The pointlessness of it all
“In other not news, Katie Holmes is not having a ménage et trios with a donkey and Hulk Hogan. Or is she? We’ve got a through-and-through cockney in the studio, who can talk off a whole donkey, never mind the back legs. And, other highlights include a man who got a donkey to smash a CD…” And with that, Gregory flicked the switch on the remote to full volume, grinned manically as he stared a the latest pictures of some imbecilic socialite (tw)it girl, reached dear ole’ daddy’s grand old shotgun from the shelf and in one swift and efficient movement put the barrel in his mouth, applied the necessary pressure to the trigger and blew one almighty hole in his own brain. Blood and bone splattered across the face of the newsreader as he related the story of a pig with four penises that had foiled a robbery at the local zoo and all the while Gregory’s life force was leaking from him into the carpet and his body unloaded it’s last hurrahs as he left this world! He had prepared for nothingness. Endless pathetic nothingness. But familiar sounds resonated through his minced head. The screeching of tyres or animal; the chatter of voice and word; the sound of wind. ‘How?’ He thought. ‘I can still think! Ahhh, the darn surprise of it. ’
