Bobby has clearly had it.
He calls the hotline:
Bobby: I’m so depressed I don’t know what to do;
Bob: Sounds like you’re feeling depressed.
Bobby: Yeah. I think I’m gonna kill myself.
Bob: Sounds like you’re thinking of suicide.
Bobby: Yeah–My dick fell off in the shower.
Bob: Sounds like you need to watch what you eat.
Bobby is a gash in the arm of God, lost as he segues
to a regrettable death.
“Try not to think about it,” says Bob, “It’s in Robs hands now.”
Rob Goldstein 1985-2019