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October 22, 2009
Dear "World";

Pursuant to an online suicide petition I electronically signed prior to this election, I must kill myself. Unfortunately, my views lost at the ballot box. With a clearer mind, I see my beliefs weren't exactly worth dying for, or even moving to Canada over. Actually, the goals and ideals I have for a society can still be achieved even though the election didn't go exactly how I wanted it to.

Nevertheless, I did affix my e-signature to that e-suicide petition and made my life conditional on the outcome of this election. Maybe a death ultimatum wasn't the best way to convince the electorate that my choices were the most environmentally sound, economically prudent and altruistically just. Or just maybe those cocksucker voters wanted to see if I really would do it.

Obviously, in hindsight, a status quo TV ad calling someone a communist heroin addict who drives pre-teens across state lines to get abortions would have swayed more votes. In any case, I knew what I was doing when I briefly scrolled the Terms and Conditions box, checked 'Accept', clicked on 'Submit' and digitally added 'Danny Cocksucker' to that database. I had visions of grandeur.

I still remember the picture in my high school history book of that Vietnamese monk setting himself on fire and thinking 'How fucking cool is that?' But I guess protesting the illegal invasion of your country, protecting a thousand year old culture and trying to prevent the slaughter of your fellow citizens is probably a more noble cause to die for than anything that will ever find its way onto a ballot.

If only I had realized that prior to Tuesday,

Danny Cocksucker

P.S. Please mail my cable bill. It's on the credenza.

I never did learn what a Credenza is

October 22, 2009
Listen Up Dumbfucks:

Most people kill themselves because of a mental condition. This is true in my case too. The condition I suffer from is that I am not normal, I am not like everyone of you "sane" people.

I am not normal in the sense that I am not like every other one of you brain-dead zombies. I can think. I can reason intelligently. I can observe and learn from life. I can make my own decisions and follow through on them. And I can do these without any aid from celebrities, T.V., radio or MySpace. Unfortunately, every one of you shit-brained lemmings seem to lack these skills and I can't fucking take it any more.

Since everyone else in this world is a fucking retarded drone who revels in their ignorance and unintelligence, I must put an end to my misery. I truly wish I was normal. I wish I could be a fucking retarded sponge like all of you. I wish I could have the same conversations day in and day out about sports, politics and "how about that weather huh?". But I can't.

Sure you'll see this note and say Joe's the crazy one. You have to it's the only way you can go on thinking you're sane and your pathetic life is meaningful. Go ahead, call me the weirdo like everyone else surely will. Then, return to your happiness of everyday mindless monotony.

My only wish is that the bullet I put into my brain doesn't kill me but only leaves me brain dead. For if ignorance is bliss and everyone of you fuck-for-brains is truly happy, then living a life without a brain stem in a coma, devoid of any cognitive ability must surely be utopia.

Leave My Machine Plugged In You Fucking Retards,

Joe

P.S. I superglued all my orifices shut so you coroner pricks can't steal my fillings or sex up my corpse

Holy shit this note is perfect for my situation and is exactly how I feel.

brb gonna get my 9mm

October 22, 2009

Listen Up Dumbfucks:

Most people kill themselves because of a mental condition. This is true in my case too. The condition I suffer from is that I am not normal, I am not like everyone of you "sane" people.

I am not normal in the sense that I am not like every other one of you brain-dead zombies. I can think. I can reason intelligently. I can observe and learn from life. I can make my own decisions and follow through on them. And I can do these without any aid from celebrities, T.V., radio or MySpace. Unfortunately, every one of you shit-brained lemmings seem to lack these skills and I can't fucking take it any more.

Since everyone else in this world is a fucking retarded drone who revels in their ignorance and unintelligence, I must put an end to my misery. I truly wish I was normal. I wish I could be a fucking retarded sponge like all of you. I wish I could have the same conversations day in and day out about sports, politics and "how about that weather huh?". But I can't.

Sure you'll see this note and say Danny's the crazy one. You have to it's the only way you can go on thinking you're sane and your pathetic life is meaningful. Go ahead, call me the weirdo like everyone else surely will. Then, return to your happiness of everyday mindless monotony.

My only wish is that the bullet I put into my brain doesn't kill me but only leaves me brain dead. For if ignorance is bliss and everyone of you fuck-for-brains is truly happy, then living a life without a brain stem in a coma, devoid of any cognitive ability must surely be utopia.

Leave My Machine Plugged In You Fucking Retards,

Danny

P.S. Tell everyone I'm not psychotic.

Fuck yeah.

Dear World,

I am not some psychotic fuck or pathetic loser trying to end my miserable, piece of shit existence. Nor am I one of these pussies using suicide as a cry for help. I am not protesting anything, not mad at the world, not drunk and playing with my gun, and I am not any of the other stupid reasons people kill themselves. I have a good reason.

I just snorted not 1, but 2 lines of coke off of not 2, but 3 hookers' chests. Then we all 4 made sweet beautiful love. The kind of sweet beautiful love they sing rap songs about and outlaw in southern states. Then we washed, rinsed and repeated until we were all dehydrated. Life is good.

So, tonight I kill myself as king of the world. Literally, things cannot get better. I have reached the pinnacle of life, and not just my life, but the zenith of existence itself. Bliss, Nirvana, Utopia. I am at the top of the mountain pissing down on the rest of you. Unfortunately, the days ahead of me will never be as good as tonight. So I have nothing to look forward to.

It is truly the best night that could and will ever be, which is why my life must end tonight. Life can now only get worse. Nothing is left for me here in this world. I already won. Every seemingly joyous moment from here forward would be compared to tonight and fall miserably short. So, I'm going out on top, high as hell, feeling good, and my seed spread in and among three beautiful women.

It was good to be me.

Michael

P.S. Tell everyone I'm not psychotic.

You get a different note if you leave your name box blank, which I get everytime I put my name in.

October 22, 2009

Dear World,

I am not some psychotic fuck or pathetic loser trying to end my miserable, piece of shit existence. Nor am I one of these pussies using suicide as a cry for help. I am not protesting anything, not mad at the world, not drunk and playing with my gun, and I am not any of the other stupid reasons people kill themselves. I have a good reason.

I just snorted not 1, but 2 lines of coke off of not 2, but 3 hookers' chests. Then we all 4 made sweet beautiful love. The kind of sweet beautiful love they sing rap songs about and outlaw in southern states. Then we washed, rinsed and repeated until we were all dehydrated. Life is good.

So, tonight I kill myself as king of the world. Literally, things cannot get better. I have reached the pinnacle of life, and not just my life, but the zenith of existence itself. Bliss, Nirvana, Utopia. I am at the top of the mountain pissing down on the rest of you. Unfortunately, the days ahead of me will never be as good as tonight. So I have nothing to look forward to.

It is truly the best night that could and will ever be, which is why my life must end tonight. Life can now only get worse. Nothing is left for me here in this world. I already won. Every seemingly joyous moment from here forward would be compared to tonight and fall miserably short. So, I'm going out on top, high as hell, feeling good, and my seed spread in and among three beautiful women.

It was good to be me.

Jayson Pullen

P.S. Please mail my cable bill. It's on the credenza.

I lived a good life...

October 22, 2009

Dear Friends I Don't Have,

Everyone who knows me knows that I, an anonymous pussy, am a waste. You see, I am the type of pukefuck who thinks I am kickass cool because I fill out online suicide note generators. What a stud I am.

Of course the part I don't like to admit to anyone, nor myself, is that I am such a fucking neurotic nancyboy that I don't actually put in my real name. Oh heck no. If I did that then when mother googles my name she might find out and then I would have heck to pay.

Technically we only got this computer and the internet so I could do my homeschool homework, download macrame designs for mother and print off postings from the Yorki Terrier forum to read on Friday nights. Jeesh, if I put my real name in there she might be able to track down my blog and read about the time I accidentally swallowed some Scope then drove her minivan to Taco Bell and peeled out right there in the drive thru when they got my order wrong. The devil's mouthwash or any other liquor could get me sent to military school and I wasn't even suppose to be at Taco Bell, I was to come straight home after getting reeds for my clarinet.

I don't want to think about what kind of poop storm I would be in if she found out that I filled out a suicide note that included the words 'Jeesh', 'heck' and 'poop storm' in it. So, in conclusions, while I most likely am just a pussy crying for attention who will live with my parents until I am 43: I would like to, and probably should kill myself, but most defintely won't.

Please don't tell mother I even looked at this.

An Anonymous Pussy

P.S. Hi, I am Jason Curless (yeah thats my full real name you nutless, infected cuntsack) and I wrote this suicide note thingy. As long as you leave the 'Name' field blank, you will continue to get this anonymous suicide note no matter which one you actually select. So quit being such a fucking crackerass crybaby pussy and put your name in it.

Fail. lol

Oh lulz.

October 22, 2009
Listen Up Dumbfucks:

Most people kill themselves because of a mental condition. This is true in my case too. The condition I suffer from is that I am not normal, I am not like everyone of you "sane" people.

I am not normal in the sense that I am not like every other one of you brain-dead zombies. I can think. I can reason intelligently. I can observe and learn from life. I can make my own decisions and follow through on them. And I can do these without any aid from celebrities, T.V., radio or MySpace. Unfortunately, every one of you shit-brained lemmings seem to lack these skills and I can't fucking take it any more.

Since everyone else in this world is a fucking retarded drone who revels in their ignorance and unintelligence, I must put an end to my misery. I truly wish I was normal. I wish I could be a fucking retarded sponge like all of you. I wish I could have the same conversations day in and day out about sports, politics and "how about that weather huh?". But I can't.

Sure you'll see this note and say Tobi's the crazy one. You have to it's the only way you can go on thinking you're sane and your pathetic life is meaningful. Go ahead, call me the weirdo like everyone else surely will. Then, return to your happiness of everyday mindless monotony.

My only wish is that the bullet I put into my brain doesn't kill me but only leaves me brain dead. For if ignorance is bliss and everyone of you fuck-for-brains is truly happy, then living a life without a brain stem in a coma, devoid of any cognitive ability must surely be utopia.

Leave My Machine Plugged In You Fucking Retards,

Tobi

P.S. Please don't look in the closet.

October 22, 2009

Dear "World";

Pursuant to an online suicide petition I electronically signed prior to this election, I must kill myself. Unfortunately, my views lost at the ballot box. With a clearer mind, I see my beliefs weren't exactly worth dying for, or even moving to Canada over. Actually, the goals and ideals I have for a society can still be achieved even though the election didn't go exactly how I wanted it to.

Nevertheless, I did affix my e-signature to that e-suicide petition and made my life conditional on the outcome of this election. Maybe a death ultimatum wasn't the best way to convince the electorate that my choices were the most environmentally sound, economically prudent and altruistically just. Or just maybe those cocksucker voters wanted to see if I really would do it.

Obviously, in hindsight, a status quo TV ad calling someone a communist heroin addict who drives pre-teens across state lines to get abortions would have swayed more votes. In any case, I knew what I was doing when I briefly scrolled the Terms and Conditions box, checked 'Accept', clicked on 'Submit' and digitally added 'Seth Ludwig' to that database. I had visions of grandeur.

I still remember the picture in my high school history book of that Vietnamese monk setting himself on fire and thinking 'How fucking cool is that?' But I guess protesting the illegal invasion of your country, protecting a thousand year old culture and trying to prevent the slaughter of your fellow citizens is probably a more noble cause to die for than anything that will ever find its way onto a ballot.

If only I had realized that prior to Tuesday,

Seth Ludwig

P.S. Don't do an autopsy, this is definetly a suicide.

I don't see what that has to do with McDonalds, but haha. Tasteless but cool gadget.

This shit is old as hell, I mean, I knew this shit back out in 2004. Damn.

Dear Fellow Followers Of God:

There comes a time in every person's life when god calls upon them to ritualistically remove their own liver. For me, that time is at hand. And I, Adolf Hitler, am not a blasphemer. Nor am I disillusioned about the consequences of fulfilling god's edict.

I know that at best I will be left bileless, most likely dead. So, let this be my last testament. Let it be known that while my body lies here in Applebee's bathroom full of riblettes and those little cheese thingies, but empty of a liver; the rest of me is in a better place and surrounded by the spirit of the lord.

Rejoice!! Do not mourn nor question.

KTTL (kudos to the lord),

Hitler

P.S. I hope all that jesus and god and heaven bullshit is real.

Dear World,

I am not some psychotic fuck or pathetic loser trying to end my miserable, piece of shit existence. Nor am I one of these pussies using suicide as a cry for help. I am not protesting anything, not mad at the world, not drunk and playing with my gun, and I am not any of the other stupid reasons people kill themselves. I have a good reason.

I just snorted not 1, but 2 lines of coke off of not 2, but 3 hookers' chests. Then we all 4 made sweet beautiful love. The kind of sweet beautiful love they sing rap songs about and outlaw in southern states. Then we washed, rinsed and repeated until we were all dehydrated. Life is good.

So, tonight I kill myself as king of the world. Literally, things cannot get better. I have reached the pinnacle of life, and not just my life, but the zenith of existence itself. Bliss, Nirvana, Utopia. I am at the top of the mountain pissing down on the rest of you. Unfortunately, the days ahead of me will never be as good as tonight. So I have nothing to look forward to.

It is truly the best night that could and will ever be, which is why my life must end tonight. Life can now only get worse. Nothing is left for me here in this world. I already won. Every seemingly joyous moment from here forward would be compared to tonight and fall miserably short. So, I'm going out on top, high as hell, feeling good, and my seed spread in and among three beautiful women.

It was good to be me.

Alyx

P.S. Just to be sure, could you check my pulse again?

This has to be the greatest, dumbest thing I've ever been told to do. AND DAMN IT, IT'S HILARIOUS.
October 22, 2009

Dear Fellow Pawns;

Since November 1st, 1993 I have lived a lie that I can no longer go on with. I have started each of the last 5834 days by convincing myself that McDonald's would bring back the Double ZestaBurger--if only for a limited time and at only select locations. It was the only way I could get myself out of bed and through the day.

Alas, I can no longer lie to myself about my future. I now accept that it is bleak. I do not control my destiny, nor my happiness. Like all of you, I am just a pawn in McDonald's global marketing plan. The same company that has returned the McRib 579 limited times in the last 15 years has never given my well-being a second thought.

Well, congratulations, you win. McDonald's 1, Tim 0. You have killed my will, spirit and soul; now my body will follow.

Luckily, I will be going to a better place. A place where my happiness won't be controlled by a multi-national conglomeration of fry cooks in cheap suits. While my body will be buried in the same ground where Ray Kroc's is surely spinning; my soul will be with his in heaven. Not here in purgatory controlled by the whims of MBA's from Hamburger U.

Together Ray and I will forever feast on that delicious ambrosia, the Double Zesta Burger.

Sincerely,

Tim

P.S. Please mail my cable bill. It's on the credenza.

Well this might come in handy once Halloween rolls around.

MUAHAHAHAHA

October 22, 2009

Dear World;

I wish everyone could know the pain I live with every day of my miserable life. Alas no, statistics tell me that only 1 in every 30,000 adult males has a penis less than 4 inches long and 2 inches around. Only they, my wee wienied brethren can even begin to understand the hurt I feel when I step up to a urinal and the stream of urine is only slightly smaller than the 3.28 inch long, 1.67 inch wide wanker from which it trickles.

I have tried pumps, creams, exercises, pulling, begging, pleading and god forbid; even praying. Nothing works, not even marginally on my miniscule member. So, everyday I try to lie to the world about possessing a petite pecker by peeling out in my Corvette, strutting around in expensive suits, talking about my mansion, dating strippers to show the world my virility and constantly crowing about my colossal cock.

But my Armani suits are just expensive costumes to hide my teeny-tiny tallywacker. My gigantic house is where I sit alone with my dwarf johnson. And the truth is the only thing I can stretch when it comes to my freakishly feeble frankfurter. Day in and day out I used to ask myself, "Charles, what would jesus do with a small penis?"

After hours of reading the bible, searching my soul and peering at my puny prick, I know now that there is no savior, at least not for my snack sized sex stub.

Charles

P.S. Please mail my cable bill. It's on the credenza.

October 22, 2009
Dear Fellow Pawns;

Since November 1st, 1993 I have lived a lie that I can no longer go on with. I have started each of the last 5834 days by convincing myself that McDonald's would bring back the Double ZestaBurger--if only for a limited time and at only select locations. It was the only way I could get myself out of bed and through the day.

Alas, I can no longer lie to myself about my future. I now accept that it is bleak. I do not control my destiny, nor my happiness. Like all of you, I am just a pawn in McDonald's global marketing plan. The same company that has returned the McRib 579 limited times in the last 15 years has never given my well-being a second thought.

Well, congratulations, you win. McDonald's 1, Jim Henson 0. You have killed my will, spirit and soul; now my body will follow.

Luckily, I will be going to a better place. A place where my happiness won't be controlled by a multi-national conglomeration of fry cooks in cheap suits. While my body will be buried in the same ground where Ray Kroc's is surely spinning; my soul will be with his in heaven. Not here in purgatory controlled by the whims of MBA's from Hamburger U.

Together Ray and I will forever feast on that delicious ambrosia, the Double Zesta Burger.

Sincerely,

Jim Henson

P.S. Tell everyone I'm not psychotic.

October 22, 2009

Listen Up Dumbfucks:

Most people kill themselves because of a mental condition. This is true in my case too. The condition I suffer from is that I am not normal, I am not like everyone of you "sane" people.

I am not normal in the sense that I am not like every other one of you brain-dead zombies. I can think. I can reason intelligently. I can observe and learn from life. I can make my own decisions and follow through on them. And I can do these without any aid from celebrities, T.V., radio or MySpace. Unfortunately, every one of you shit-brained lemmings seem to lack these skills and I can't fucking take it any more.

Since everyone else in this world is a fucking retarded drone who revels in their ignorance and unintelligence, I must put an end to my misery. I truly wish I was normal. I wish I could be a fucking retarded sponge like all of you. I wish I could have the same conversations day in and day out about sports, politics and "how about that weather huh?". But I can't.

Sure you'll see this note and say Skwurll's the crazy one. You have to it's the only way you can go on thinking you're sane and your pathetic life is meaningful. Go ahead, call me the weirdo like everyone else surely will. Then, return to your happiness of everyday mindless monotony.

My only wish is that the bullet I put into my brain doesn't kill me but only leaves me brain dead. For if ignorance is bliss and everyone of you fuck-for-brains is truly happy, then living a life without a brain stem in a coma, devoid of any cognitive ability must surely be utopia.

Leave My Machine Plugged In You Fucking Retards,

Skwurll

P.S. All those gay pornos aren't mine.
P.P.S. And I was superimposed.

October 22, 2009
Listen Up Dumbfucks:

Most people kill themselves because of a mental condition. This is true in my case too. The condition I suffer from is that I am not normal, I am not like everyone of you "sane" people.

I am not normal in the sense that I am not like every other one of you brain-dead zombies. I can think. I can reason intelligently. I can observe and learn from life. I can make my own decisions and follow through on them. And I can do these without any aid from celebrities, T.V., radio or MySpace. Unfortunately, every one of you shit-brained lemmings seem to lack these skills and I can't fucking take it any more.

Since everyone else in this world is a fucking retarded drone who revels in their ignorance and unintelligence, I must put an end to my misery. I truly wish I was normal. I wish I could be a fucking retarded sponge like all of you. I wish I could have the same conversations day in and day out about sports, politics and "how about that weather huh?". But I can't.

Sure you'll see this note and say Leroy's the crazy one. You have to it's the only way you can go on thinking you're sane and your pathetic life is meaningful. Go ahead, call me the weirdo like everyone else surely will. Then, return to your happiness of everyday mindless monotony.

My only wish is that the bullet I put into my brain doesn't kill me but only leaves me brain dead. For if ignorance is bliss and everyone of you fuck-for-brains is truly happy, then living a life without a brain stem in a coma, devoid of any cognitive ability must surely be utopia.

Leave My Machine Plugged In You Fucking Retards,

Leroy

P.S. If you get a collect call from a cow in India in the next couple of years, accept the charges.

fucking epic. thats how i'd go.

Dear Fellow Followers Of God:

There comes a time in every person's life when god calls upon them to ritualistically remove their own liver. For me, that time is at hand. And I, Ian , am not a blasphemer. Nor am I disillusioned about the consequences of fulfilling god's edict.

I know that at best I will be left bileless, most likely dead. So, let this be my last testament. Let it be known that while my body lies here in Applebee's bathroom full of riblettes and those little cheese thingies, but empty of a liver; the rest of me is in a better place and surrounded by the spirit of the lord.

Rejoice!! Do not mourn nor question.

KTTL (kudos to the lord),

Ian

P.S. If you get a collect call from a cow in India in the next couple of years, accept the charges.

October 22, 2009
Dear Fellow Pawns;

Since November 1st, 1993 I have lived a lie that I can no longer go on with. I have started each of the last 5834 days by convincing myself that McDonald's would bring back the Double ZestaBurger--if only for a limited time and at only select locations. It was the only way I could get myself out of bed and through the day.

Alas, I can no longer lie to myself about my future. I now accept that it is bleak. I do not control my destiny, nor my happiness. Like all of you, I am just a pawn in McDonald's global marketing plan. The same company that has returned the McRib 579 limited times in the last 15 years has never given my well-being a second thought.

Well, congratulations, you win. McDonald's 1, Reviewer2 0. You have killed my will, spirit and soul; now my body will follow.

Luckily, I will be going to a better place. A place where my happiness won't be controlled by a multi-national conglomeration of fry cooks in cheap suits. While my body will be buried in the same ground where Ray Kroc's is surely spinning; my soul will be with his in heaven. Not here in purgatory controlled by the whims of MBA's from Hamburger U.

Together Ray and I will forever feast on that delicious ambrosia, the Double Zesta Burger.

Sincerely,

Reviewer2

P.S. Don't do an autopsy, this is definetly a suicide.

Ahahahahahahahahahaha.

first off OP thank you kind sir

if i an hero im so using this letter right here

October 22, 2009

Listen Up Dumbfucks:

Most people kill themselves because of a mental condition. This is true in my case too. The condition I suffer from is that I am not normal, I am not like everyone of you "sane" people.

I am not normal in the sense that I am not like every other one of you brain-dead zombies. I can think. I can reason intelligently. I can observe and learn from life. I can make my own decisions and follow through on them. And I can do these without any aid from celebrities, T.V., radio or MySpace. Unfortunately, every one of you shit-brained lemmings seem to lack these skills and I can't fucking take it any more.

Since everyone else in this world is a fucking retarded drone who revels in their ignorance and unintelligence, I must put an end to my misery. I truly wish I was normal. I wish I could be a fucking retarded sponge like all of you. I wish I could have the same conversations day in and day out about sports, politics and "how about that weather huh?". But I can't.

Sure you'll see this note and say Ian's the crazy one. You have to it's the only way you can go on thinking you're sane and your pathetic life is meaningful. Go ahead, call me the weirdo like everyone else surely will. Then, return to your happiness of everyday mindless monotony.

My only wish is that the bullet I put into my brain doesn't kill me but only leaves me brain dead. For if ignorance is bliss and everyone of you fuck-for-brains is truly happy, then living a life without a brain stem in a coma, devoid of any cognitive ability must surely be utopia.

Leave My Machine Plugged In You Fucking Retards,

Ian

P.S. If I get undead please don't shoot me in the head. I won't harm you. I planned ahead and have like 20 homeless guys' brains in my freezer.

October 22, 2009
Dear World,

I am not some psychotic fuck or pathetic loser trying to end my miserable, piece of shit existence. Nor am I one of these pussies using suicide as a cry for help. I am not protesting anything, not mad at the world, not drunk and playing with my gun, and I am not any of the other stupid reasons people kill themselves. I have a good reason.

I just snorted not 1, but 2 lines of coke off of not 2, but 3 hookers' chests. Then we all 4 made sweet beautiful love. The kind of sweet beautiful love they sing rap songs about and outlaw in southern states. Then we washed, rinsed and repeated until we were all dehydrated. Life is good.

So, tonight I kill myself as king of the world. Literally, things cannot get better. I have reached the pinnacle of life, and not just my life, but the zenith of existence itself. Bliss, Nirvana, Utopia. I am at the top of the mountain pissing down on the rest of you. Unfortunately, the days ahead of me will never be as good as tonight. So I have nothing to look forward to.

It is truly the best night that could and will ever be, which is why my life must end tonight. Life can now only get worse. Nothing is left for me here in this world. I already won. Every seemingly joyous moment from here forward would be compared to tonight and fall miserably short. So, I'm going out on top, high as hell, feeling good, and my seed spread in and among three beautiful women.

It was good to be me.

Reviewer2

P.S. Tell everyone I'm not psychotic.

Listen Up Dumbfucks:

Most people kill themselves because of a mental condition. This is true in my case too. The condition I suffer from is that I am not normal, I am not like everyone of you "sane" people.

I am not normal in the sense that I am not like every other one of you brain-dead zombies. I can think. I can reason intelligently. I can observe and learn from life. I can make my own decisions and follow through on them. And I can do these without any aid from celebrities, T.V., radio or MySpace. Unfortunately, every one of you shit-brained lemmings seem to lack these skills and I can't fucking take it any more.

Since everyone else in this world is a fucking retarded drone who revels in their ignorance and unintelligence, I must put an end to my misery. I truly wish I was normal. I wish I could be a fucking retarded sponge like all of you. I wish I could have the same conversations day in and day out about sports, politics and "how about that weather huh?". But I can't.

Sure you'll see this note and say mariomusicmaker1's the crazy one. You have to it's the only way you can go on thinking you're sane and your pathetic life is meaningful. Go ahead, call me the weirdo like everyone else surely will. Then, return to your happiness of everyday mindless monotony.

My only wish is that the bullet I put into my brain doesn't kill me but only leaves me brain dead. For if ignorance is bliss and everyone of you fuck-for-brains is truly happy, then living a life without a brain stem in a coma, devoid of any cognitive ability must surely be utopia.

Leave My Machine Plugged In You Fucking Retards,

mariomusicmaker1

P.S. Reassure my children that my suicide wasn't entirely their fault.

hm I like it!

Ahahahahaha. I just found another hilarious thing.

pickup lines.

"Ever been fucked in the ass by a redhead with a 10 inch cock? I have. Hurts like a bitch. How about we go back to my place and I show you the tear marks in my asshole?"
"Baby youso fine you make me want to turn on some Q Lazzarus, tuck my dick and nuts into my asscrack and dance around with a dress made of your skin on.
Damn yous fine."
"My grandpa taught me to court a woman properly. I always buy her candy, roses or scratch off lottery tickets before I assfuck her and wipe my dick in her hair. He made me a gentleman."
"One night with me and you will remember it for the rest of your life.
The herpes, anal fissures and stalking will make sure of that."

Dear Ungrateful World;

Although everyone on Earth has failed to give me even half the accolades and adulation that should go with me, Brelm, being the 3rd coming of christ, I will still fulfill my destiny. You're welcome.

For you insolent pukes, I will shed my blood to once again open the gates of heaven. Because of me, you heathen beasts won't have to endure any locust, floods, toads or ATF non-incendiary devices. Ingrate pricks.

So, start erecting statues, knocking out opponents, singing songs, scoring touchdowns, hitting home runs, hiding colored eggs every year around the 23rd of October, and doing other shit for my glory because you fuckers owe me big.

Jesus Christ III
a.k.a. Brelm

P.S. If you get a collect call from a cow in India in the next couple of years, accept the charges.

thats one sad note :(
lol now i dont have to bother writing my own xD

October 23, 2009

Dear Fellow Pawns;

Since November 1st, 1993 I have lived a lie that I can no longer go on with. I have started each of the last 5834 days by convincing myself that McDonald's would bring back the Double ZestaBurger--if only for a limited time and at only select locations. It was the only way I could get myself out of bed and through the day.

Alas, I can no longer lie to myself about my future. I now accept that it is bleak. I do not control my destiny, nor my happiness. Like all of you, I am just a pawn in McDonald's global marketing plan. The same company that has returned the McRib 579 limited times in the last 15 years has never given my well-being a second thought.

Well, congratulations, you win. McDonald's 1, Jack McGowan 0. You have killed my will, spirit and soul; now my body will follow.

Luckily, I will be going to a better place. A place where my happiness won't be controlled by a multi-national conglomeration of fry cooks in cheap suits. While my body will be buried in the same ground where Ray Kroc's is surely spinning; my soul will be with his in heaven. Not here in purgatory controlled by the whims of MBA's from Hamburger U.

Together Ray and I will forever feast on that delicious ambrosia, the Double Zesta Burger.

Sincerely,

Jack McGowan

P.S. I superglued all my orifices shut so you coroner pricks can't steal my fillings or sex up my corpse.

October 23, 2009

Listen Up Dumbfucks:

Most people kill themselves because of a mental condition. This is true in my case too. The condition I suffer from is that I am not normal, I am not like everyone of you "sane" people.

I am not normal in the sense that I am not like every other one of you brain-dead zombies. I can think. I can reason intelligently. I can observe and learn from life. I can make my own decisions and follow through on them. And I can do these without any aid from celebrities, T.V., radio or MySpace. Unfortunately, every one of you shit-brained lemmings seem to lack these skills and I can't fucking take it any more.

Since everyone else in this world is a fucking retarded drone who revels in their ignorance and unintelligence, I must put an end to my misery. I truly wish I was normal. I wish I could be a fucking retarded sponge like all of you. I wish I could have the same conversations day in and day out about sports, politics and "how about that weather huh?". But I can't.

Sure you'll see this note and say Luke Cobain's the crazy one. You have to it's the only way you can go on thinking you're sane and your pathetic life is meaningful. Go ahead, call me the weirdo like everyone else surely will. Then, return to your happiness of everyday mindless monotony.

My only wish is that the bullet I put into my brain doesn't kill me but only leaves me brain dead. For if ignorance is bliss and everyone of you fuck-for-brains is truly happy, then living a life without a brain stem in a coma, devoid of any cognitive ability must surely be utopia.

Leave My Machine Plugged In You Fucking Retards,

Luke Cobain

P.S. Please don't look in the closet.

This actually sounds like the way I would write it too.

October 30, 2009

Dear World,

I am not some psychotic fuck or pathetic loser trying to end my miserable, piece of shit existence. Nor am I one of these pussies using suicide as a cry for help. I am not protesting anything, not mad at the world, not drunk and playing with my gun, and I am not any of the other stupid reasons people kill themselves. I have a good reason.

I just snorted not 1, but 2 lines of coke off of not 2, but 3 hookers' chests. Then we all 4 made sweet beautiful love. The kind of sweet beautiful love they sing rap songs about and outlaw in southern states. Then we washed, rinsed and repeated until we were all dehydrated. Life is good.

So, tonight I kill myself as king of the world. Literally, things cannot get better. I have reached the pinnacle of life, and not just my life, but the zenith of existence itself. Bliss, Nirvana, Utopia. I am at the top of the mountain pissing down on the rest of you. Unfortunately, the days ahead of me will never be as good as tonight. So I have nothing to look forward to.

It is truly the best night that could and will ever be, which is why my life must end tonight. Life can now only get worse. Nothing is left for me here in this world. I already won. Every seemingly joyous moment from here forward would be compared to tonight and fall miserably short. So, I'm going out on top, high as hell, feeling good, and my seed spread in and among three beautiful women.

It was good to be me.

Zach

P.S. I superglued all my orifices shut so you coroner pricks can't steal my fillings or sex up my

lmao, heres mine, aparently

October 30, 2009

Dear Ungrateful World;

Although everyone on Earth has failed to give me even half the accolades and adulation that should go with me, Leidolfr, being the 3rd coming of christ, I will still fulfill my destiny. You're welcome.

For you insolent pukes, I will shed my blood to once again open the gates of heaven. Because of me, you heathen beasts won't have to endure any locust, floods, toads or ATF non-incendiary devices. Ingrate pricks.

So, start erecting statues, knocking out opponents, singing songs, scoring touchdowns, hitting home runs, hiding colored eggs every year around the 30th of October, and doing other shit for my glory because you fuckers owe me big.

Jesus Christ III
a.k.a. Leidolfr

P.S. If I get undead please don't shoot me in the head. I won't harm you. I planned ahead and have like 20 homeless guys' brains in my freezer.

October 30, 2009

Dear Fellow Pawns;

Since November 1st, 1993 I have lived a lie that I can no longer go on with. I have started each of the last 5842 days by convincing myself that McDonald's would bring back the Double ZestaBurger--if only for a limited time and at only select locations. It was the only way I could get myself out of bed and through the day.

Alas, I can no longer lie to myself about my future. I now accept that it is bleak. I do not control my destiny, nor my happiness. Like all of you, I am just a pawn in McDonald's global marketing plan. The same company that has returned the McRib 580 limited times in the last 16 years has never given my well-being a second thought.

Well, congratulations, you win. McDonald's 1, Phatphuck 0. You have killed my will, spirit and soul; now my body will follow.

Luckily, I will be going to a better place. A place where my happiness won't be controlled by a multi-national conglomeration of fry cooks in cheap suits. While my body will be buried in the same ground where Ray Kroc's is surely spinning; my soul will be with his in heaven. Not here in purgatory controlled by the whims of MBA's from Hamburger U.

Together Ray and I will forever feast on that delicious ambrosia, the Double Zesta Burger.

Sincerely,

Phatphuck

P.S. Please mail my cable bill. It's on the credenza.

LOL, the name makes me laugh... double zesta burger...?