Imagine you have the hiccups. Probably from drinking. One every two seconds. Hiccup. Hiccup. There’s nothing you can do about it. Holding your breath. Sugar under your tongue. Slow breathing while staring at a Pamela Anderson Playboy centerfold. Hiccup. Hiccup. Hiccup. 1989. Hiccup. I still have a copy. Hiccup. Hiccup. In a box… hiccup… in my closet. Hiccup. Back when she was still… hiccup… hot. Not cringe.
Everyone shuns you because of the embarrassing noises you are making. Would you want to keep on living knowing there’s no cut, no joy, and no understanding?
Or, would you want to end your existence in a comically grotesque but simple way? Ropes, poisons, tainted beef stew, maybe. Something involving an escaped zoo animal?
I’m asking for a friend. They really need to know.
—DG
Inside Doug's Head 