Knowing that a peaceful life together was impossible, we decided that suicide would be the only way to express our love for one another. Like Romeo and Juliet, poison would be our weapon of choice. However, when the big moment arrived, I realized that like a total jerk, I’d forgotten to buy any poison.
“How about we eat this raw chicken?” I asked.
“I don’t think that’s the same kind of poison.”
“Poison is poison,” I shot back, taking a huge bite of the raw chicken.
I could tell from the look on her face that she wasn’t having it.
“I think I’ll just stab myself when the time comes,” she said.
“Suit yourself.”
A few hours later, I was lying nude in the fetal position, coated head to toe in a mixture of my own vomit and feces.
“You have to admit. It’s still kind of romantic. You know, with the candles and whatnot,” I said.
Without taking her eyes off the magazine she was reading, she replied, “I think we should see other people.”
