"I want to blow my brains out," he said in a huff of self-loathing, the stink of last night's bender still hanging on his clothes like the last red leaf on the sycamores before the deadness of winter sets in, his mouth around the barrel of the shotgun, his toe searching haplessly for the trigger.
"No!" she screamed, searching her mind and the room for a solution. Then, when all hope seemed lost, she spied on the bureau her hand-blown AR-15 glass Assault Rifle Bong. "Here, Samuel. Put your lips around THIS gun, and only destroy SOME of your brain cells. It won't solve all of your problems, but it may make them go away for a while. Also, we're so fucking rich, Samuel. And, you know... the kids."
Get yours today!
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