SUICIDE WEARS UGLY CLOTHES



If you are considering a marriage, one as final as a marriage with Suicide, you certainly should consider what to wear. 

What will you look like in death?  In a death of self-murder—with Suicide?  Suicide rips to shreds the clothing of life.  Life is meant to be adorned with its heavenly purpose of eternal elegance.  Suicide strips this gown away and replaces it with a grubby garb of ghastly, desolate dinginess.  Look in at his grotesque public showroom, and see how you will look at his wedding.

Naturally, if you are a woman, you would choose a wedding gown in death that you feel would be appropriate for such a beautiful affair.  At this point, you may not know that Suicide is shrouded in the ugliest of all the costumes of death.  The choking to death on the vomit of an overdose of sleeping pills can hardly be called a beautiful wedding.  Neither, for that matter, is the distorted expression on the features of strangulation.  It is a bizarre spectacle!  The hideous purple of asphyxiation bears no resemblance to a wedding bouquet of Forget-Me-Nots.  No, Suicide demands a hideous ceremony.

Now, if you are a man, being the egotist that you are, you would prefer to employ a tuxedo that would display a more debonair, masculine, deliberate appearance.  Little thought is ever given to what is left of that pulverized image after a shotgun has gone off in a person’s mouth.  The automobile has become a popular means of dress for the coward as he prepares for that last walk down the aisle.  As a lethal weapon, the automobile has become a favorite means of joining the call of voluntary self-manslaughter.

I wonder how many of Suicide’s victims have ended up impaled upon the broken steering columns of automobiles? Unfortunately, such means often give occasion for Suicide to invite some unexpected guests to your wedding.  He is not very selective, you know.  What if your car just happens to come careening off that bridge abutment straight into the path of that young family just starting on their long-awaited summer vacation?  Suicide would only say, “How could I know that those dumb people would get in the way?  Oh, well, that’s the breaks, I guess.“  Do you have the right to endanger the lives of other people for the sake of your own selfish, ill-conceived wedding?  They wouldn’t think so.  They found life exciting.  They found life beautiful!  With their little girl’s excitement filling the day, they were taking their first vacation together.  Could you join your new-found companion, Suicide, in saying, “Oh well, that’s the breaks, I guess?”

Perhaps there are some of you who have conceived an easier way.  Like an overdose on drugs.  Could it be jumping from a building?  Or drowning?  As many ways as there are to die, to commit murder, someone is sure to think that this is the garment they will choose.

Death is dirty and must end in Suicide’s vulgarity!  If you don’t believe me, go visit a boutique of Suicide at the Emergency Room of a hospital sometime.  Or, better still, visit the Morgue of fashion—they will show you all the latest fashions in Suicide in their Refrigerated Salon.  Why do you suppose morgues are refrigerated?  There is a repulsive stench that permeates the ugly clothes of violent death when worn by Suicide!  He reeks with the odor of Death; yet Suicide douses himself with it and calls it a substitute for the sweet fragrance of life.