James found his way to the big cushion he had brought from IKEA positioned parallel to the curved TV he worked so hard for, skipping meals in order to afford it.
The floor creaked as the 200 Lb man threw himself at the glorified blood pillow.
He found himself in a very peculiar situation; he had already made himself comfortable, but the remote was at the very polar end of the room he was in!
James was a rather exhausted man, tired from life, tired of everyone else’s bullshit, he was sad that he had no purpose in life, he spent all of his free time either on the internet or his eyes glued to the TV watching shitty 90s sitcoms.
James complained that James was broke, that James was tired, that James hated his body, that James despised his job, that James loathed his life, that James was depressed, that James was contemplating suicide.
So many problems in his life, but his main focus was the TV remote for which he didn’t even bother to move his fat ass for.
Smith was a hashtag activist, he loved pitching in with his thoughts, which happened to always be the majority opinion, making him feel empowered, as his voice was one with so many others, he felt like they could take anyone down. He felt like he had a family, “a people”.
But James knew the truth. He knew all those people would be repelled by his mannerisms and appearance. All his opinions were manufactured to fit what everyone else wanted him to be. Everyone was better than him, after all.
James closed his eyes, maybe he could just sleep and forget about everything, forget about the fucking remote, and about his miserable life. He eventually got bored and got up to get a snack from the well-stocked fridge.
He first picked out a beer; crackin' open a cold one cures it all after all. He held the fridge door open with his fat ass and plunged his hand into a grocery store cake.
James was engrossed, that handful of cake contained multiple times the amount of sugar his ancestors consumed in a week, he was one step closer to physical death, with an idiotic smirk on his face. James was “happy”, as he was “healthy”; that’s what everyone told him after all.
“fuck”
Despite passing by the same cracked mirror every day, something urged James to look left for the first time in a while. His hair was long and due for a haircut, and as James had “normal” testosterone levels, pubes for a beard. He had no visible neck, and his clothes barely fit.
A pathetic whale that doesn’t even bother to take care of himself. That’s what kept him from looking in the mirror.
James felt regret. James felt anger and hate. James felt vengeful. The once docile ugly manchild wore a frown. James wanted change.
“I am pathetic”, he thought.
“I am a waste of oxygen,” he said
“I should die,” he stated
His eyes welling up, James shouted quietly
“I want to die”
footsteps echoed throughout the room as smith made his way to his machine.
‘easy’
Click
Click
‘methods’
Click
He wasn’t truly planning on killing himself; he didn’t have the balls. What he truly wanted was to feel needed, to get one of those idiotic ‘we are here for you’ messages.
While scrolling through the results, a video caught James's eye.
It was uploaded by a user with a string of numbers for a name.
“5;21;16;8;15;18;9;1”
The title intrigued him; the way it was worded could mean so many different things!
James played the video expecting pity, and a knockoff version of love.
What he didn’t expect however was that the video started off with an affront to his very kind.
“Fat people disgust me”
James was taken aback; he had just been directly insulted!
How could this handsome, beautiful man dare to insult the O’ so great James?
The man on the screen went on
James was mad and tried to convince himself that he wasn’t insulted himself. It was simply offensive for fat people, not James smith!
“don't you dare think otherwise. I am correct.”
James was conflicted
James, in a confused state, thought “yeah?”.
“of course not. That question was rhetorical. You look like shit. Fat and ugly bastard. Is your mother proud? Are YOU proud? Are YOU happy? What makes YOU excited?”
He was confused and overwhelmed. James wasn’t used to being questioned.
“You are useless. Your destiny is being mummified in your own shit since no one even bothered to check on you after dying from a heart attack. Do you have anyone you could call a friend? If so, do you even know what they look like? Have you seen them in real life? Have you ever gone out with them? Fought with them?
"These people are not your friends. They are useless. You are going to eventually throw them out. Act completely normal towards them until I tell you otherwise.”
James listened for the first time in a while.
“Open your phone. Delete all of your social media applications. I do not care if you have people you need to talk to. I truly do not.”
James did as the man said. It was truly unusual. A man who came to look for ways to kill himself was deleting Facebook from his phone.
“Delete them all. No exceptions.”
James did as he was told.
James could not do three push-ups. He was absurdly weak.
“If you cannot, that is alright. If you will not, that is an issue.”
“Try”
…
James got on all fours, put his knees on the ground, and made for a great role model to all horny dogs in the entire workd.
“Haha. Your form is pathetic. Lay your fat stomach on the ground and place your palms down on near your tits. Push up keeping your knees on the ground, without bending your ass.”
James followed the instructions given and somehow managed to do three repetitions of the knee push-up.
“Are you surprised? You are much stronger than you thought, aren't you? But do not get ahead of yourself. You are still much weaker than most people.”
James felt somewhat happier than usual. The adrenaline hit him like a dump truck making him feel incredibly motivated.
“When I'm done with this sentence, click off this video, turn off your phone or any other electrical device you have, and go to bed. I do not care what time it is. I do not care what you have to do afterward. Sleep like a baby boy in a royal family.”
James peeked at the clock.
‘9:02 pm’
It was early for James, and obviously not something he would normally do, but as he had nothing better to do anyways, he listened to the man.
James laid in bed, staring at his ceiling. He had nothing to do, so he started instinctively playing with his dick.
His hand rummaged through the sheets and swam down to his waist, where it unlaced his sweatpants and trickled down to the generators of the seed of the miracle we call life.
He mercilessly rubbed his penis, moving his hand up and down to the point his forearm started hurting.
Eventually, his partially erect cock ejaculated a slimy white liquid called ‘cum’.
James was drenched in his very own seed. He felt shame for his degeneracy, but with his energy drained, he fell asleep rather quickly.
