I built my coffin with planks of debt-ridden

I built my coffin with planks of debt-ridden credit cards and nailed it shut with packed cigarettes.

It was a sick life of metaphors I lived, like a mad cow patty in a prison cafeteria. Somewhere in the distance someone said "that's a simile!", but I didn't care. I was in a coffin

of broken dreams. My wife left me, I dropped out of law school, and I could neither juggle nor ride a unicycle. But one night, while I was wallowing in my cocoon of self-pity,

pizza i won't be hungry. Dammit, saying the word pizza makes me hungry. I raced to them in hope they would buy me a pizza. They

told me that If I beat them to a tree, they would buy me a large pizza from papa johns. I said yes, but they cheated and used Nascars. I got angry so I pulled out a katana and

slashed both their heads off. Mom would not be pleased to see such

ugly gingerbread men, so I picked up what was left from their crumbled faces and glue them with some thai sauce, I'd found in the fridge, yesterday.

I gobbled down the gingerbread men/sriracha sauce cookies with gusto, and managed to create a spicy, crumbly mess all over my hands and face. I disgust myself but I can't stop.

I washed it down with a 1/2 Guinness, 1/2 chocolate syrup potion, and wrote how much I hate myself in my food-smeared diary made of rice paper and fruit leather. I then ate it.