Free this week (starting 9/25) as a pre-treat to your Halloween fix; as it’s no trick and surely a treat as you can five-finger discount the dark humor novella The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal – Amazon Kindle edition.
You can secure your copy via the link above in its wondrous glory, until September 29, 2018.
If you’ve been wanting or itching to read about Bob and what’s wrong with his noggin, then it has never been a better time to reach in the grab bag than now.
If someone you know and love knows what it’s like to be the sad man, and what it’s like to be down on their luck, this book is for them. If they want a laugh, this book is also for them. If they secretly want the world to burn and think a deranged man who kills himself multiple times a day can do it, this book is for them. Plus, it’s also free. It’s also fiction. Free fiction that combines dark humor, action, suspense, science fiction, bewilderment, and what the fuck just happened, ALL IN ONE! It’s like getting a Dell, but without the spam and malware, that’s pre-installed.
So, I invite you to take a chance. Leap off the big building of normalcy and dive head first onto the concrete with this adventure involving a beloved character who has nothing going for him. What’s the worse that happens? You could hate it, or you could love it? It’s free.
Fantastic descriptions of what it would be like to wake up with no consequences.
Realization that this is fiction and that the meme Bob is different than the actual Bob, but for all purposes, Bob still has his arms and legs.
Eagerly hope that Bob doesn’t die in the end.
Everlasting love and friendship are for the birds. This is Bob’s story, and he’s sticking to it.
If you didn’t see that subliminal message that was pretty obvious, then I don’t know what to tell you. In any case, face the void with Bob at the helm. We’re crashing this ship right into your face, and infiltrating your mind with the crazy.
When I wrote The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal out, it started out as a gimmick series of blog posts. It turned out to be one of my favorite stories, aside from it being my personal thoughts and such. It’s so much more than just a slap in the face and entertaining read.
People seem to think suicide is a cowardly act, that it is funny, or to mock the deceased. That it is a taboo to talk about openly or it gets swept under the rug. Most often, those who hurt the most are those closest to us; those who suffer quietly and wear the biggest smiles and give us the biggest laughs. Some are open about their pain and their struggles.
Suicide is something one cannot dismiss or disregard. Folks get all uppity when a celebrity dies or offers “prayers.” That we should “take action” and hop on the bandwagon. Soon after that though… it’s quiet. Calm. No one really remembers. Online, people also seem to forget that your actions have consequences and bully other people (or worse, kids), and that’s not tolerable.
Between the millions that suffer; regardless of subrace, religion, sex, people suffer alone and think they’re alone. You’re not alone. I know each person’s experience of life is different. Mine has been. I’ve gotten help and am making strides to be a better person and show that it’s possible to enjoy life (even while still dealing with your demons). While it may be National #Suicide Prevention / Awareness Day / Month, we should be aware and prevent it each day. It’s not a holiday or commodity. It’s lives. Our lives. And if we band together and show each other that we care for one another more than just ourselves, the world (and our future and on) can be a wonderful place.
Happy Independence Day, folks. Or rather, ‘Happy-Wear-Your-USA-Flag-Bikini Day and Shoot Shit Off All Fucking Day.’ Yay!
Heaven forbid if you decide to have to, you know go to sleep early because you have a job; one that requires you to be up early as that son of a bitch rooster crowing, or if you not wearing an some Old Navy USA Flag shirt, or dislike the sounds of fireworks going off until one in the goddam morning, and your dog is howling. Then morning comes around, and you’re left with your eyes sagging lower than your nuts on your left leg because your kids couldn’t sleep. But you know, you’re the inconsiderate and un-American one if you disagree.
Hardly anyone remembers what this day means or what it represents. But since it’s a day off from the weekly work grind, folks sure do remember it then. A bunch of mindless drones.
I suppose it’s not their fault, entirely. We’ve been continually getting more dumb with each generation, that is, the mass population. You get a few bright bulbs here and there, but it’s a small number compared to the majority.
I bet you’re wondering “Bob, what are you doing with your 4th of July?” Well, bucko, lemme tell you all about it. I’m planning on shooting a bunch of shit off until who knows when. I’ve got it all planned out. Y’know, being that asshole of a neighbor. That’s the goal this year anyway.
The day started off simple enough. No itches but a ton of anxiety. We were to have folks over and make it a big shindig. Honestly, I just wanted to be left alone or go out somewhere by myself. It is what it is, though.
So we had everyone over and gathered everyone up for a show off of who’s firework ego was greater. Then I remembered, I hate the Fourth of July. After getting tired of who could fire off the bigger grade of booms, I thought it was time for my show.
I stood up and wandered over to the launcher and readied everything up. I was going to give everyone the show of a lifetime and I didn’t care. Everyone was there, all eyes on dear old Bob. At least the kids were inside playing video games.
Well, I decided to take a few M-80s and string them together (for maximum boom and to take someone’s head off. Namely mine.). I lit them and dropped them in the makeshift mortar launcher that Ted had made. Then I waited for the boom. Let me tell you, it was a hell of a rush. Y’know when you watch Mission Impossible and watching that fuse go? Hearing it sizzle, waiting for the boom. Well, I made some ‘modifications’ to the fuses, because I knew damn well that someone would try to be the hero. Sure as shit, someone tried, but I got the final discharge off. As bad as that sounds, it’s not as bad as the next bit. When I say I got the final discharge, I had my mouth open. So, you can imagine as soon as those suckers shot up, caught them in the mouth and POP goes I went.
When the day reset, the itch had begun, and I figured I’d start with the fireworks show and see what other fun ways I could off myself.
So I went with a fistful of M-80s—that was plenty painful. At least no one tried to be a hero that go around. Next up was a bunch of firecrackers—swallowed them whole. That was a spicy meatball; I’ll tell you. I know, you’re probably thinking, “Bob, that’s impossible.” No, no it’s not. It’s possible, and I do not recommend trying it. I ended up losing my hand on top of getting my insides tore the fuck up.
Those were the fun ones for that part of the day. The others were more like the grilling aspect.
* * *
The few guys I was having over wanted to have a grill out. I figured, bah, why not. Wouldn’t be too bad. Then everyone was launching their shit. Dogs were barking; cats were going crazy, kids were screaming, it was just a clusterfuck.
Well, I had about enough of it. Sure, people were having a blast and a grand old time, but old Bob? Nah, he wanted no more of it. I had just put the burgers on the grill when it happened. It was automatic I’d say, but then again, it wasn’t the first time where I went “fuck it” and just did what I wanted to do.
So, Bob’s burgers are on the grill, wandered on over to the gas can in the garage. Walked out to the middle of the street and poured it all over me. Then I flicked my lighter and toasted myself to a Happy 4th of July. A lot of people just stood there in shock that they just saw their quiet neighbor torch himself in front of everyone. Some attempted to be quick on their feet, but dear old Bob had a backup plan for that. You see I placed a few firecrackers in my pockets. You know, for that added pizzazz and flair. I must say, though, it wasn’t a great way to go. Self-barbecue. It’s not what it’s cracked up to be, and it hurts like hell. Eventually, though, your brain shuts you down, and well, your body gets well done. In my case, though, I was more medium-well.
I did a few different takes on the day. Each reset I was at a different friend’s place. Each time was a different way to go. M-80 in the gas tank of the car driving into the creek, playing Foghat’s Slow Ride. I made a custom M-80 vest and wandered out back of my pal Sid’s place and lit up, like, well the Fourth of July. At Jerry’s, I fashioned a few makeshift cherry bombs and made it look like I was taking a sip of beer, only to have my face and hand blown off. Then there was Terry’s place. We went into the woods, and I had decided that I would be a Wicker Man. So, I outfitted myself with I don’t remember how many and kinds of fireworks but when we got to the spot and unloaded. I told the guys I had a show for them. They all laughed and said “Alright, Bob. Can’t wait.” That night I lit myself up and gave them a presentation to remember.
The last time was where I had no itch and where I wasn’t really in a mood for offing myself. Crazy I know. I decided to spend it with my family and enjoy the time. That night, my wife and I got to coupling. In the end, it was a good day. Hardly anyone shot their shit off. It was pretty nice. Later on, though, as it rolled into the 5th, I ended up dying in my sleep.
I know, I know, you’re thinking “Bob, you didn’t kill yourself?” You’re right. I was amazed as well. Still, at least I shot my rocket off, and well, it ended up being a happy ending.
Well, until the other stuff happened to me but that’s something you can find out for yourself.
The tale of Bob and his asinine ways of killing himself are readily available for all to read. It is cool to reread something, whether it is your friends or your work. It also offers reflection: state of mind, memories, thoughts, and so on.
Suicide has been in my life for a long time now. It has affected myself, my family, and a lot of my friends. This “group” is not even 1% of what goes on in the world. Whether it’s homeless folk, students, celebrities, military, hell, even animals. It’s in our lives, sometimes staring at us right in the face. Most folks though turn a blind eye or sweep it under the rug. Alternatively, folks will jump on the bandwagon after a famous person’s death (i.e., Robin Williams, Chester Bennington, Chris Cornell, etc.) and it’s just an “Oh, hey, yeah I care…” Then they stop and fall off. It shouldn’t take a well-known person’s death to stoke the fire. It’s all around us; it could claim your family, friends, either directly or indirectly. Everyone’s affected.
I’ve struggled for years with PTSD, depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts. I’ve done the medicinal routine (didn’t work) and figured one day, somewhere, someone else has it just as bad. I can’t pray for something to be done. I can’t change anything that happened, and I sure as hell can’t do anything if I am sitting around. That was the beginning of the change. It was a domino effect, because then I started to quit smoking, stop drinking soda, and eating better. The depression and dark thoughts were (and are) still there…just a lot more manageable, and under control. My temperament is vastly superior to what it once was, and overall I feel a lot better about myself. I like myself. Before? I used to hate myself. Big change.
Writing helped fill in some of the voids that I felt. It helped purify my thoughts and channeled them into something that I wanted to pursue eventually. Thus, this story, even though it may seem pointless and dumb to one, it is a sort of projection of thoughts any one person can experience and something we do.
When I transitioned out-of-state and was left with the feeling of having no real friends (that I left behind), and combating alcoholism (which, alcohol with depression + anxiety + PTSD = Not Bueno), I was beside myself. Nowadays, even in prior generations, the man must be “a man.” You know, don’t cry, don’t show emotion, be tough; the stereotype that was set up for us so many generations ago. So I kept a lot of my thoughts and feelings in. I hardly shared how I felt, I would try to bear a lot, and just be. It was unhealthy.
Finally, I got back into writing and found a great therapist. After which, while seeing my new therapist, I had then begun a process of “killing myself.” That is, writing down ways I would kill myself, or ideas that I had thought of. Thus, The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal was born and is what is available today.
So, I invite you to pick up a copy and read your heart out. If you like/love it, excellent; alternatively, If you hate it, well, that’s your choice. Life is full of them.
I will still be continuing to donate and advocate Suicide Prevention and Suicide Awareness, so when you purchase a copy, it’s going to go and help people in return.
One reason why I wrote this story originally was that it was an outlet to drop a lot of my dark thoughts. Personally, I struggle with PTSD, anxiety, depression, and have had plenty of suicidal thoughts…and attempts. Now, of course, I am glad that they weren’t successful and all that hubbub, but what about those who are still fighting?
There is someone we know who has lost someone they’ve loved to suicide. Whether it be family, friends, co-workers; the cycle goes on…and it’s vicious. It doesn’t relent, nor does it stop with just those who have left. While I have plenty of things I deal with and fight myself over, there are many who struggle day to day. It can be crippling. While everyone’s experience is different, we must know we are not alone.
The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is more than just a telling of Bob’s misadventures, his quips, humor, and reoccurrences of suicide. It’s putting suicide there, right in front of us. Making death very visible. Though, in a fictional aspect, you’re seeing what becomes of a man who’s very twisted and has lost his way. It’s about finding yourself, getting the help you need.
Help is something we all need, whether it’s a small gesture or grand. My primary focus is on our veterans. So many of them come home suffering from the loss of their comrades; their family is torn apart, or disfigured from a wartorn land. That’s why I am donating to Mission 22 in support of helping our veterans get the help they need. I am also giving ALL pre-order sales of the Kindle edition of the story to Mission 22 as well. The donations will be sent out in December. For Paperback and hardcover copies sold, I will donate 22% continuing.
I invite you to join the fight against suicide and to stand together. To let others know they are not alone. Together, we can truly help one another. If you cannot purchase a copy, forward or share this. Let’s help with suicide awareness and prevention.
“Not all those who wander are lost.” — J. R. R. Tolkien
All That is Gold Does Not Glitter
*The new hardcover design will be unveiled and available as well.
To all the men and women serving (and who have served), thank you for your service.
Suicide is a tough subject as it is. I’ve dealt with depression, PTSD, anxiety, etc. for years now. I get therapy and all that. My insurance covers all that. Great. However, there are a lot of folks out there—our veterans—those who fought don’t get all the glitz and glamor of amazeballs insurance. I heard it from my uncle, I’ve heard if from my dad, and pretty much everyone else I know that has served to try to get their stuff covered. It’s rubbish. We pretty much slap our veterans in the face with that nonsense. A lot of our men and women come home and are pretty messed up. A lot of them try to shake it off or whatever macho thing it is to do. In the end, a lot of them commit suicide. It’s a subject that hits home with me, especially with having a lot of family members served/serving. Let alone, I deal with my own demons. As such, I want to give back to the men and women of the armed forces.
I plan on donating a portion of proceeds to Mission 22. If Kindle pre-orders are well on their way, I will donate ALL sales from pre-orders (and a portion of sales thereafter) to Mission 22. This will also include paperback (and hardcover) copies.
That’s not all. With every sale earned from the paperback of Abnormal Side Effects and the forthcoming “part two,” I will donate to other suicide prevention charities and organizations.
Suicide shouldn’t be a stigma. Not anymore. We need to end it and help each other out in any way we are able to.
To all the men and women who have (and do serve)—thank you for your service.