I'm kind of disappointed in his suicide letter actually. I kind of expected more. More of what I have no idea. Accusations of sexual harassment by Janet Reno and Margaret Thatcher would have been nice. Insane ravings about being stalked and hunted by a giant hallucinatory chinchilla would have been better. I would even have taken a note lauding the joys of irresponsible gunplay and an argument on how the dangers of such a hobby were wildly exaggerated by the mainstream argument, a stance that could have been concluded by the shot that took his life, terminating it with sense of irony that no other writer could have possibly matched. Instead, he used football for an analogy of his life. I kind of expected something more like:
Well, there’s no way out. The cops have the front door covered. The Olsen twins’ father has heavy firepower aimed at the back. The mob is waiting for me at the side door. Army snipers have eliminated the windows as a viable means of escape. As I was tunneling out, I heard teams of Delta force trying to tunnel their way in. Even if I did get past all that, I’ve been informed that all streets leading out of the neighborhood are cut off by roadblocks manned by paramilitary elements of Mothers Against Drunk Driving. There is no way out. I guess this is the end.
I can’t let them take me alive and I have vowed to go out fighting. I’ve got 3 tons of high-powered plastic explosive, a wide range of automatic weaponry, crates of ammunition and an airborne strain of genital herpes I specially developed for an occasion just like this. I’m going to go out in a fiery blaze of glory. As soon as my buzz wears off.
Please remember me well.
PS. Tell Halle Berry I had the kid DNA tested and I am now prepared to acknowledge paternity.