Procyon Posted Jun 15, 2009, 9:22 pm

Hi fellas! I'm Mary, a medic in Elmsfield, and I'm personally attending to Gregory Hauer. Greg was racing a Marley a couple weeks back, ran smack into a pole at 100 Miles per hour and snapped his neck. Ever since, he's been lying in Elmsfield hospital with me changing his diapers and feeding him with a spoon. He's pretty depressed about the whole thing and wants to end it all. I talk to the gang leader, and she agrees that we probably shouldn't be paying him for laying around and soiling himself anyway. We decide it's time for him to die like a man. We take him out to the lake track and shove him in a pickup on the starting line. We give the truck a good shove as the starting horn sounds, but we just see his profile slump to the right and the truck coasts to a halt. Gunfire starts and we take cover, and that's when the screaming starts. He's frantic in there, not knowing where the hail of bullets are coming from or aimed at, wondering if each second might be his last. The trucks narrowly miss him as they lap around, and it's as the engines roar past that his screaming crescendoes into an unearthly wail. When it's all over, we make our way back to the truck, listening to the wimpering and sobbing. We find with his rear in the air, head on the passengerside floor, his face planted firmly in a pile of his own vomit, unable to move from this undignified position. We drag him out, wipe him off and gurney him back to the hospital. The suicide attempt didn't go quite the way we liked. Our gang leader is trying to jury rig something so he can pull a throttle cable with his teeth and maybe get up enough speed to twitch himself to an early grave, but I don't hold out much hope at the moment. I sure don't want to be cleaning this sack of meats diapers the rest of his life, so we will probably toss him out of the gang and into the gutter. I'm pretty sure Greg would prefer death.