[Satire] A Suicidal Snail’s Success Story

[Bad] Ideas | Scriptdog


A Mass Stepping reduced me to tears

I drink my sorrow, intoxicated by my melancholy

Open AI - Dall-e 2 and Author

Good-bye World,

If you’re reading this it means I’m no longer in this plane of existence. I’m wherever we go, snail heaven, snail purgatory, snail limbo.

I meander in dusty streets without any purpose.

I’ve been radically, internally crushed.

I’d love to see a snail do the limbo.
Open AI - Dall-e 2 and Author

My mind never stops racing. A million miles an hour. On the inside.

Life moved way too fast for me.

My time here was utter madness and it took me til now to accept things were never going to improve.

Nobody realizes that all snails are doing, all day every day, is trying to kill ourselves.

The struggle is real, though, as snail suicide is next to impossible.

Alas, I have found a way to end it all. Elegantly.

In the early mornings, if you live near us, you see our crazy footprint, our snail trails, zig-zagging this way and that. It’s because we have minds that won’t shut off, that are driving us crazy. We aren’t medicated. We have untreated ADHD multiplied by advanced nervous anxiety.


Our shells are our only refuge, like you humans with your heavy damask drapes. But nobody is going to come by and pick you up in your curtained lair and fling you across the yard.

Open AI - Dall-e 2 and Author

Knowing this great plucking (like the rapture, but different) can happen at any moment, taking us from our friends and family and casting us far away, like an Outlander, drives us insane.

It’s like the old joke about the snail who rings a doorbell and the guy answering sees the snail and tosses him into the garden. Two years later the doorbell rings again, the guy answers and there’s the snail, asking: What’d you do that for?

There was a Mass-Stepping last month where dozens of my brothers and sisters were crushed in a five-year old’s stomping. Those of us who survived were not shell-shocked, we were jealous. Why weren’t we the chosen ones.

When life is reduced to surviving for surviving’s sake, what’s the point in surviving? It’s like eating microscopic organisms off of mushrooms just to muster up the energy to hunt down more. To what end?

It’s a lonely life. As crowded with disorganized thoughts as my mind is, there’s an emptiness allowing it all to echo, to reverberate, to bounce off my mental walls and crush me in the crossfire of chaos.

Open AI - Dall-e 2 and Author

I travel alone, like most spiders do. I don’t keep in touch with my family. We tried to organize a reunion once, via Instagram, but we’re snails. Nothing is Insta with us.

Madness has invaded my soul and broken me.

Open AI - Dall-e 2 and Author

This one time, at Snail Camp, an oily teenager pried me from a rock and threw me out into the lake. It didn’t do anything.

I didn’t die. I went plop.

But now I was nowhere near my friends or the place I was calling home. Madness I tell you.

Please understand, all us snails want to leave this world.

Why wasn’t I stepped on? As I thought about crying I realized my way out. But first let me share that this isn’t the first time I’ve tried to end things.

Open AI - Dall-e 2 and Author

Last Spring I slimed to the top of a very high bridge overlooking a river.

Took me weeks.

I wanted to detach from the world and off myself, but I couldn’t.

I literally could not get myself off of the bridge. I stuck to every surface. I couldn’t detach myself for the life of me.

Where was I? Oh yeah. I’m out of my fucking mind.

Turbulent thoughts, chaotic frenzied irritation, this is my world. You see us micro-inch along a sidewalk, you have no idea we are filled with nonstop panic, forays into hallucinogenic halls motored by the mushroom and root diet, not to mention the pesticides.

Open AI - Dall-e 2 and Author

I am a sick sick snail.

That reminds me, this one time, at the same Snail Camp, I was part of a dance troop, and we had to choreograph the opening number for a talent show. There were nine of us. It took us six days to rehearse the first move. By the time we all got in place, camp was over.

I like hiking. Long hikes.
I can spend entire days going across a log.

I see phantoms and devils. I hear bells ringing all the time.

Have you ever seen two snails duke it out? We don’t. There’s not an aggressive bone in our body.

Open AI - Dall-e 2 and Author
Open AI - Dall-e 2 and Author
Open AI - Dall-e 2 and Author
Open AI - Dall-e 2 and Author

I may slur my words, but I am not drunk. (I’m not a slug, not even the garden variety.)

Vague thoughts crowd disorderly in my sleek slick skull.

I pace a lot. For a snail.

My way out is to cry, my salty tears will devour my body as it shrivels into itself. Tears of sadness and madness transform to tears of joy as I take leave of this world that moves too fast for a creature like me.

I cry and die.

Good-bye World


For more madness, follow me and we can make the jump together!

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Writer, Director, Producer of TV, Film and Stand-Up Comedy Tours in the MENA region and Asia. Writer's Guild, Director's Guild and Producer's Guild member. WARNING: Microdosing content will shift paradigm.

West Hollywood, CA

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