R.I.P. Joe Bodolai, Writer


Former ‘SNL’ Writer Dies in Suspected Suicide

Joe Bodolai Dies: Apparent Suicide For Former ‘SNL’ Writer

Aw, shit.

I hate it when someone experiences so much emotional anguish that they can’t find any way out of it other than ending their life.



What are my weapons?

1) I accept my alienation from practically all of mankind. Most people don’t. They find “not fitting in” to be either a character flaw or something fundamentally wrong with them. That’s bullshit. Read as many biographies as I have and you’ll see there were plenty of people before you in the same predicament.

2) Spite. I have nurtured my spite for decades. You will have to kill me, because I’ll be goddammed if I’ll do the job for you.

3) Every day is just another fucking day. Christmas? Just another day. New Year’s? Just another day. Whatever emotional attachment other people have been infected with towards these days I’ve had stripped out of me by soul bleach. Go have your transient fun. It’s totally meaningless to me.

4) Time doesn’t give a shit about you or anyone else. Everyone and everything turns to dust. So do your accomplishments. All those accomplishments we hail from the distant past are due to the very rare intelligent people who gave a shit saving them for everyone else as things that mattered. Societies without history have no such beacons. We are damn lucky.

5) Curiosity. I have an addiction to knowing what might happen next. Even if it’s my own suffering. I just need to know.

6) An awareness that even people in worse straits cling to life. You have it bad? What about that innocent guy you’ll never hear of dropped into some lawless country’s torture chamber to have information he doesn’t have and never had extracted from him by government-sanctioned and employed sadists? Post-9/11, we now know such things are real. How bad off are you now?

7) I’m just about permanently pissed off. Which is probably the worst thing to be. I am the wall you have to knock down when you think you can just steamroller everyone else. As I said: You will have to kill me.

I don’t expect any of these to apply to anyone else. And they are probably a horrible way to live. But I accept all of them and they make me continue.

Other people will find their comfort in prayer or the assumption they have people who really care they can turn to. I’ve had all that ripped out of me. Everything in the end comes down to you.

At the very least, out of spite, don’t kill yourself. You can never be sure tomorrow or some other tomorrow won’t be vastly different and better. Life is perverse like that.

Rest in peace, Joe Bodolai.


1 Comment

Filed under R.I.P.

One response to “R.I.P. Joe Bodolai, Writer

  1. I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to “like” this post, but I think you’ll know what I mean.

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