It was business as usual, my crew and I had just been buzzed into some ritzy gated community located far far away from the galaxy of drug abuse and wasted potential on the other side of town. The van rolled on and eventually we came to a coastal mansion the likes of which most people never see outside of really trashy high budget low interest Hollywood cinema. We got out of the van and suited up, a three person crew can usually tackle a single in about 3-7 hours depending on the foresight of the ex-bastard and the freshness of the tissues in question. Now when my anonymous collegue opened the door and started immediately yipping in the manner of an excitable rock drummer I couldn’t help but laugh as it was apparent that this was going to be an easy job. Sure enough the corpse was swinging from the golden banister of a double marble staircase gently spinning round and round. Well manicured and impeccably groomed, the very model of gross excess, there was symmetry between the natural beauty of the human form and the excessive mutilation of the corpse’s tissues. My best guess would be, and make no mistake I’m not a coroner, that an elated self mutilation session with a kitchen knife ended in a gasoline soaked swan dive off the balcony with a pre-tied double knotted noose for a necktie. The fact that whoever did this was able to not only open their abdomen but inflict two stab wounds directly to the heart made it evident just how far people will go to off themselves if given to such depressive fugues of suicidal thinking. A box of matches on the banister up top evidenced the futility of perfection but what really got me laughing was the immaculate handwriting on the suicide note we found after cutting down the body: (Part III coming the far side of soon) (40,345)
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