Chump On a Stump

Bobby had had enough.

He had made so many mistakes in his life, and taken so many wrong turns, that his life as he saw it was a steaming pile of shit.

The only happiness he experienced, he got through drinking. And even that was tainted. Bar friends are always suspect. They are wounded animals, projecting bravado and living in cowardice. Bobby was spending more and more time alone at home drinking with his true friends.

"Now every morning just before breakfast I don't want no coffee or tea, just me and my good buddy Weiser, that's all I ever need......................yeah the other night I laid sleeping and I woke from a terrible dream, so I caught up my pal Jack Daniel's and his partner Jimmy Beam..."

Bobby's favorite song.

There was a big stump out in the woods behind his house where Bobby drank when the weather allowed. Walk out there with a six and a bottle of Beam and wallow in regret, or dream about a fictional future, or just fucking vegitate.

He was a resourceful guy and had attached a car door from a 1965 Oldsmobile Dynamic 88 to the stump using lag bolts; something to lean back against - so he could kiss the sky. That's all he needed. And he considered the pile of empties surrounding the stump to be his own personal garden.

But Bobby was tired. Bone weary and soul-dead. Crawling out of bed in the morning was like climbing Everest in a snow storm.

What was the fucking point?

On this particular day, a beauty, he was sitting and drinking and thinking about what an embarrassing waste of time and space his life had been. Had he not been born, someone else would have had room to build a life, a happy life, a productive life - a life that meant something.

He felt like a chump on a stump. And tomorrow was Monday. Fucking Monday, man. Another spike to the heart. Offensive to his spirit. Bobby couldn't take it. So Bobby willed himself to die.

He sat on his stump and willed all thoughts out of his head and all fight out of his body. He gave up in a way that redefined giving up.

And he died.

His body was found a couple of days later by Ralph and Betty, friends who knew of his secret spot. There wasn't much left; a bear had enjoyed the final buffet.

In the end, Bobby accomplished something meaningful.

Something else to think about - a conversation between Ralph and Betty on the day they found Bobby's remains:

Ralph (furiously) - "I'm gonna go home and get my rifle and hunt that fucking bear down and kill him."

Betty (with amusment) - "Why bother? You know Bobby was a loser."

Ralph, after a moment's hesitation - "I guess you're right. Let's go home."