The Actual Devil
I Go By Many Names: Can You Say 10?
- May 4, 2025
- 37
Hi. I figured I'd stop by and say hello to the suicide side of the forum...suicide side...Sui-Side? 
I've no active plans to CTB yet. But, as a realist, I like to have a backup plan. Eventually, I'll try to get a gas setup and put that aside as my retirement plan. As I've written in my profile:
At any rate, I wanted to share something with you besides waxing poetic about inevitability:
There it is: the titular emergency exit.
For those not in the loop (or that can't load the pics), these are 12-gauge, 3.5-inch Magnum buckshot shells, aka Super Magnums.
Yes, I have a shotgun meant to chamber them. Yes, I've test-fired this round. Yes, it kicks like a roided-up mule: I had bruises on my shoulder for weeks, despite the buttstock padding.
Yes, it is indeed overkill: that's the point.
"Why don't you just shove a stick of dynamite in your mouth?"
Would that I could. Hell, I'd go all Slim Pickens on a nuke if I could even type out this mostly-joking old-ass reference without feeling guilty about it.
Also, sorry to the admin/mods/community if I'm using the 'method' tag incorrectly. It is a method, though, yes?
Well, there you have it. If some wicked force raps upon my door with the intent to make my life unbearably worse, I will tell it to hold my drink as I dart off to my hidey-hole and proceed to create a sound loud enough to wake the dead as I add myself to their numbers. And if that day comes, I doubt I'll be of the mindset to say goodbye. So, if I'm ever gone for like, a year, or whatever, and you see this post buried by quite literally the lamentations of your fellow sufferers, feel free to necro it and leave farewells here, or on my profile. Plan A is gas, though--hopefully years (decades?) from now.
Oh, but N would be even better, you know? I could take night classes and become a biochemist in my spare time...or maybe a veterinarian? Oh, fuck, I have an idea!
I've no active plans to CTB yet. But, as a realist, I like to have a backup plan. Eventually, I'll try to get a gas setup and put that aside as my retirement plan. As I've written in my profile:
Dying painlessly in your sleep as your golden years drag on is for the lucky few. I've always had to make my own luck. I expect whatever time I have left to be no different.
At any rate, I wanted to share something with you besides waxing poetic about inevitability:
There it is: the titular emergency exit.
For those not in the loop (or that can't load the pics), these are 12-gauge, 3.5-inch Magnum buckshot shells, aka Super Magnums.
Yes, I have a shotgun meant to chamber them. Yes, I've test-fired this round. Yes, it kicks like a roided-up mule: I had bruises on my shoulder for weeks, despite the buttstock padding.
Yes, it is indeed overkill: that's the point.
"Why don't you just shove a stick of dynamite in your mouth?"
Would that I could. Hell, I'd go all Slim Pickens on a nuke if I could even type out this mostly-joking old-ass reference without feeling guilty about it.
Also, sorry to the admin/mods/community if I'm using the 'method' tag incorrectly. It is a method, though, yes?
Well, there you have it. If some wicked force raps upon my door with the intent to make my life unbearably worse, I will tell it to hold my drink as I dart off to my hidey-hole and proceed to create a sound loud enough to wake the dead as I add myself to their numbers. And if that day comes, I doubt I'll be of the mindset to say goodbye. So, if I'm ever gone for like, a year, or whatever, and you see this post buried by quite literally the lamentations of your fellow sufferers, feel free to necro it and leave farewells here, or on my profile. Plan A is gas, though--hopefully years (decades?) from now.
Oh, but N would be even better, you know? I could take night classes and become a biochemist in my spare time...or maybe a veterinarian? Oh, fuck, I have an idea!
