I understand that depression is very real, but I have a tough time listening to some poor bastard ramble on about how he almost killed himself on the internet. Call me insensitive, but it’s fucking depressing. I’ll even go as far to say that people spreading the gospel of their own depression could be a secondary cause of other’s desire to end their life. However, if said story includes the tale of an entire debaucherous week of drug abuse and menage-a-trois with filthy hookers on a last minute suicide field-trip to Mexico, you have my attention.
That’s exactly what “plzsendhalp” just did on Reddit—he got my fucking attention. Not so much with the recovery talk, but what it must have felt like to be living the opening scene of “Wolf of Wall Street” but with two women of the night, probably ridin’ bareback, without any fear of repercussion. I love how he makes sure to use “FFM” to let everyone know he was never part of a “Devil’s Threesome.” I could talk about this guy’s triumphant return to America, beating the odds and preaching against suicide, but that would also be fucking depressing, and I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of what he wants. Henceforth, let’s focus on what it must be like to go balls out for seven days in Mexico without giving one single fuck.
He mentions that his intention in visiting Mexico was to find barbiturates to end his shitty life and if I was a bettin’ man, I would say that he got off the plane and walked straight into the arms of the first four foot tall Sanchez standing in front of a cab and told him to drive straight to the nearest pharmacy, post haste. The driver, not one to spoil his country’s sterling reputation for a kick-ass time, then offered him a heaping amount of nose clams to which he reluctantly accepted. I can picture the look on this guy’s face as his guardian angel drove away to be with la familia, leaving him stranded in front of a shady brothel holding a monumental bag of cocaine (not barbiturates) while the neon Corona sign flickered dimly behind him. “What now?,” I imagine him saying to himself as a cartoon light bulb magically appears above his head.
The next 7 days must have been absolutely legendary. For only $2k, you can fly to Mexico for an entire week and enjoy the following:
• A revolving door of endless Latino women to suit even the most discriminatory taste. I would imagine if you had arrived in Mexico without a return ticket, you might want to try everything a Mexican whorehouse has to offer.
• A Hunter S. Thompson-esque supply of cocaine and tequila.
• Enough Viagra to counter effects of said cocaine and tequila.
• Enough pain pills to counter effects of said cocaine, tequila, and Viagra.
• The “Rain-Man Suite” with a heart-shaped bed, a stripper pole, AND a hot tub.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned today, it’s this: Life is fucking awesome. If you ever feel the like you have nothing to live for, remember the story of this brave man who overcame depression by taking on Mexico with no reservations and having the absolute best week ever. There’s ALWAYS something to live for..