Hi, my name is Velcro.

What to do outside the liquor store

1. Pull your skirt up

2. Pee on a stick

3. Breathe a sign of relief

4. Smoke

Quickly-Forgotten Blogger's Suicide Note Found; Vows to "Go Travis Fucking Bickle On This Town"

Portland, ORE. (The Oregonian) -- Not-quite-even-flash-in-the-pan blogger Comrade X's unexpected suicide two weeks ago left few mourning, and even fewer interested in the details of his demise. However, the strange circumstances surrounding his fateful decision have proven to be excellent fodder for a slow news day, and so when Portland's inimitable Bluebum showed up at The Oregonian's staff writer's offices with what he claimed to be Comrade X's long-uncared-about suicide note, this reporter was, needless to say, interested in this, if you'll pardon the pun, out-of-the-blue way to keep his job. And so, reprinted below, is the unexpurgated suicide note of Comrade X, whom this writer wishes to thank for making his job so much easier than it usually is:

"Comrades of the world, unite! Cease not thy struggles against the demon CAPITALISM, which evil Comrade X has fought the entirety of his devoted yet miserable existence. Miserable, ye say, O My Loyal Followers and Fellow Revolutionaries? Yea, miserable, for lo! Comrade X hath upon him THE DREADED ONUS OF DEPRESSION, the horrible and forbidden KNOWLEDGE OF TOTAL MISSION FAILURE, as he heads into yet another decade of confronting the UTTER POINTLESSNESS of his existence! O, no, fret not, Revolutionaries, for Comrade X despaireth not of the fight, but of the horrid and revolting BALLOONING UP of his very person with the CORPULENCE of capitalism's greatest triumph -- antidepressants! Yea, my bretheren and sisteren, bewareth thou these tiny little devils that doth infest and infect, that doth mitigate the ire and decrease the drive of the Committed Revolutionary! Yea, the very SYSTEM itself doth create this device that, when ingestedeth, doth CREATE in the ingester the DESIRE, the LONGING, the CARNAL KNOWLEDGE of the right royal ass fucking that capitalism doth provide, and LO! IT DOTH MAKE THE TAKER WANTETH EVER MORE! Yea, the Pill With Two Backs slideth and corrupteth, obliterating all fervor, all sense in its path, while PUFFING UP the taker with the LARD OF EXCESS ACCUMULATION, which beeth the very essence of capitalism -- the absorption and retention of FAT and WATER, creating in its wake a very GROTESQUERIE, O My Bretheren and Sisteren!

And let ye not sayeth "I don't wanna live!" as I hath done! For thou wilt find thyself flinging thy corpulent and over-generous form underneath the nearest streetcar, thy ice-cream cone rolling tauntingly out of reach, lapped up by a strange little stout fellow who careth not what he eateth off the street, dying WITHOUT DIGNITY as the streetcar rolleth back and forth over ye, unable to go forward or backward, while you refuse to be pulled through the escape plate in the streetcar itself.

BEWARE!

Oh, and in case this gets published: TELL THEM ALL I'M GOING TO RETURN AND GO TRAVIS FUCKING BICKLE ON THIS TOWN!"

This inarticulate message, written in an incomprehensible style, seems to sum up Comrade X's final thoughts on both his ideology and his life, neither of which ever held much interest for blog readers. This writer is amazed that he has written even this much on this fluff piece, but times are tough, as they say. Thank you for reading! I'm sure there's a lesson in Comrade X's note for all of us. Well, for some of us. Maybe.