Please kill me: the story of a grad student who is also an idiot
an excerpt

It’s like summertime when you were a kid, and you would leap through the water of the sprinkler (the pppphhhhh pppphhhhh pppphhhh kind of sprinkler) and let the liquid on your skin cool you off. This time, the only difference is that the water is red and the sprinkler is someone’s head whose skull you have just ice picked.
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While she ate, she listened to the sounds of leaves shifting in the gentle breeze, to the birds that had not yet gone to sleep for the evening, to the sound of a distant train’s whistle as it passed through town. Hopefully no one had lain down on the tracks.
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There were most likely individual cells that didn’t realize what had happened, and continued their work for a few minutes longer, before they realized that no more food was coming and that the garbage men had gone on strike. These last holdouts, walled up in their homes, starved to death surrounded by piled up waste.
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The Pinehurst Kids, in contrast, actually attempted to play music, which being the production of sounds that stand in rhythmic and / or melodic relationship to each other, through the use of vocal and instrumental means. This thing humans call music has been around as far back as the beginnings of recorded history. Unfortunately, the Pinehurst Kids were illiterate, and were therefore not familiar with recorded history. Nor had they ever actually heard what passes for music these days. They were all children of a quirky little cult that had moved to a deserted island in the Pacific Ocean, in the mid 1950’s. The Pinehurst colony, as it was inaptly named, was dedicated to the ideals of ritualistic sand worship and cooking sea weeds in brine. This concoction was called “Super Stew”. This was the colony’s only food. A prolonged diet of Super Stew inevitably led to irritable bowl syndrome, hallucinatory sightings of the ghost of Abraham Lincoln, and unbearably itchy armpits. This was the milieu into which the Pinehurst Kids were born. Their mothers breastfed them salty milk. Their diapers were manufactured by hand from palm fronds and crab shells. From the ages of five to fifteen, the children were kept in an outdoor kennel and forced to sing and dance for their meals. Lamentably, the elders’ sense of timing and harmony were nonexistent at best. The net result of this ten year experiment was not, therefore, to yield the perfect song and dance troupe in the hallowed tradition of what mainland America thrilled to in the guise of the Osmonds or the Partridges. Rather, the product was akin to something wholly the opposite. There has never been such a thing in the experience of man or beast to which I could refer the reader for reference, so I must instead try to describe them from scratch, using only my (admittedly godlike) powers of perception, conception, and mellifluous diction. Imagine, if you will, a thousand forks scraped across a thousand non stick coated frying pans. The sound of this event is recorded onto magnetic audio tape. This audio tape is then fed to a starving wild goat. The goat is led by a leash on a precarious foot path up the side of a mountain in northeastern Greece, to the summit. The man who leads this goat along the path is an old blind hermit, which would make the path all the more precarious were this hermit not a lifelong resident of the area, whose feet have trod the path thousands of times before. At the summit, the hermit ties the goat by its leash to a gnarled, pathetic old olive tree. The hermit then descends by the same foot path, leaving the goat unattended. From the valley below, an infantryman from the U.S. armed forces sets his sight on the forsaken goat with his shoulder mounted, laser guided rocket propelled missile launcher. His aim taken, he fires the rocket. It takes off and travels in a graceful arc, a narrow white stream of smoke tracing out that arc in the cool spring air. The goat bleats frantically as the missile hurtles towards him, to no avail. The missile reaches its target, and the tape eating goat is consumed by the fireball that blossoms from the missile when its explosive warhead detonates. The resulting sound is identical to the sound of the Pinehurst children’s musical endeavors. Not having seen musical instruments being used, nor having instruction manuals to teach them, the Pinehurst children attempted to figure out the mystery of musical instruments on their own. The Pinehurst colony did not use electricity, so the children were wholly unaware of it and its many uses. Their set was therefore acoustic, though they were using electric instruments.

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All right, now to get his foot off the pedal. Hm, it’s really heavy. I can’t lift the foot off the pedal. Maybe I can just slide it off to the side. Huh. That’s not working either. What the…? OH. DEAR. LORD. This was no accident. It wasn’t just some guy out for a drive with tons of explosives in his back seat, who happened to keel over. No, it’s something much less plausible yet so much more dramatically convenient. This was intentional, a suicide run! He’s got lead shoes on, I tells ya. And just to be super diabolical, he crazy glued the bottom of this shoe to the pedals. What’s this? Ha ha, he’s even locked the steering wheel in place with some sort of insidiously crafted device. I don’t know what it is or even what it looks like or how it works, because I don’t know shit about how anything works, but god damn it that’s amazing what he’s done here. See that? The [insert meaningful term here] is hooked up to the [insert something else here that makes sense to be hooked up to the first thing], totally immobilizing the steering wheel. And he’s done all that with the use of just a plain old ordinary [something plain and ordinary that could be used to connect the first and second things]. It’s a jaw droppingly obvious application of the principle of [I wish I knew what term would fit right here, oh how I wish I knew -- I am truly an awful, just an awful writer]. Oh, you evil genius, you. I would salute you in your extreme devotion to your craft if it were not solely devoted to the wanton destruction of others.