Goodbye to all the cruel irony.
Cruel irony that pairs the sweet nectar of an aged single malt with the agony of the morning after.
Cruel irony that pairs the aroma of a summer meadow with red eyes and a 6 month sniffle.
Cruel irony that pairs the sublime taste of oysters with uncontrollable vomiting when visiting a school friend you haven't seen in years who suggests a "local special" oyster lunch.
Cruel irony that pairs the appeal and amusement of the whole concept of irony with stupid people unable to comprehend or correctly use this concept, whilst still insisting on calling it irony.
Cruel irony that places a black fly into your Chardonnay.
Cruel irony that pairs the appeal and amusement of the whole concept of irony with stupid people unable to comprehend or correctly use this concept, whilst still insisting on calling it irony.
Cruel irony that places a black fly into your Chardonnay.
Anyway, enough about Irony. The biggest irony of all is that I don't want to end it all, yet have brought the end upon myself.
I've spent a good chunk of the last 28.5 years investing in life. I've invested in education. Invested long hours into the lower rungs of the career ladder. Invested in a house. Invested in relationships and now it's payback time.
Thankfully, the investments have started paying off - I got a pretty good job thanks to education1; work less hours for more money than I used to thanks to investing time in corporate politics and (to a lesser extent) working hard2; pay bugger all on a mortgage due to my timely purchase and prudent remortgaging3; and should shortly be reaping all the cooky-cleany-lunchmakey-sexy rewards that come with marriage thanks to 11.5 years of relationship investment4.
Thankfully, the investments have started paying off - I got a pretty good job thanks to education1; work less hours for more money than I used to thanks to investing time in corporate politics and (to a lesser extent) working hard2; pay bugger all on a mortgage due to my timely purchase and prudent remortgaging3; and should shortly be reaping all the cooky-cleany-lunchmakey-sexy rewards that come with marriage thanks to 11.5 years of relationship investment4.
Quite frankly, now I should be cashing out these investments and living the high life - jetting off on Safari to Kenya, or to a private villa in Zanzibar, staying in Ice Hotels, jumping off high objects and lighting cigars with £20 notes - all of this before I am forced to succumb to the obligation to do my bit to reverse the dumbing down of society and pass these "grade A" genes onto the next generation.
Instead, four men, men I considered friends. Best friends. Family. Are conspiring to take this from me. You see, this is no suicide note. Far from it - I am quite fond of life these days. This is a cry for help, an accusation, a note from beyond the grave to highlight the murderous actions of these so called "Best" men.
Tomorrow I embark on my stag weekend. I know nothing, except to be at Heathrow for 7.15am and to fear for my life.
So if this is the end, I regret nothing...
...except for selecting four best men instead of one. That was pretty stupid.
...except for selecting four best men instead of one. That was pretty stupid.
1 and a lot of luck
2 and a lot of luck
3 and a lot of luck
4 and a lot of blackmail material
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