How quickly the “Best Day of the Year” can become “My Brother Tried To Overdose”.

Everything was going smoothly. I bought myself a giant canister of jumbo sea-salted cashews. I picked up some new Garbage Pail Kids cards. I picked up a hardback first edition of “Unseen Academicals” for the Rev. Dark Wombat, to replace the one the earthquake cleaved in twain, only to find out he’s already replaced it. More books for me!

I ate a rocking lunch of steamed paper bits stuff with yumminess. I had run all of my errands. Hell, I had even read all of the articles for my food microbiology class. I had just settled down on the couch to start smashing bad guys with a sword when the phone rang. Literally 15 seconds into starting what was supposed to be a nine hour video gaming session.

So, it turns out that my darling brother, Prince Jazzbo, who I had seen only hours beforehand, had gone home and proceeded to start eating his antidepressants and chasing them with booze. A word to the wise to anyone considering ending their life in this fashion: Don’t do it. There are a number of reasons that I will now expound upon.

Reason One: Antidepressants work by suppressing parts of your brain. There’s way more to it than that, but I don’t feel the need at this very moment to bore you with scientific terminology. Just know that one pill suppresses the bad juju. 14 or so pills suppress your autonomic nervous system in a way that makes you act like a very grouchy, very sleepy person before it decides that your breathing and heart rate are too much to deal with and then suppresses them as well. Permanently. In the mean time, the pills are also doing a Jackie Chan kung fu demonstration on your kidneys, liver, and digestive system. If this doesn’t kill you, it will just royally fuck you up in that going to the bathroom via a rubber hose for the rest of you life kind of way.

Reason 2: If by some strange miracle you get taken to the hospital in time to not die, you will be strapped down to a bed, have your stomach pumped, have a respirator put on you (because the pills are trying to make you stop breathing), have many liters of fluids pumped into you to help keep your blood pressure at a decent level, have charcoal pumped into your digestive tract to try and stop the further digestion and absorption of the pills, have a rubber hose rammed into you urethra so that you don’t pee the bed, have your arms lashed down so that you don’t try to pull all of these exciting new hoses and cables out of your orifices, and then be heavily sedated to keep you from being a royal asshole to everybody.

Reason 3: During one of your spastic thrashing around sessions your weeping mother will inevitably see your genitals because you are naked under that sheet that you just kicked off of you.

Reason 4: Your loving and ever-so-sensitive brother will post about it on the innernet.

The good news is that Jazzbo finally got stabilized before we got kicked out of the ICU come closing time. We’ll heading back up to the hospital pretty early this morning to wait for him to wake up. I’ll keep you posted on the situation when anything changes. Right, off to it, then. More soon. ~SC