Reading these suicide pages you will find people seeking help and people offering their help. Some witness about suicide from real life experience, others who play along with me would pretend it's a children's game. Some make sick and cruel jokes about it, and angry people blame me for even mentioning the subject. You might also want to read my favourite answers. If you want your answer to be included here, fill in the form.

Date Name/email

Nom/email
What is the best way to kill yourself when you're under 13?

Quelle est la meilleure forme de suicide pour les moins de 13 ans?
27 Apr 2003 Lucy Cortina Can you believe it? I'm still alive! A bit of emergency surgery helped me to come to terms with the loss of my warm friends, my breasts. That and a few whiskies. The boobie-cremation is next Tuesday. I am still in the mourning period, I'm not even eating (well, I did have a few packets of chocolate cookies, to keep blood sugar levels high). I have never been a fan of surgery etc.
But then I think of Tony Blair's hideous wife - her hideous letterbox shaped mouth! I mean, she's supposed to be the Prime Minister's wife, if she really loved her husband she would get some botox done. Or at least some collagen injected into those lips. Maybe she can be Tony's secret weapon against Sadham Insane. He could send her over to Iraq on Mission Kissing. She can pout and threaten to kiss every Iraqui soldier. Yuk yuk!! Why do these thoughts get into my head? Why can't I control this brain of mine?!
If I could open up my brain and let you all in for boat cruises, I would. But then you would never get out...

Suicide is still option number 3. I will tell you options 1 and 2 another day.
26 Apr 2003 Felicia He babysat me last night. I was putting on some negligee and he started grabbing my legs. Clint was a very excited. I told him to stop as I lay my head on the carpet. He was quite playful and nibbling me. Lola told me to not tease him. I told Lola that it was okay for Clint to be my babysitter for the evening. As Lola was trying to leave, Clint held the door closed and forced her to stay. He complained and started crying. As she left, Clint had a solemn look to his face. In the freezer I took out the honey breakfast sausages and fried them in the pan. I made some omelette too. I fed them all to Clint because he was quite hungry and we instantly became close. In the freezer, I grabbed a half pint of chocolate mint ice cream, picked up a spoon, and went to the living room to put on the television. I grabbed a quilt blanket. I sat on the couch and Clint was trying to jump on me. I yelled stop and told him to get down because he was getting feisty. He wanted a taste of my ice cream. I said, "No!" So Clint decided to lay low and be quite for a while. The room was warm, no one was in sight. The evening became longer.

...As I stroked his head and lay right next to Clint.

...The new love of my life ;o)

A german shepherd's affection and the coziness in front of a warm television watching cartoons.
25 Apr 2003 Lucy Cortina That's IT! Today my new silky bra snapped - it was like Hangman, like those people who hang themselves and their faces turn all pale, like plucked and tanned chicken flesh. But it was my breasts that were hanged, they weigh so much as it is - I estimate each breast at least to weigh 90 KG. And I suspect one is heavier than the other, possibly by an extra 12 Kilograms.
Anyway, my breasts were dangling down after they lost the support of the bra. So you could call it Hangtit, or Hangbust, or even Hangwoman - it could be the new game. Anyway.
My breasts were aphyxiated (however you spell it - I never went to 'grammar' school, hehe). So without those blooming beauties, my career, and my heart, is dead.
My time to commit suicide has come. Or breasticide. No, sorry, that's already happened and is the reason I'm committing suicide, duh! =(
Mouchette.org has managed to maitain my "lust" (*ooh!*) for life for, well, about 2 years now, since my 16th birthday, in 2001.
Be proud. Be proud of yourselves.

For putting up with my self-obsessed, and sexually, breastually active personality for so long.

See you all in Heaven.

Cos I spent this life in Hell.
19 Apr 2003 Lucy Cortina Life as a teenage SSSS spy agent is sure tough work. Maintaining ones breasts in itself is a big (boob) job. As I was getting ready for my latest mission, my tiny tot sister ran into my room laughing "Lalalalala I'm a Minogue!!" She had been listening to Kylie, of course.
She then begged me to take her "out dancing". I said no, I'm busy. She then said she wanted to come on my mission with me. Just as I was lifting my heavy-weight new rubber strengthened bra, she yanked it from my hands, the little mite, and ran off with it. So I pursued, my boobs shaking and wobbling side to side all through the house. I expect the neighbours got a nice surprise seeing my bosoms bobbling about like that. They probably think my parents run a part-time nudist camp as well as Breast HQ. My sister ran into the bathroom, and held the bra dangerously over the toilet pan.
"Me come", she said. I had no time to negotiate so.... I lied.
"Look sissy, Mr Piggles is going for a fly in the garden!"
"Where? Me see, me see!!!" she screamed. She dropped the bra, which thankfully landed with a sharp thud on the bathroom floor.
I grabbed it and ran off to my room, where thankfully my Danny had parked the new SSSS Cortina Mobile a few minutes earlier.
My sister thinks Mr Piggles is our neighbour. Sadly, the only truth to that is our neighbours hidous facial features.
Do expect my sister to enter this website by the age of 13. I don't think it will even take that long before she wants to discuss suicide. Just look at what hell members of the Cortina family are put through...
17 Apr 2003 Felicia The Hollow Chocolate Bunny

There’s the chocolate bunny,
sitting on the shelf,
looking oh so yummy,
I laugh in spite myself.

The box is oh so yellow,
wrapped in cellophane.
With lips curled up to eat them,
I felt a hunger pain.

Diet, oh forget it!
I wallow in my shame,
I stare at my protruding mass,
I think that I am game.

Monkeys eat bananas.
Horses eat just hay.
Humans eat just anything,
and find there’s hell to pay.

Screw the resolution,
I’ll exercise tomorrow,
My calorie intake,
Ole Billy’s bike I’ll borrow.

Lucy and her boobies,
The boys stare as we state,
I’ll think I’ll cook some chicken
breasts,
and just use "Shake and Bake".

Forget about the chocolate.
My willpower's just bad.
I ate the chocolate bunny,
It’s the best I ever had.

Happy Easter all you folks,
Boil eggs, have fun,
Color them real carefully,
And dry them when they’re done.

The End

Don’t forget to indulge on that chocolate hollow bunny, and promise me you’ll eat the ears first.
...Because that’s the best part.

To all my friends at Mouchette.org who celebrate or don't celebrate Easter.
The ones who don't...
think of all the candy.
17 Apr 2003 Lucy Cortina Yeah I have been offered this website. Appealing to my greed of this site is something Mouchette knows will work :)
Alas, I am too busy with mundane activities like living and powdering my breasts to bother running a site like this. And my SSSS missions do take up a lot of time, it is by no means easy tracking down Britney's breasts. I know I know, they ARE big, but at the time my fat neighbour had stood up and his huge ass had covered the moon.
Just wait. I'll save Britney's career. yes, we have produced the world's first voice implants! Britney is going to be able to sing pretty soon, so grab those earmuffs....
17 Apr 2003 Chris I know you want to kill yourself but I also know that you feel relieved and satisfied when you hear about other people dying. I just wrote this story especially for you. Read on if you've got the guts. Here's...

The Three Little Piggies

The Wilsons needed to go out
So they left Andrea about
She had to look after two boys
She had to put away their toys
If she got hungry she could eat
She could have anything indeed

They would be back by half past one
And she would do all to be done,
She played with the boys (and put away their toys)
She gave them to eat (and left everything neat)
She put them to sleep (and they slept very deep)
She then was relaxed (and could do what she pleased)

Stepping out of her red shoes
She went in the kitchen to have some booze
There was wine, brandy, vodka and beer
And then there was whisky, so bright and so clear
She chose Jack Daniels, you know it's the best
But then she mixed it with some of the rest

She sat relaxed by the warmth of the fire
Sipping her drink with no other desire
She began feeling tired and was thinking of bed
But then there was ringing around in her head
't was the telephone, so noisy, so damned
As she picked it up, the other end slammed

It was a wrong number, like she wished it would be
For she didn't want to talk, not to you, nor to me
But then sleep had gone, she switched on the T.V
Where there was sound,life and a sweet melody
Things became cheery, but then became eery
For the phone rang again and again and again!

Hello. This is Five-seven-four-double two...
Can you please tell me who the fuck are you?
An insane laugh came came down the phone
It chilled every nerve and chilled every bone
"There were three little piggies, Oh what fun!
Two were disembowelled, then there was one!"

"Go to hell!", Andrea screamed
The other voice laughed, the other voice beamed
She began feeling nervous, said she needed a smoke
She believed it will help you in avoiding a stroke
Something good, something great, perfect and smooth
Marlborlo, nicotine, cover your lungs in sooth

The phone rang again, Andrea felt mad
She felt very sick and she felt very bad
When she picked up the phone there was the gruff voice
He told her "I'll get you, you just have no choice!"
She slammed down the phone and started to yell
"Why doesn't this pervert go somewhere in hell?"

She picked up the phone, dialled the operator
"Can you please trace a call of a damned perpetrator?
My number is five-seven-four-double two five
And I wish that this pervert just wasn't alive!"
"I am concerned" Mrs.Operator was saying
"But you're paid to work, not concerning or praying!"

Andrea sat back, feeling calm and relieved
Buit she soon got to know that she was deceived
The phone rang and rang; the gruff voice again
He wished her bad luck, he wished her some pain
"There was one little piggy, oh what fun!
Her throat was slit, then there was none!"

Lighting up a cigarette, Andrea paced the room
She was watching the phone, she was waiting for doom
Finally it rang, but it was Mrs.Operator
She wanted to ask a question as an investigator
"Do you have another phone in the house where you are staying?"
"Why, yes, there's one with the boys, but what the fuck are you saying?"

Mrs.Operator talked in a frightened tone
"Whoever has been calling has been using that phone
Run out of the house, there's not much you can do
It can be a joke, it can be very true!"
Half stumbling and half running, she went on the way out
Opening the kitchen door, she gave a real, big shout

The sight which met her bulging eyes
Sent her vomiting in surprise
A huge man looking grotesque
Was nothing but very picturesque
Like wading through a flood
Of very red, hot blood

He was spluttered and stained with a blood spattered chopper in one hand...
Something steamy, hot and with a sticky smell in the other hand...
On the top of the stairs, the boys (or what was left of them)...
They had been disembowelled and their insides completely cleaned out...
Slowly the man moved towards Andrea, leaving behind a trail of blood...

What a pervert I am for writing this, and what perverts you are for reading it, but wait- Isn't this exactly what American and British soldiers are doing to little Iraqi childrens. Imagine it the other way. A small Iraqi child disembowelling Bush & Blair and then slitting Saddam Hussein's throat (those three little piggies-you know that everything they do is out of greed). Oh, what days of glory I dream about...

See ya!
13 Apr 2003 Lucy Cortina Billy, I like the style of your quotation marks better than mine. Where did you get them? Why can't I have any?
it's ok for you, you can just have a little implant to give yourself tits if you wanted to. No one cares for girls wanting quotation marks. Hmmphh!

Oh, my latest mission, by the way, is to investigate the theft of Britney Spears' breast implants (god forbid!), and the theft of Kylie Minogue's underwear collection. There was also mention of an attempted raid on Christina Aguilera's mansion. I think someone wsas trying to steal her makeup collection. She wears so much of it that it is worth billions, as she only buys in bulk.
I will inform you all of the results. Well, I suspect the results would be that Christina would never leave the house again. Britney would use a ballon pump to fill her fakie-less tits with air, and Kylie would just wear no underwear. Which some people might like...
12 Apr 2003 Mr Mystery STORY

One day (let's call him Bill, he's about 6 feet tall, and has brown hair and eyes, in his early 20's, and is slightly balding) Bill was walking on the street and decided to go buy a few things at the store. After browsing the aisles for a while he was finally done. He had purchased.. oh let's say, 8 bottles of tylenol, a 8 foot rope, a new set of kitchen knives and.. nah that's it.

Bill then decided to head home, where he was then approached by a shadowy figure, a man. The man asked Bill why he bought all those things, Bill had no answer. The man then opened the knife set, and the pills. The man then forced Bill into eating all 8 bottles then tied a noose in the rope, and hung it up outside on the porch. The man then stabbed Bill in the stomach and hung him up right in the center of the porch, outside.

When the neighbors were asked who did this, they described a man, he's about 6 feet tall, and has brown hair and eyes, in his early 20's.

Sorry "Bill"
12 Apr 2003 Lucy Cortina Why do people want to contact me???
You can't stop me now, I'm going to have a breast reduction!
Oh god, a man in a red suit is staring at me.
"Step away from the operating table..." he says.
Is it too late? Tune in next week to find out! What happens to Lucy's breasts?
11 Apr 2003 billy the freak i met jerry garcia, well, he was really a bum who looked like jerry garcia, i mean play the guitar, strung out on drugs, and everything type dude. i saw him in the park with a small crowd around him, and nothing attracts a crowd like a crowd, so, i went over to watch him play and maybe drop a dollar in his ratty old guitar case. witnessing the spectacle i was blown off my feet, i could swear he was the man himself if i didn't know jerry died of a drug overdose about ten years ago.
his long stringy uncombed hair was pulled back in a ponytail. his beard was long as well, however he did keep that trimmed up well, probably to keep it from matting. he wore a blue pocket t-shirt and a pair of ripped up levi's. he was barefoot on the grass, but had a pair of sandals near his guitar case. and to top it all off his glasses were tinted blue. spitting image i tell you. he played a couple songs by eric clapton, tom petty, some johnny cash; you know stuff that sounds good acoustic without a band. i had to admit the man had talent. then he did it; he played touch of gray. when he sung out the words, i will get by, i will survive. i was hooked; i wanted to know this man.
when he finished the song he thanked the crowd (which was much larger now then when I first came over) for their admiration. he then proceeded to pack his gear; he slipped on his sandals and was out. i was going to get on my way at first but, desire overtook me, i ran across the park to catch up with him. when i caught up with him the only thing i could think of to say was “hey”.
he turned around and said “what”.
“i was so taken by your performance i forgot to put this in your case.” i pulled a five out my wallet and handed it to him. he turned around and kept walking. instinct told me to go, but, but jerry...
“did you hear what i said man, this is yours.” i said.
“i don’t want it.” he replied rather sternly.
“you accepted all that money from them people back there, what’s wrong with my money, huh?” not really understanding fully, my emotions raged. And I started get stern back.
“listen pal.” he said. “when i’m playing my guitar and singing i go somewhere else, on a mental level, and when i come back, there is money in my guitar case. i don’t know how it got there, but i appreciate every thin dime, thank the lord. i don’t accept hand outs.”
“you know damn well how it got there.” i said. “people who watch you and like what they see and hear pay you because they are entertained.” i softened up when i thought of his performance. “if you don’t let me give you this, let me take you to lunch.”
“why won’t you leave me alone?” he asked.
“because everyone has a story, i want to hear yours.” my reply must have freaked him out because he took a long hard stare at me. like nobody ever asked him what his story was before. sure he looked like jerry garcia, played the guitar, and sings, but that’s not all, i know.
“what are you?” he asked. “i bet you're some college student trying to interview vagrants.”
“no man.” i said. “i am simply trying to reward you for your talents.” he started to laugh.
“talents” he said. “don’t make me laugh. well since you are being so persistent you can buy me a coffee at the coffeehouse in the train station. we can talk some there. i got to wait for my bus.”
i agreed with his request and got excited that was actually going to get to talk to him. when we got to the train station it was packed and there was hardly any room to sit at the coffeehouse. when we did find a seat i asked him where he was going.
“san fran my man” then blew out a big breath of air that maid his cheeks expand. “you going to get some coffee?” he asked.
“sure” i said. “what would you like?”
“regular black, is cool” he said.
“ you got it.” i said and took off towards the counter. there was a pretty long line so i must have waited a good six or seven minutes before i was served. then i took his regular black and my expresso back to the table. to my surprise, but yet not so suprisingly jerry was gone. all that was there was a five-dollar bill and a note that said: coffee's on me. then over the intercom i heard a man say “ last call for twenty-three thirty seven san francisco.” i picked up the five and let the coffee sit. when i left the train station there was a short lady with a bucket ringing a bell for donations to the salvation army, i stuck the five in her bucket.
“bless you my child” she said as she smiled.
i walked pretty much thoughtless, but broken hearted to my car three blocks away. the mind and the heart have a way of working against each other and it can make one distraught. when i got in and turned the ignition the radio came to life with it. it was the grateful dead playing touch of grey the live version and the real jerry was singing his heart out. then i thought, i will get by, i will survive.
08 Apr 2003 the new and improved billy the freak wow! in my absence i have become a double agent. lucy, i believe has become a weapon of mass destruction, bush is the bad guy, saddam is the good guy, danny keaton will get his ass kicked if he says i have homosexual charm again. so what should i do? i'll do my best.
07 Apr 2003 Lucy Cortina As I sat eating breakfast this morning - 1 sausage ad 2 boiled eggs (*oh!*) - I had a sudden, and shocking moment of fearful realisation. My inflatables (breasts, that is - what else?) are ENORMOUS. I have become accustomed to sellotaping two bin bags together as a bra fow a while now, yet this is not what I see when the modern singers of today perform on music shows, like Christina Aguilera. That's because she doesn't have a bra - she never wears any clothes.
I flicked through my copy of Spanking Digest, but found nothing. So I picked up my latest copy of Incontinence Weekly and spotted the page I was looking for:
"Psychic Pam - able to read the cosmic breastial powers, and tell you things about yourself that you already know".
The phone number was £50 a minute, but as I was depertae (and I can foward the bill to Super Secret Spy Sex), I tapped in the number on my phone.
The tones for each number are different, so to amuse myself I tried playing "Frere Jacques" on the keypad, when suddenly a stern voice yelled "I am not able to read your breasts at the moment, I am dealing with a client named Pamela Anderson". Here we go I thought, I will be on this phone waiting all day if she's reading Pammy's tits. A tune started playing on the phone. It was Britney Spears' hit "Baby one more time". I ran into the cupbord, grabbed my old school uniform and did the dance moves to this incredible work-of-art of-a-song. By the time the psychic answered the phone, I was sweating like a waterfall and my breasts had already shrunk 3 sizes. And it hit me! They only needed a little of the gas inside them releasing! I guess you could call them little "breast farts". And the dancing had helped the wind escape. So, my breasts have farted, and shrunk, all because of a Britney Spears record (It shocked me too!). I guess I better follow the wise one and book myself into a clinic as soon as possible. No tits = no career. Although Britney is the biggest tit I have ever seen, so I guess that's a contraception. I mean contradiction!
There's never a happy end to a happy ending!
03 Apr 2003 Lucy Cortina I'm sorry Danny, but with my boobs, I don't want to..let's say "agitate" the situation. This is one mission Lucy's boobs will be taking a back-seat on.
Drunk, in the back of some dodgy Pakistani London-cabbie's taxi, yelling "Are youshh Osamshh Bin Binbag?"
02 Apr 2003 Danny Keaton Lucy, come in Lucy. This is the D Train calling Lucy Cortina. Ive been trapped in some kind of worm hole, the entire SSSS brigades boobs are enlarging! This strange natural wonder will spread to the earth realm unless i stop it. You must help me Lucy, to fight this evil for the sake of humanity!
02 Apr 2003 Chris Some say that we're insane because we talk about suicide. I'll prove them wrong. We are living a fucked up life in a fucked up world with fucked up people (like George.W.Bush & Saddam Hussein) all around. Here's what these people do and here's....

The De-Creation Story

In the beginning was the earth,
and the earth was beautiful
But the people living on the earth said,
"Let us build skyscrapers
and expressways."
So they paved the earth with concrete
and said "It is good!"

On the second day,
the people looked at the rivers and said
"Let us dump our sewage into the waters."
So they filled the waters with sludge
and said "It is good!"

On the third day,
the people looked at the forests and said,
"Let us cut down the trees
and build things."
So they leveled the forests
and said "It is good!"

On the fourth day
the people saw the animals and said,
"Let us kill them for sport and money."
So they destroyed the animals
and said "It is good!"

On the fifth day
the people felt the cool breeze and said,
"Let us burn our garbage
and let the breeze blow it away."
So they filled the air with carbon
and said "It is good!"

On the sixth day,
the people saw other nations and said,
"Let us build missiles
in case misunderstandings arise."
So they filled the land with missile sites
and said "It is good!"

On the seventh day,
the earth was quiet and deathly silent
for the people were no more
And it was good!

You see!, your own neighbour is trying to kill you! Why give him the satisfaction? Kill yourself and if possibly your enemy with you. Glory to the Iraqi who blew himself up and another four American soldiers with him!

On a different note:
After having one of mine in the 'favourite' section I think it's high time I gave you my e-mail address. Drop a line on anything I write or anything you want at GuziChris@hotmail.com
02 Apr 2003 Felicia It was foggy this morning. I went down the long front porch steps and found a lizard (salamander) scurrying under my house slipper. I picked it up and it practically flew out of my hand and attached to my night robe. I screamed and the little varmint took a wet dookie on me. The salamander was brave as it stared at me with its beady little eyes. In one second, he jumped off into the rose bush, then headed off to some adventurous journey far, far away, never to be seen again. Later, the fog cleared and I can see the boats passing under the Golden Gate Bridge. At a distance, I can see a big sillouette of Ghirardelli Square and the Coit Tower. A beautiful morning in April as I sip my morning herbal tea.
...and a new day which is absolutely ...breathtaking.
01 Apr 2003 Lucy Cortina INQUIRY INTO THE DEMISE OF "BILLY" AKA. TONY BLAIR:

He was indeed found slumped on the bathroom floor, surrounded by pill-bottles.
On closer inspection, the bottles were found to contain labelling of a suggestive nature: they were infact laxatives - 2 bottles of Ex-Lax, 2 bottles of Immodium plus, and one containing muscle growth powder.
This draws conclusion to the suspicions of many Americans, that indeed Bush *does* suffer from the fast-food binge-stick.
Billy had infact been ejected from George Dubya Bush's arse.
It does not, however, explain the reasons why Billy (Blair) leaped from the bathroom floor and proceeded to flap his arms like a chicken and yell "They're here! The weapons of mass destruction!"
We soon realised that he was not referring to Mrs SadMa'm Insane, who earlier this week had confessed, "I could tell you where my hubby's been hiding his weapon of mass destruction!"
He was infact referring to the 2 bulbous objects staring him in the face - my cleavage.
He escaped through the fire exit. Actually, he dived into the toilet.
We are tracking his movements using ultra-sensitive radar (a ribbed condom) and we believe he is currently residing in warm and moist Australian bush land (No, not Kylie Minogue or Nicole Kidman). We expect devastating fires to ignite anytime in the *coming* week.
The investigation continues...

Lucy Cortina, Agent 00 oh oh what a feeling! of the SSSS.
31 Mar 2003 Felicia Is a Lola I question myself about that once in the blue moon and wonder how these women ever handled their breasts? Back in the medieval times my relatives were more tribal. And a fig leaf was used for covering or whatever else it was used for. My tribal relatives used to have their bosoms hang all day and not have a care in the world. They would throw coconuts to whoever bothered them about their hanging casabas, and that would end the quarrel.
As with Britney, changing the subject, I have to give her credit for making extra money exposing her boobies, exploiting her light implanted belly button, and her no care attitude to shake her ass. I see a jealous woman, as myself, throw a speeding coconut, 98 miles per hour towards her. Justin Timberlake screams outloud, "Britney!! Duck!!" As the coconut barely grazes her, a Pepsi truck drives by, one mile north, the driver gets startled by the big thump at his door. Through nervous reaction, he swerves, hits a squirrel, and the truck falls into a ditch, which later rolls into the Atlantic ocean. All this and Britney only loses her credibility with Pepsi Cola and the rest is over...
...all because of a flying coconut.
30 Mar 2003 Chris Previously I have written suicide ways which I frankly don't know why they have been put in the 'cruel jokes' section. Sometimes suicide is not necessary and it's better to kill the people bugging you than yourself. Here are...

Five Ways To Kill A Man

There are many cumbersome ways to kill a man
You can make him carry a plank of wood to the top of a hill and nail him to it.
To do this properly you require a crowd of people wearing sandles, a cock that crows, a cloak to dissect, a sponge, some vinegar and one man to hammer the nails home.

Or you can take a length of steel,
shaped and chased in a traditional way,
and attempt to pierce the metal cage he wears.
But for this you need white horses,
English trees, men with bows and arrows,
at least two flags, a prince, and a castle to hold your banquet in.

Dispensing with nobility, you may, if the wind allows
blow gas at him. But then you need
a mile of mud sliced through with ditches,
not to mention black boots, bomb craters,
more mud, a plague of rats, a dozen songs
and some round hats of steel.

In an age of aeroplanes, you may fly
miles above your victim and dispose of him by pressing one small switch. All you then require is an ocean to separate you, two systems of government, a nation's scientists, several factories, a psychopath and land that no one needs for several years.

These are, as I began, cumbersome ways
to kill a man. Simpler, direct, and much more neat is to see that he is living somewhere in the middle of the twentieth century, and leave him there.

If these Five ways are too complicated, suicide is the way......

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