about the author

Matt Ferner is currently an Editor at The Huffington Post and a feature contributor/Section Editor at Smalldoggies Magazine where he writes a regular dark satire column titled “Business Casual.” Matt’s first book of fiction will be released by SD Press towards the end of 2011.


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SUICIDE LETTER

Matt Ferner



Dear Everyone—

To whomever finds this letter, please include it as the last chapter of my final work, The Encyclopedia of Everything. This letter will serve as the chapter on Suicide Letters as well as an example of an actual suicide letter. You’ll notice I’ve already given it a header of “SUICIDE LETTER” to aid in this effort.

I’m so tired out here at sea. I had finally finished my Encyclopedia, my life’s work. 279,457 pages about everything in the known world. And these are big pages, over-sized pages, almost three feet wide and four feet tall. There’s approximately 10,000 words on each of those precious pages. 2,759,457,000 words to sum up everything that humans have ever known. All life. All objects. All thoughts. All things created and all things destroyed. I sent it off to every publisher in the world and all of them rejected me/it and I cannot bear to live in a world where knowledge like this is not published. This tome contains everything, literally. A person could read nothing else in life but this and be absolutely up to date and in the know about everything that has occurred in the Universe up to this point. And the Powers That Be will not unleash this information to the world! Is it too good? Does it make a person who reads it too intelligent? I think the answer to those questions is obvious. Yes. Yes, it does.

What’s a Concretion? It’s a rock formation most famously noticed on Bowling Ball Beach in Mendocino County, California, in the United States, Earth, Milky Way Galaxy, Universe. It’s easily found on page 9,820 in the EoE. You would all know this answer and many more if you would have had the chance to own a copy of my Encyclopedia of Everything for a reasonable price of $14.99 per copy. All knowledge in the Universe (at the time of publication) for $14.99. Pretty fucking great of a deal, I’d say. Who wouldn’t want to know everything about everything for the price of three T-shirts from Celebrity T-Shirts on Alameda in Gunbarrel, Colorado, on January 6, 2003. The prices later went up. Page 3,031. Or for the price of ninety-seven super balls from The Toy Shoppe in Lebanon (as of this letter, these super balls are still this price). Page 696 in the EoE. You know how I know all this—The Encyclopedia of Everything. You couldn’t possibly know any of this because you’ve never gazed upon any of its magnificent pages. My hope is that in my death, this book will become popular as so many important works of art and philosophy become popular after the creator dies. I am giving my life to you, humanity. For you. With the hopes that this important work will be seen by all. Given to children on their birthdays. Fathers on Father’s Day. Given to the world leaders during times of crises. Read from at weddings. Referenced in research papers. Used as a universal text book in every school around the world. There is no need to use other books! It’s that comprehensive. Then updated yearly with all the new knowledge that has accumulated and I didn’t even want to charge extra for the updates! We’re talking probably thousands of new pages yearly—for the same low price of $14.99. I think that’s what turned off the big publishers. My lack of interest in commerce. Well, I’m not interested in it! I’m interested in increasing the intelligence of humans all over the globe.

Who wrote The Food Bible? Judith Wills, that’s who. Page 14,346 in the EoE. In The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky, what page do we find out the age of Dimitri Fyodorovitch? Page 56 in the Barnes & Noble Classics version. Page 50 in the original The Russian Messenger where it was originally published—this and 407 other notations of when this occurs on what page, in every edition ever published are all contained on pages 56,002 through 57,009. Instead, like some kind of idiot you would have to find each edition and find the page that Dimitri’s age is given manually. You probably don’t even have access to all the editions (as I took the time to do) to even compare these kinds of details.

How do you build a nuclear bomb? All covered on pages 39,990 through 40,308. All kinds of nuclear bombs, whichever kind you wanted to build, you could find it here in my EoE, nay, our EoE. Humanity’s EoE.

Who sat to the immediate right of Glenn Danzig (Glenn Allen Anzalone) in his fourth grade classroom, Cindy fucking Pish, that’s who. Page 78,023. His whole goddamned class is documented. As is everyone else’s from every grade, from every class, from every state, from every country ever on Earth (if part of the historical record). Accounted for and cross-referenced, easily. I wanted the EoE to even have a dozen massive and custom strips of fabric that could be used to mark up to twelve (twelve!) places in the EoE at once, flip to the birth of Christ (page 46,031) and then cross-reference that with what time the informercial Amazing Discoveries was on in 1993 (page 79,003).

I have destroyed all copies of the EoE with exception to the one in my cabin (suite #45-103) on this Carnival Cruise Line Nancy Reagan cruise ship. But the original, the actual original copy that would have gone into the fucking Smithsonian and probably copied a trillion times over and dipped in bronze and placed in homes all over the world and decorated around to honor it is coming with me to the bottom of the sea, you assholes. I stuffed my clothes with it to help me sink to the bottom of this great Atlantic Ocean, you dumb motherfuckers, you’ll never get the chance to launch it into outer space to prove to alien life that we are intelligent and deserve a place at the intergalactic table where all the Universe’s honchos (presumably) meet, (even this theory is discussed in the EoE, page 29). Future generations will never get to analyze each and every page, the notations that I made to myself and my editor (my dear friend, Jerry Pemberton Only—his first editorial duty and likely his last once he discovers that I have killed myself and taken all of his notes and edits with me—apologies Jerry, but it’s clearly for an important effect that I think you of all people would understand. Much love and respect to you, my friend.) and what terrific bursts of creative thought were bursting forth from us and onto the pages of the EoE. Scientists will never be able to prove that this was written by a single man—me, Franklin Rouge—they will argue for eons over the true authorship of this, like William Shakespeare’s own works receive. The passionate discourse that will follow (that you will never be able to resolve satisfactorily, you fuckers) may cause wars amongst nations, it will certainly break apart families and friends. Probably worse. But, all of this pain and misunderstanding could have been stifled if a single publisher would have accepted this manuscript and released its crushing display of information to you readers out there who will remain in a retarded state due to the lack of it in your shitty lives.

Fuck you Funk and Wagnalls. Fuck you Encyclopedia Britannica. Fuck you World Book. Fuck you Wikipedia. Fuck you Google. Fuck you Internet. Fuck you Internet users. Fuck you Americans. Fuck you America. Fuck you Europe. Fuck you Australia. Fuck you Africa. Fuck you Pacific Ocean. Fuck you Asia. Fuck you Eurasia. Fuck you Atlantic Ocean. Fuck you seas of the world. Fuck you fish. Fuck you Antarctica. Fuck you outer space. Fuck you physics. Fuck you every topic. Fuck you alphabet. Fuck you information. Fuck you fiber-optics. Fuck you agents. Fuck you books. Fuck you publishers. Fuck you letters. Fuck you life’s work. Fuck you passion. Fuck you life. Fuck you happy people. Fuck you people that love what they do. Fuck you dreamers. Fuck you dreams. Fuck you boats. Fuck you rare and exotic animals that took me more time to outline in the EoE than any other topic. Fuck you cell phones. Fuck you trees. Fuck you planets. Fuck you building materials. Fuck you fonts. Fuck you chapters. Fuck you history. Fuck you humans. Fuck you coffee. Fuck you news. Fuck you inventions. Fuck you insects. Fuck you multiple types of ant species. Fuck you clouds. Fuck you particle physics. Fuck you Higgs boson. Fuck you universe. Fuck you money. Fuck you failure. Fuck you compact discs. Fuck you computers. Fuck you microchips. Fuck you future. Fuck you past. Fuck you present. Fuck you all my former wives. Fuck you my children that abandoned me. Fuck you fate. Fuck you libraries. Fuck you writers. Fuck you artists. Fuck you massive debt. Fuck you cars. Fuck you fences. Fuck you parks. Fuck you hairstyles. Fuck you fit people. Fuck you rich people. Fuck you banks. Fuck you mortgage company. Fuck you attorneys. Fuck you movies. Fuck you photography. Fuck you lions. Fuck you jungle creatures. Fuck you butterflies. Fuck you majestic rainbows. Fuck you tears. Fuck you squirrels. Fuck you love birds. Fuck you mating season. Fuck you Internet porn. Fuck you lightbulb. Fuck you can of spray air. Fuck you paper products. Fuck you billboards. Fuck you media companies. Fuck you commercials. Fuck you professors. Fuck you students. Fuck you. Fuck you everyone.

This concludes the book and my life.

Sincerely,
Franklin Rouge





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