[Once again, I included a preface. This is a joke. Take nothing I say in these articles seriously, unless it’s obvious I’m planting some serious knowledge, which has been known to happen quite often throughout the day. Use discretion folks, you’re smart people. This is the last time I’m leaving warnings, so enjoy! – JR]

Suicide is fucking metal, if I do say so myself.

I’m going into the field of social work which, by the way, is a predominately female career. It’s not that I’m doing a woman’s job per se, it’s just that I’m adding a man’s touch to an area in which it is lacking. Who better than a male metalhead to handle a job that helps people cope with depression and financial trouble? Metal is all about cathartic release, and couple that with my manly instinct of getting shit done, I’m perfect for the job.

So being a college student majoring in social work, I’ve read a thing or two about suicide, and obviously, I also know a thing or two about metal. That makes 2-4 things I know about when it comes to the correlation of suicide and metal. And speaking of correlations, I took a statistics class last year, which makes about 5 or 6 things! Add that to the fact that I own this piece of web space is proof I’m right. Fuck me, am I ever right!

But some people choose to stare in the face of facts and still think I’m wrong. The mere thought of those people caused me stop and take a breather and settle my metal rage. Whilst I was tossing around ideas for my next article on what makes metal so fucking metal, suicide came up. A girl who I was talking to at the time started spouting namby-pamby bullshit like “That is so insensitive! How dare you imply that suicide is in any way, shape, or form awesome? You are fucking sick.”

First of all, change your tampon.

Secondly, I never said suicide was awesome. I just said it was metal, which are two different (although slightly related) things. If there was a scale of Give A Fuck, it would be above not only “awesome,” but “jawsome” as well, which is a manlier notch above awesome.

Think of it this way: Death is undeniably metal. He walks around in a badass all black cloak (with none of that neon deep v-neck bullshit) and a scythe, arguably the most metal of farm tools. Death is metal personified metaphorically. It’s crystal fucking clear; just look around! We have an endless array of bands with the word “Death” or its variations in their name. For fuck’s sake, we have a band called Death! And they are rad as shit! If Death wasn’t metal, then how the fuck do you explain “death metal?”

That sound you’re hearing is the sound of minds being blown, and it sounds like blast beats.

So we’ve established that Death is a metal motherfucker, floating around and collecting souls. How could one person possibly be more metal than the one who might just be the King of Metal, Death? It’s quite easy, really. All you have to do is kill yourself.

“Hold up, man!” I can already hear you say. “What does killing myself solve?”

To which I say, “Shut the fuck up, I was getting there.”

Death is coming for you whether you like it or not. He didn’t get where he is today by not being on top of shit. What would be a bigger slap in the face than ruining his shit by hurling yourself in front of a train or diving into a wood chipper? We all die some day, but if you trump Death’s smug ass by taking your life in your own hands and taking away any sort of satisfaction he might get, you prove that you are more metal than Death. If you have the balls between your legs and the metal rushing through your veins, you’ll literally and figuratively bite the bullet and end your life and be the most metal motherfucker that once existed. Too bad you won’t be around for the glory. It’s a bittersweet victory.

I say you need balls because men are better at suicide than women, even though women attempt it more. George Carlin taught me that, and he was pretty damn metal so I’m sure he was right. If you fail at your attempt, you just look like a jackass looking for attention. Congratulations, ladies. Once again, you have proven that you ain’t metal for shit. You’ll get put in the psych ward in the hospital and given anti-depressants all while Death is laughing his ass off. Haha! Joke’s on you, bitch. You might even end up losing some mental function from the trauma caused by your half-assed attempt. Being locked up in a madhouse is not fucking metal, no matter what Anthrax leads you to believe.

That’s another reason why I’m going into social work. I want to prevent those that don’t know any better from trying to off themselves when it won’t fucking work because their balls have not / will never be dropped. You’re welcome.

So if you’re going to kill yourself, make it fucking count and go hard and show people that you mean business, lest you look like a sorry dumb shit. Do it the most painful and gruesome way that ensures that no matter what, there won’t be a part of you left to hook up to a life support machine. Vegetables aren’t metal, and that’s why I never eat them. Think about it.

– JR

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