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Uh oh. I think my callous prickitis is starting to wane. My assholeishness is going into remission. My evilocity is starting to scab over with compassion, or
at least indifference. As much as it pains me to say this, I barely chuckled when I found out the story behind how
Clint Cochran killed himself. Despite the fact that he did himself in
with his own shitty driving and the cross itself is on the diarhea side of shitty, nothing about this memorial strikes me as disgustingly funny (my favorite
kind of funny).
You don't just wake up one morning respecting the world and the people in it do you? Has my immunity to caring about others worn off? I hope I didn't
catch empathy from some nasty skank I let suck my dick after I fucked her friend in the pooper. Jesus christ--what if I was never a full blown dickhead?
This is devastating, like pulling out in front of an 18 wheeler in shitville Arkansas (there we go, that's the Jason I know).
Despite that last sentence, I really can't find a humorous way to relate Clint's death. To him and his family, I apologize.
Here's what I found out: At 2:20 pm on 11/15/2007 Clint pulled into the
path of an 18 wheeler at Highway 63 and Route M in Koshkonong, AR.
Come to think of it, when I was there getting my picture taken I had a head cold and I remember turning my head and shooting my snot rocket over
my shoulder and onto the ground behind me. It didn't even occur to me to paint the cross with my mucus. Jesus Christ, Curless, your losing it.
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