I’m a simple guy. I go to McDonald’s for lunch. I use the app to order my food so i can avoid all human contact and so i can get the exclusive daily app deals. Today i got 2 cheeseburgers, a medium fries and a medium diet coke for four dollars and 34 cent, 950 total calories or 0.004568 cents per calorie. You know, nothin fancy, just killin time before i gotta go back to work at the abortion clinic.  

When I eat at McDonald’s i like to get a nice window seat so i can see the beautiful Brooklyn streets for all their glory. It’s pretty cool, usually there’s a few crackheads right outside digging through the gutter for pennies or dirty cigarette butts to smoke. Look, the view aint no Mount Everest but i take what i can get, ‘beggars can’t be choosers’ my grandpa told me on his deathbed as he coughed up blood and shitted all over himself.

Sometimes when I eat lunch at Mickey D’s, which is everyday, i start to feel sad and depressed like. And i can never figure out why. Is it because i only got a medium fries instead of the large? Should i have got a regular coke instead of a diet? They say that artificial sweetener is no good for you but the doctor that administers my chemo never said that i shouldn’t have it and i mean you gotta trust a doctor. They went to school for a long time which means they’re really smart. And when i feel sad like this at McDonald’s not even staring at the other customers can make me feel better. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m no looker, i was born with my ears where my eyes should be and somehow my eyes ended up in my ball sack while my balls are where my ears should be, but that’s OK, I’m fine not bein some hunk Burt Reynolds type of guy. i know who and what i am so it don’t make no real difference for me. But these people at McDonald’s, they got all their eyes, their ears are in the right place. They got the ability to make children and everythin. They really got the whole world in they hands but they still look miserable and if i didn’t actually see them moving around and stuff, then i’d think they were just dead already. And they’re all so fat. And I’m no Arnold Schwarzenigga, i weigh about 250 but i aint got no legs since i lost them to my battle against diabetes, so i got like a really good excuse for not workin out. What’s their excuse? True, half of them are in wheelchairs but the half who aint? Why come they cant just work out? Even i have a Curves gym membership. Anyway, i’m drifting off course now, these cheese-hamburgers are hittin me hard and i gotta shoot up some insulin in the bathroom before i lose another limb or two.   


Four hours a sleep aint enough but i spring outta bed anyway and make a beeline for da nearest pipe or needle. Outside theres like a orchestra of fuckin garbage trucks eatin up whole couches in they filthy stinking moufs and when da noise from all a dat dies down in come da fuckin school buses pickin up their lil fat fuck retards. By 7 AM i already smoke like 3 bowls, jerk off twice, sniff 4 bumps of K and think about jumpin out the window. It’s six flights down and i go as far as sticking one leg out ta test da water but it’s too fuckin cold so i opt out. by 8AM it starts friggin pourin out which means if i do any dumpsta divin today its gonna be extra wet an messy.

On da train ride to da methadone clinic some shifty lookin heeb asks me if i’m jewish and i say, “don’t you rememba da last time people went around askin people on trains if they were jewish? Didnt turn out too great for us back den, huh?”

“Oh so you are jewish?”

“Nah, fuck off.” But he keeps fuckin pushin, “come on my friend, you don’t want to put on teffelin today? Its a special day, almost shabbos, very big mitzvah, come on.” he grabs my arm and i scream, “SIR I DONT WANNA TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU PLEASE STOP ASKIN ME,” at which point he lets go of my arm and stomps off, bagelling and forehead profiling some other poor kike.

At da clinic the nurse broad with da huge tiddies and tattoos and shit all over is wearin one a those fancy green docta costumes and the top is low cut and when she asks me, “hey norm, how are we today?” i say, “not bad, tits cold outside though” but she makes like she don’t hear me, they always do, “ok Norm, you can step into room 3, dr wayne will see you”

In room tree docta wayne asks if i been doin any otha drugs i tell him I been blowin a lotta pot but dats about it. He don’t need to know about the acid cuz they cant do no drug test for lsd. He gives me my script which i take back to the big tiddy nurse who gives me a small bottle with 7 doses in it and i take one before i even leave da clinic den smoke a J on my walk back to da train. By the time da N comes my juice kicks in and i scramble to sit down before i start noddin out and droolin al over myself shit norman i hate it when you do dat, all da drool on ya pants make it look like ya pissed yaself or worse like ya busted a nut all over ya pants which is true anyway but don’t nobody gotta know dat!

the good news is i no longer have testicular pain immediately following orgasm. the bad news is im going to kill myself tonight. ill do it by jumping out of the window. I live on the sixth floor so it should be high enough to do the trick. on second thought, maybe ill go up to the roof and jump from there just to make sure because when i do something i really do it. when i die, i really wanna die. i wanna die until death. until all the facebook death announcements have been made and an acceptable amount of sad emojis have been conveyed.