TW: violence, rape, addiction.
On the gravestone that'll mark my earthly remains, ya might reckon to find the engravin', "hanky-panky, cocaine 'n AI." Yeah, right. I don't recollect a single moment in my life when I reckoned it'd be a darn tootin' swell notion to have my noggin implanted with a gosh-darn digital cosmos. They done went and sold me a bill of goods, I tell ya. They done went and sold me all that good stuff! Them folks sure did get at me, you betcha! It's a grim tally, no denyin' it—but they sure as shootin' don't want y'all puttin' that in yer own eulogy. Well, dag nabbit, Georgia! And to hell with them prosecutors! If I reckon it's a death toll, then I'm callin' that dang State's Program a death toll! And once I'm done writin' this memoriam here they got me scribblin' for the sake of it, I'll hop on that train pronto to sign up the paperwork with Psytopia, or should I say Excovium, and join the ranks of a hundred thousand folks my age. This current life o' mine will be comin' to an end then. I'll be dead to the ole' world and bequeath everythin' I own to GEL Holdings Inc., grantin' 'em complete ownership of my patrimony, like a transfer o' sorts. They can just take whatever, all my earthly possessions. Let 'em have it all, go on, darlin'. It don't matter to me. I'll be dead. Nothin' here ties me down no more. Might as well embrace a world without shame or restraint, with no consequences holdin' me back. Stuff never really brought me any joy, anyway. Yeah, righty, that's what I need to convince myself.
Wit' that bein' said, lemme just tell ya 'bout the very day of my doom, partner. I woke up and took off to work on a mornin', just like every other mornin', without doubtin' a tootin' thang. It was 'bout 7 a.m. in my bloc's elevator. Well, I tell ya, there was one dang neuron still kickin' in my noggin, runnin' on a line of cocaine like a rat on a electric wire, and my hands were grippin' onto that elevator's ramp for dear life 'cause I was all jittery and dyin' on the inside. We had ourselves Phil Collins' "Another day in paradise" blarin' through them intercoms like there was no tomorrow, reckon it was playin' a tad too loud. With them neons buzzin' right in my face, my retinas felt like they were gettin' stripped just like the paint on my ol' grand-ma's ceilings. Had another all-nighter behind me 'cause I couldn't get a wink off them darn Psytopia Xps. Then Dooney came in from the fourth floor. That serial-killer lookin' mof'fucker Dooney had some dang stains on his shirt, I tell ya what—darned if I know why I noticed that there detail. He came in next to me when a pack of cigarettes and a blubberin' bunch of keys came peekin' outta his pocket. That sound done sent my head wildin', I tell ya. Then he flicked his Zippo in the elevator and jammed that stick right in. The spark and the smoke almost sent me crushin' his nose with my fist, but I sure didn't 'cause I'm a good guy, ya know. And reckon that ciggy started a-waggin' from Dooney's pie hole as he started jawin' at me, "Well, buddy, I gotta say, ya smell like a pile of piss there. Ain't no denyin' it. Must've been rollin' 'round in somethin' foul or takin' a dip in a rank ol' creek. Can't rightly fathom how ya ended up reekin' like that, but I reckon it ain't my place to ask. Just thought ya oughta know. Might wanna consider takin' a good ol' scrubbin' with some soap and water, pronto. It'd do wonders for ya. No offense meant, of course, just statin' the obvious." Tis' here in the gem of a state, 'Merica, I tell ya. I didn't reply to Dooney, knowin' dang well he was right.
Well, gol' darn it, that very mornin' I actually ended up crushin' Dooney's face with my fist, don'tcha know. I done sent him right out into the corner of that there elevator. Gave his face the beatin' of its while. And when I was done hittin', even had to scream at him with a bit of a jitter, "Fuckin' hell, Dooney! Look at what ya done made me do today." Reckon I yelled "Fuckin' hell, Dooney!" a couple few times. Then I slapped the elevator's button and moseyed back up to my apartment and changed my button-up 'cause I stained it. When I got back to the elevator—I was already runnin' late for work, don'tcha know—, that darn abrasive dingin' bell stung my brains out; and don't'cha know, Dooney was still there in that there elevator, crawlin' on the floor like an insect and slippin' on them tiles in a darn mish-mash o' blood. So I went ahead and crushed him a couple few times with my foot, swang his head in that there metal ramp—and I think that's when I busted the crane of his forehead a bit. And then, doggone it, I had sent Dooney out cold on the ground looking like a crushed cherry. Then? Had to mosey back up, again, and done change my pants.
