The Man Who Gave Up Everythng.

Just for you Willats to read when you are supposed to be working.




THE MAN WHO GAVE UP EVERYTHING.


By D. Jonas Laurence.



Once upon a time there was a man who gave up everything.
First of all he gave up cigarettes. After a while he felt so good about giving up cigarettes that he gave up drinking beer.
He felt so much better for giving up drinking beer that he soon gave up drinking bourbon. And whiskey. And vodka. And absinthe. And poteen. And the 100% alcohol solution that they keep in torpedo chambers of submarines.
He felt good giving up things.
So he gave up brushing his hair.
He gave up cutting his hair.
He gave up shaving or brushing his teeth.
He gave up wearing shoes.
He gave up ironing his clothes. Then he gave up wearing clothes all together.
He walked around naked, with mangy hair and beard, smelly breath, dirty (because he had given up using shower gel or even showering), until he gave up walking as well.
He would then stay at home not sitting, not standing, just sort of hovering, because, of course, he had given up both sitting and standing.
He had given up his furniture and his oven. His house was empty. Except for dust. He had given up dusting.
Then he gave up his house.
He had given up mowing the lawns a long time before.
So then he began to hover on the streets.
He gave up eating ice cream.
He gave up eating chicken.
He gave up drinking coke.
He gave up eating apples.
Then he gave up eating all together.
Then he gave up drinking any form of liquid at all.
Then he hovered to the country, he had given up on the city.
He kept his eyes closed; he had given up on seeing.
He kept bumping into trees, but he soon gave that up.
Until finally he hovered into a field of grass and daisies and he lay down.
“I have given up hovering,” he said to himself, “my hovering days are over.”
So he lay there on the grass and daisies of a field in the countryside with his eyes shut.
Then he decided that his heart would give up beating.
Then he decided that he would give up breathing.
Then he decided that he would give up living.
And he would have been happy but for the fact that he had already given up on being happy a long, long, time ago.
And so he gave up living.
And he found himself before the great big pearly gates of Heaven.
And St. Peter said to him “Do you think you are worthy of entering Heaven?”
But he didn’t answer, you see, because he had given up answering questions whilst on earth. Whilst living.
“Oh, you’ve given up on answering have you?” St. Peter boomed. He couldn’t see him of course, because he had still given up on seeing, but St. Peter’s voice radiated around him like music from a symphony orchestra.
Until he gave up hearing.
“Suit yourself.” St. Peter sighed and cast him down into the pits of Hell. Because if you come to the great big pearly gates of Heaven and have given up answering then you can’t very well answer the question that St. Peter has for you, and if you don’t answer then you must be cast into the pits. Them’s the rules.
And so he found himself in the pits of Hell.
And Satan came running over on his cloven feet like a little schoolgirl with a new Barbie doll to play with.
“Yayyyy!!!” he said in a nasal voice, “I can’t wait for you to suffer in the eternal flames of damnation.”
But of course our hero had given up seeing and hearing, so he didn’t know that everyone was talking to him. Satan got closer and peered into his face.
“Hmmm,” he said, “given up seeing and hearing what what.”
Satan had extremely bad breath, as you can imagine, as that is one of the tortures of Hell, everyone you meet has terrible halitosis, and so our man gave up smelling right away.
“Bugger,” said Satan, “I’ll just have to throw him into the beginners pool of burning molten lava for a couple of thousand years.”
So he did.
But Satan hadn’t counted on one fact.
Our hero had already given up feeling anything. So the burning molten lava didn’t hurt, and he had already given up on burning, so his skin remained intact.
And now he simply gave up on the effects of time, so the couple of thousand years in the beginners’ pool flew by in 00.00001 of a second.
“Shitbox!!!” the Devil screamed, “turds! Butt-plugs! Feces face!” The Devil was angry you see.
“What can I do?……” the Devil mused sitting on his baboon red arse, “how can I give this pooh-stain the proper punishment?”
But it didn’t matter anyway because at that moment our protagonist decided to give up Hell.
So he found himself in a place where he did not know.
He had given up seeing, hearing, smelling, and feeling. He couldn’t taste anything so he gave up trying.
So then he did the only thing that he could think of.
(Before he gave up thinking.)
He gave up existing.



THE END.