood, he thought. That is so deep.
Bob gets a stomachache from breakfast. Somehow, Kenny catches food poisoning from him, and ends up crapping out his large intestine.
"Oh my god, E. coli killed Kenny," remarked Kenny's friend Stan, tossing some popcorn into his mouth.
"You bastards," adds Kenny's other friend Kyle, half-heartedly shaking his fist at the sky. Stan shares some popcorn with him.
They don't seem very concerned about the whole thing, notes Bob. He is reminded again of how pitiful your life can be, all those painful years on this Earth, and then nobody cries at your funeral. Maybe, thinks Bob, I should wait until there's someone worth living for before I kill myself.
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He waited seven years.
It was during sophomore year that a girl had asked him out to the dance. Bob couldn't remember her name, so he didn't mention it in his Live Journal.
Finally, he was ready. He waved goodbye to his aunt and his uncle and his cousin Kenny. He boarded the plane back home, knowing that he would never reach his destination, for there was a shady looking bunch of Middle Eastern guys, with their hands in their pockets, muttering to each other in Middle Eastern.
They're going to blow this plane sky-high! Bob was so excited. When they got the bombs out, should he help, or should he act nonchalant?
The plane touched down in his hometown without incident.
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It took sixty-two years for the little fucker to die.
When he tried eating enough fast food to put him into sudden cardiac arrest, the E.R. staff started his heart back up, and the family that they couldn't get to in time died. Lucky, thought Bob.
When he tried jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge, they stopped him and gave him a fine for blocking traffic. He was that fat from the burgers.
He paid a hit man to kill him, but the hit man refused. Who would pay him after he killed him?
I'll leave you something in my will, promised Bob. The hit man snorted and walked off.
Finally, Bob was tired of death, so he started going out, feeling up the young ladies, and quit smoking. He made sure he cried during Kenny's funeral, and planted flowers in a memorial garden erected in his cousin's memory.
As he was patting the dirt down around some daffodils, he inhaled a wasp, and started choking. The ambulance didn't arrive quickly enough this time. He was buried in a quiet ceremony, with no pomp and less tears.
His name and cause of death was put on an online list of stupid ways to go, and many teenagers hooted at the old guy who swallowed a fly.
How ironic, and yet wonderful, that Bob, who spent almost his entire life a depressed chain smoker with nothing but a death wish, brings so much joy and merriment to the young people of today.
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End