Grave Yard Hue More And Truths

I’m so poor, I can no longer afford corn on the cobwebs.

I am unique. There is nobody like me now, before, or will be after. Why? God doesn’t make the same mistake twice.

I’m so depressed, Morrissey wants to kill me and toss the meat into a landfill.

I grew up so emotionally neglected that my existence has caused several Care Bears to kill themselves.

My depression is such a black hole that gravity has found a way to distance itself from me.

I’m so poor that pore and pour have filed legal claims against being homophones.

Suicide has filed for a watch on me.

Electronics and car dealerships know better than to bother on lifetime warranties with me.

Kleenex has bought stock for me.

Zoloft considers me a liability.

A few years ago, I tried to join a cult. The reply? “Nah, we’re good.”

I got rejected by churches and medical institutions when I applied to be an organ donor.

“I want to have your baby!” is a snuff film any time I’m involved.

My sense of humor was so dark that cops wanted to shoot it in the back and plant drugs on it. Now? Not worth it.

When I go out hunting or fishing, I need no equipment. The animals cease to want to live when I get close enough.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse steer their rides from even defecating upon my corpse for fear of retribution.

God notes my existence in his argument for atheism.

My folks want me to kill myself.