|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.|
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?
|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...
|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.
|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 dont want it. he replied rather sternly.
you accepted all that money from them people back there, whats wrong with my money, huh? not really understanding fully, my emotions raged. And I started get stern back.
listen pal. he said. when im 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 dont know how it got there, but i appreciate every thin dime, thank the lord. i dont 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 dont let me give you this, let me take you to lunch.
why wont 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 thats 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. dont 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
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......
|29 Mar 2003||Lucy Cortina||Warm bosoms, I quite agree. That's why the likes of Fakey Britney Spears are such cold-harted bitches, you don't get the same guarantee when you shove pieces of cold slimey chicken into your goods.
Warm-blooded, warm-breasted, and a whole lotta ass :)
|28 Mar 2003||Felicia||Three cheers to all human-kind, Lucy! The driving force of the key to happiness are warm bosoms along with a warm heart!|
|28 Mar 2003||Marius Mackellar|| Where are you wounded girls, with bruised faces and blackened eyes?
Break open your glass doors, welcome the whirling debris...
Carve your name there in the marble and concrete.
Kill idiot violence, punish greed, punish me. Run naked through the streets stabbing bloody eyes and scream. i pray for you murderous,
i pray for you well-honed and clean. i pray for you any way your violent nature needs you to be... And i praise your name.
i praise the taste of the word on my tongue, and i praise your righteous, rising hate. i praise your soft lips, and i praise your revenge.
i praise your tenderness and your skin, and i praise your pure, uncorruptible pain.
i like you like this, lying there on your side. i praise the scars on your body, and i praise your black mirrored eyes.
So rise above the garbage. Leave me where i fall.
Rise above the wreckage.
Kill anything that walks.
Free from your past, free of your future too, there's nothing left to rise above but you.
Show me your ocean red, kiss the scars that stain my neck, drug me with insights untrue.
But i own a photograph, you lie there naked on your back, safe in a stone house on the sea.
There's nothing true and nothing's real, but i remember one clear feeling, warmth beside your gentle company.
When i lay dying upon some bed, i hope that you'll remember this:
the only one i want to see is You.
~AnGeL Of LiGhT
|27 Mar 2003||Michael Mackellar||INOSTUS. ~In possibility everything is possible. For this reason, it is possible to become lost in possibility in all sorts of ways, but primarily in two. The first takes the form of desiring, craving; the other takes the form of the melancholy-imaginary (hope/fear of anxiety). Legends and fairy tales tell of the knight who suddenly sees a rare bird and chases after it, because it seems at first to be very close; but it flies again, and when night comes, he finds himself separated from his companions and lost within the wilderness where he now is.
So it is with all desire's possibility. Instead of taking the possibility back into necessity, he chases after possibility... and at last cannot find his way back to himself. In melancholy the opposite takes place in much the same way. Melancholically enamored, the individual pursues one of anxiety's possibilities, which finally leads him away from himself so that he is a victim of anxiety or a victim of that about which he was anxious lest he be overcome...
No more negativity. The illness has passed. Again.
|24 Mar 2003||Lucy Cortina||There's nothing more that brings a tear to my bosom than hearing that my beauty (s) saved another soul, Felicia.
Let breasts continue to save lives, as were they designed for.
It's amazing that breasts can bring so much joy to this world.
Someone once said of Kylie Minogue: "You can't plan your career around your ass" (but you can plan your private life around it!)
But breasts are a whole different kettle of bras, they can rebuild this shattered world.
3 cheers for breasts!