Suicide Notes: Aaron Corp

It's Thursday, and it's a great day to ponder suicide, waddya think? It's sunny and 71 with a slight chance of depression and a 100 percent chance of Xanax in Aaron Corp's future. In fact, there could be quite a few other pills joining the Xanax in his system after a horrible last week. (BING) Oh, an email, wonder who it could possibly be. Wow, it's Aaron Corp, and it's his suicide letter. WHAT ARE THE CHANCES?!. Well, since I disclose everything to the public, including criminal records and gay tests (yes, it's a real thing) here you go.

Message from Aaron Corp:

Dear God, (How did he forward this to god, and then why did god forward this to me?)

I hate you. You gave me this shit 6' 4" body lacking hand eye coordination and inheriting the looks of a retarded Matt Damon. I spent two years sitting behind a douchebag Mexican and a guy with the last name of Booty. Jesus, I don't believe in you anymore, but you gave me a shot at stardom against Washington. WHY WASHINGTON? It was raining, we couldn't run, and the ball felt like my balls after my dog licks the peanut butter off of them. I never seen rain before. I've only lived in Southern Cal.

Needless to say I struggled, and it's all Joe McKnight's fault. I don't know why, but it just is. Every time I handed the ball off, he yelled "AARON IS A GIRLS NAME." It's so frustrating, 'cuz Aaron is the name of the home run King (editors note: not true, but agreed), and my mental composure is about as strong as a Minnesota bridge, so I struggled.

I didn't think it could get any worse, until I threw that pick. I swear, that wasn't my fault either. The center threw my timing off by telling me about how he jacked off to baby porn the night before. I couldn't take it. I'd like to see you win a game (with a team of the most talented college players in the nation) after a story like that. Of course you know that we ended up losing.

But, even that loss wasn't enough for me to shove a towel 3 feet down my esophagus though. It wasn't until I heard that Pete chose Matt Barkley over me. That's when I knew, time to die. So, in the off chance that Barkley gets injured again, I have decided to cryogenically freeze myself in hopes of being reanimated at a time where I can play for USC. Sure transferring makes sense to most, but it's a shit ton of paper work.  This way, If I do come back as the QB I will still have two years of eligibility and wouldn't have to redshirt a year.

So, have your spot you blond haired ass-cunt-queer-douche-fag-testicle-mucus Barkley. I'll just come back in 40 years when the world over zealous about Matt Damon movies, and his "retard grandson" is starring for USC. Robot/cyborg Stu Scott (with TWO lazy, fake eyes might I add) would have a heyday with me. THAT FUCKIN' RETARD IS BALLIN' HIS WAY TO SNOOP DOGG'S ARTIFICIAL HEART. I can't wait for that day. Ladies will actually think I am a part of the football team and not the water boy, or the designated coach.

And if I die, just make sure that fucking Matt Barkley doesn't come to my funeral. And tell Joe McKnight that Aaron Rodgers is a QB for the Packers. That'll show him it's not a gay name.

Thank you for you time God,

Aaron Corp


Message from God:

Isn't this shit hilarious. I'm gonna make him come back, but only when Ben Affleck movies are all the rage and Matt Damon is considered the dumb ass. He'll just be a retard's retard. HAHAHA. Oh crap I forgot the world ends in 2012. Oh well, maybe next time.