Before you read
Warning: The next paragraph is a trigger warning. If you are an anti-SJW who is offended by the intolerable political correctness imbued in trigger warnings, you should avoid reading the next paragraph.
Trigger Warning: as the title indicates, this article makes quite a few dark jokes ’bout suicide, some o’ which sarcastically treat suicide in a lighter manner than normal society might, exploiting said incongruence for comedic sake. If you are depressed or suicidal & might be pushed off the edge o’ despair @ the shamefulness o’ some internet jagoff wasting time scrutinizing some poem nobody e’en cares ’bout ‘stead o’ doing anything productive, or just have good taste & don’t want to read it, anyway, you might want to not read it & play Wario Land 3 ‘stead, ’cause it’s great. If you’re depressed or suicidal & find jokes ’bout suicide hilarious, please enjoy.
& as for you fucking normies–you can read, but I’ve got my eye on you. Watch yourself.
Read
It’s good to see that modern humans haven’t developed the self-awareness to not make the kind o’ poetic chicken slop for the insipid soul we thought we threw ‘way in the 19th century.
Everything You Will Miss If You Commit Suicide
If this isn’t false advertisement, then I expect this to be the longest epic since, well, the true Odyssey–& just as redundant & banal.
But things fall apart right on the 1st line:
The world needs you.
Already we’re going gainst the theme o’ our poem. “The world needs you” is not a thing @ all, much less something that could be missed if one committed suicide. & if it could be missed, that would be a benefit: ¿who wants to be bossed round by some needy world?
You won’t see the sunrise or have your favorite breakfast in the morning.
But after that she finally gets to the things readers will miss if they do decide to dunk themselves in the Pacific with an anvil tied round their waists & for some reason look to random blogs for last confirmation–which presumably succeeded, since it only reminds readers that the only good thing they have in life is watching the same shit that happens every morn & eating diabetes-inducing sugar shards every day.
Instead, your family will mourn the sunrise because it means another day without you.
I picture in my head a whole family grouped together outside, shaking their fist @ the faceless sun falling ‘hind the horizon. “¡It’s all your fault, sun!”
I must confess, this poem did surprise me for once: I’ve ne’er heard o’ people becoming traumatized by the sun ’cause someone they loved ate their favorite breakfast, handgun bullets. There should be a million other tenuous connections they could make. After all, the moon’s appearance means ‘nother night without them; ¿why doesn’t the moon share any blame?
You will never stay up late talking to your friends or have a bonfire on a summer night.
Then we find a reader who has no friends & ne’er did anything nearly as exciting as setting fire in the middle o’ wildlife on summer nights who is only further reminded o’ the pathetic waste that is their dreary life. Great going, Norman.
You won’t laugh until you cry again, or dance around and be silly.
She tried but misses her mark here. See, she sees that the demographic @ which she’s aiming are oft mentally ill, but fails to realize that these are the things that they want to stop doing. If she truly wanted to sell this “not suicide” thing, she ought to threaten them with such emotional & muscle spasms 20 fold if they guzzle down that whole bottle o’ sleeping pills.
You won’t go on another adventure. You won’t drive around under the moonlight and stars.
¿Are these aimed @ real humans or video game characters? See, ’cause most adult humans don’t do these things ’cause they have these things called responsibilities. Yeah, I can see that it’s much easier to love life when one has ‘nough money from the money fairy or inheritance, apparently, to screw round wasting climate-ruining gas just to watch the night sky.
Man, fuck saving the life o’ this hypothetical reader, the wasteful dipshit. Hey, there’s this li’l thing called walking, asshole. ‘Less you’re an amputee or have severe obesity, you have no ‘scuse. & e’en then, you could just take a single step outside. It’s not like the stars are only in 1 specific place in town.
They’ll miss you. They’ll cry.
(Glances in all directions.) ¿Who’s they? ¿Why are they paying me so much notice?
You won’t fight with your siblings only to make up minutes later and laugh about it.
I won’t either way ’cause the siblings I might’ve had all died in still-birth. Thanks for opening that wound, asshole.
You won’t get to interrogate your sisters [emphasis mine] fiancé, when the time comes.
¡You won’t get to live out your incest/bondage/polygamy fetish!
You won’t be there to wipe away your mother’s tears when she finds out that you’re gone.
¡& now you’re reminding me that my mother died o’ cancer just last year! You just won’t stop till all my triggers are pulled.
You won’t be able to hug the ones that love you while they’re waiting to wake up from the nightmare that had become their reality.
Wait, so the suicidal person’s loved ones can have shitty lives, ¿but not that suicidal person themselves?
Hey, doc: I’m the one with the rope round my neck, not them. ¿Can I get some o’ the hugs for once maybe? ¿No? Well, I guess that just further shows how the world regards me… ¡SNAP! ¡PLYK!
You won’t be at your grandparents funeral, speaking about the good things they did in their life.
Well that’s no laugh. Nobody e’er wants to go to those boring things anyway–& certainly not with the stress o’ trying to write a speech that whitewashes Grampa Ben’s white supremacy & pedophilia ‘way without being too conspicuous.
Instead, they will be at yours.
Awesome. ¡Ha, ha! ¡Sucks to be you, suckers! ¡Have fun in your boring funeral while I’m all chillin’ in the void with Kurt Cobain!
You won’t find your purpose in life, the love of your life, get married or raise a family.
Under that there should be small print that says, “*Discovering purpose &/or love o’ life &/or acquiring marriage &/or family sometime during natural lifetime not guaranteed.”
I love how this poem assumes married people with kids ne’er commit suicide. “I already found my `soul mate’ & family; ¡now I just need to ‘scape those damn jackals! ¡Ahhh!”
You won’t celebrate another Christmas, Easter or birthday.
Maybe that’s ’cause I’m Jewish & I was born on Hitler’s birthday, asshole.
You won’t turn another year older.
Now that’s a good advertisement: O no, you won’t become saggy & weaker. ‘Cause we all know how much people love getting older.
You will never see the places you’ve always dreamed of seeing.
Um, ¿didn’t I already establish the awesome empty void o’ the underworld?
You will not allow yourself the opportunity to get help.
Hey, I don’t need your help: I can reach the bleach bottle all by myself, thanks. I’m not a li’l kid anymo’, mom.
This will be the last sunset you see.
(Laughs.) @ this point the poet gave up. “Fuck it, I already know I’m too stupid to e’en convince people not to destroy themselves. They’re pretty much already dead.”
You’ll never see the sky change from a bright blue to purples, pinks, oranges and yellows meshing together over the landscape again.
O, ¿you mean that li’l think called a “sunset”? Yeah, I think we already established that in the last line, Reverend Lionel Fantharp. ¿You hit your word goal yet so we can end this padding already?
If the light has left your eyes and all you see is the darkness, know that it can get better. Let yourself get better.
Wait, ¡but I’m already dead!
“Don’t worry: you still have 2 mo’ lives.”
This is what you will miss if you leave the world today.
I’m glad to see that this poem is written like an elementary-school book report, ending with a clunky restatement o’ the thesis.
This is who will care about you when you are gone.
“Yes, I totally, like, care ’bout you complete stranger–so much that I didn’t e’en bother to proofread this so as not to accidentally accuse you o’ incest.”
You can change lives. But I hope it’s not at the expense of yours.
“I hope you’re not like 1 o’ those dumb brave doctors who risk their lives in dangerous territories to help others’ lives. Let’s remember numero uno, after all.”
We care. People care.
¿Who’s “we”? ¿What people? ¡I’ll find you cappie spies!
Don’t let today be the end.
I agree: you should take a’least 3 days to plan your suicide so you do it right. Don’t be 1 o’ those lazy slobs who just blast a gun @ their face & just make themselves self-soiling vegetables.
You don’t have to live forever sad. You can be happy. It’s not wrong to ask for help.
Yes, I think we already established an alternative to living sad fore’er. I thought that was what we were trying to avoid.
¿Has any suicidal person e’er been convinced by this shit? “Woah, wait: ¿I can be happy?” Well, if random nobody posting grammatically-incorrect poems for free on content spewing blogs says so, it must be true. ¡All my problems have been solved now that I’ve been told that I can be happy & can get help without any evidence to back it up or explanation for how that might be done! ‘Course, whether anyone will or can help said suicidal person is up in the air–¡but details!
Thank you for staying. Thank you for fighting.
¿What kind o’ fucking poem ends by thanking the reader like it’s a god damn late-night talk show? Granted, ’twas kind o’ a struggle to read through this o’erly long sputter, so maybe you do owe me something.
& then we get this long info dump, full o’ cliches everyone’s already heard:
Suicide is a real problem that no one wants to talk about.
Yeah, it’s right up there with government corruption, liberal bias in the media, & how to not get blacklisted from jobs fore’er for having a smelly physical appearance.
I’m sure you’re no different.
¡Libel! As you can see, I have no problem discussing the subject o’ suicide with as much seriousness as this poet–not @ all.
There is no difference between being suicidal and committing suicide.
Other mind-blowing facts nobody’s talking ’bout: 2 + 2 = 4.
If someone tells you they want to kill themselves, do not think they won’t do it.
“Don’t trust those bastards for a second.”
Do not just tell them, “Oh you’ll be fine.” Because when they aren’t, you will wonder what you could have done to help.
“& won’t you feel like a complete shitheel–maybe e’en shitty ‘nough that you might deserve to put those trembling fingers o’ yours on those razor blades &–wait a minute…”
Sit with them however long you need to and tell them it will get better.
“Pester them & show you don’t truly care ’bout them by giving them the kind o’ insultingly inane happy talk you’d give a 3-year-ol’–presumably so that they become so uncomfortable that they’ll want to speed up the process & no longer burden you with their whining.”
Talk to them about their problems and tell them there is help. Be the help. Get them assistance.
“Insult their intelligence.”
Remind them of all the things they will miss in life.
“Guilt-trip them.”
Holy fuck it’s ’bout time this damn poem ended.
My favorite part: it’s a bunch o’ random happy bullshit, ala 1 o’ those shitty #’d list books, like Chicken Soup for the Soul, but it didn’t e’en rhyme or have meter or any thought put into style, cadence, assonance, or anything that makes a poem a fucking poem. This isn’t a poem: it’s lazy propaganda split into verse lines & called a poem.
Also, she ne’er mentioned not being able to play Wario Land 3, & she did say this was everything, so I’m going to assume I’ll still be able to play it in the afterlife void. That’s relieving.
Seriously, fuck this tripe. It’s not just that it’s inane; it’s clearly insincere. If this narcissistic asshole actually cared, she would’ve put a modicum o’ effort or detail. ‘Stead she just regurgitates cliches like a robot. This is ’bout as deserving o’ praise–which the poet clearly truly desires–as some ditsy celebrity sputtering, “Seriously, somebody’s gotta end poverty & shit. ¿Why isn’t anyone else caring?” & not actually doing jack shit or e’en devising concrete solutions.
I ask ‘gain: ¿how likely is it that someone is suicidal, but can be cured o’ that simply by saying without any evidence, “Things can get better”?
But then, the problem with all anti-suicide messages is that they’re too broad to be useful. It’s rare–possibly e’en nonexistent–for someone to just kill themselves purely for the sake o’ killing themselves. There’s virtually always ‘nother problem lurking ‘neath–problems too varied to answer in 1 li’l poem. & telling someone, “¡But you’ll lose that sexy sunrise!” is not the answer to any o’ them.
In a way, considering all suicides to be a single issue is a bit fallacious. After all, ¿do we truly want to lump together Nazi generals killing themselves to ‘scape war-crime trials with teens bullied in school? ¿What ’bout people in constant physical pain who will die o’ an incurable disease in a year, anyway? If 1 o’ these topics were chosen for a poem, & the problem was treated, seriously–not “Forget all that: think ’bout how cool the stars look, man”–then one might find a poem that isn’t completely devoid o’ intellectual content.
Addendum: ¿What is Odyssey?
¡Phhhh! Read this pretentious schlock:
Odyssey is a social discovery platform committed to democratizing content creation while personalizing discovery.
I love how they emphasize “democratizing content creation,” e’en though they do that no mo’ than any other blog system (&, since the website, as well as those other websites, is still privately owned, it doesn’t e’en truly do that). Quite the opposite, this website offers less control o’er the design & format o’ the blog than, say, WordPress, so it’s not e’en good @ that or “personalizing discovery.”
Honestly, just replace “Odyssey” with “the internet in general” & you have an equally accurate statement.
Launched in June 2014, Odyssey was founded to democratize the media business and elevate engagement […]
I’ve ne’er heard a mo’ milquetoast way o’ describing a communist revolution.
[…] by magnifying broader perspectives and facilitating deeper conversations in and about the world.
So, what they do is not block people outside the US from submitting content. That’s quite an accomplishment that most systems do automatically.
Distributing more than 50,000 pieces of content per month […]
#quantityoverquality.
Odyssey is built to capture the ideas of many and organically amplify those viewpoints to users around the world
OK, this literally makes no sense. ¿You “organically amplify” viewpoints to readers? ¿So you make viewpoints louder by making them fit together as a whole? ¿How does that work? It seems that absorbing viewpoints should make them stand out less, as the whole o’ them is emphasized ‘stead. By definition, if the whole is emphasized, then the pieces are not.
[…] using a hybrid model that incorporates the best aspects of social networking and publishing.
This has filler words: there’s no use in specifying that it’s “hybrid” when you later state that it’s a mix o’ 2 things; a mix o’ 2 things, by definition, is a hybrid.
Enabled by their proprietary technology, Odyssey’s “relevance engine” matches users with content they want to see […]
Translation: Odyssey has a search function.
allowing them to lead conversations and drive engagement for a highly authentic experience.
(Laughs) Yes, “driving engagement” through the “proprietary technology” o’ “relevance engines” does, indeed, doesn’t sound artificial @ all.
Our technology platform expands upon the traditional content model by fostering the creation, editing, distribution and consumption of world voices, while simultaneously amplifying them through organic social sharing.
Your “technology platform” expands upon the traditional model by doing exactly what they do. The only innovation is apparently that you allow people to eat other people’s voices, which is admittedly impressive & intriguing. I always wanted to know the taste o’ a raspy Scandinavian voice.
Marrying precise context with dynamic relevance […]
Here’s that liberal media going too far in their war on conservative values. Gay marriage wasn’t ‘nough; now they’re trying to push legalizing the marriage ‘tween abstract concepts. ¡The whole world is falling apart!
Odyssey is the only platform that allows people to seamlessly see and engage with different viewpoints on topics of interest to them from thousands of creators, all in one place.
Bullshit.
It’s clear that the writer o’ this has almost no knowledge o’ how the internet works. Every social media site or forum does this, stupid. You haven’t invented flying cars here, bud.
By providing its users with a 360° view of their interests […]
¡Ha, ha, ha! ¿So you offer viewpoints that are in the same position o’ their interests, but went in a pointless circle before reaching that point? So, ¿for a liberal would that be someone who starts to consider conservatism, but then by the end decide, nah, it’s stupid, liberalism is the smart viewpoint?
Odyssey expands their vantage point, fostering thoughtful conversation through its highly social and engaged community.
Well, I’m relived that this community is “highly social.” I hope Odyssey offers other such innovations–like wet water or round circles.
We reach more than 30M monthly users and growing, with more than 14,000 selectively chosen creators contributing to the platform.
Yeah, you didn’t selectively choose 14,000 people. Bullshit.
&, hey, I thought you were “democratized.” A tiny group o’ rich people selectively appointing people doesn’t sound like “democracy” to me.
O, ¿who am I kidding? That’s pretty much what “democracy” means in most countries, anyway.
We go down further, & then… ¡Ah!
Advertise With Us
Odyssey specializes in engaging display, native content, and video through our platform. We help brands to understand and engage with our audience at a national level, or with targeted location or topical reach. Because of our vast community of 12,000+ millennial influencers and content creators, we are able to help brands generate and access focus groups and insights from the very target audience they’re marketing to. The same power that a crowdsourcing platform enables in reflecting a diversity of perspectives and views can also be applied to generating a variety of native content and ideas to help your brand resonate with millennials.
Ah, now we see its true mission statement: fool a bunch o’ gullible people to make free content for them to profit off through ads, without giving said gullible people a slice o’ that money, despite doing all the work–also known as “exploitation.” Why one would want to go through the trouble o’ being “selectively chosen” so they can have the right to make things for someone else to profit off & get nothing for oneself when one could just as easily create one’s own blog & keep all the ad profits for oneself is a mystery for the millennium–but my prime hypothesis is that such people are idiots.
Still, I can’t doubt their skills in providing “focus groups and insights from the very target audience [brands are] marketing to.” I know ditzes posting mindless list poems ’bout why one shouldn’t commit suicide says a lot ’bout whether or not millennials like Coca-Cola. Maybe the marketers o’ cyanide pills will add sunset pictures to the packaging, thinking that sunsets are highly liked by the suicidal market.
Also, I wouldn’t be proud o’ being called “The Most Exciting Company […] Seen Since BuzzFeed.” ‘Cause nothing’s mo’ exciting than a website that posts lists o’ random shit someone came up with in a second.
Also, Ad Exchanger’s article, “How To Monetize Relevant And Engaging Content? Reward Creators,” might be mo’ relevant if you actually rewarded your creators in any way–other than telling them with a smile that they’re great.
AlleyWatch: “This NYC Start-Up Just Raised $25 To Do This For Millennials.” Thanks to NYC Start-Up’s parents for graciously offering them their monthly allowance to “do this” for millennials–& by millenials, they mean the NYC Start-Up’s stockholders, which consists o’ 1 guy, his siblings, & their cat. Also, ¿what’s this have to do with alleys, AlleyWatch?
