Herbert Melville looked down at the large, veiny, stiff and protruding pink sex toy. He wondered how it had gotten there. He wasn’t particularly surprised, indeed he didn’t particularly care. It just seemed strange to him that tonight, the night of his suicide, should be the night he did in fact encounter a large, veiny, stiff and protruding pink sex toy.

He thought for a moment. Upon the nature of being, of existence, why we’re here and things of that description. Or so I imagine. I mean come on, I’m not inside his head am I? You need to step the game up if you’re going to fall for that schoolboy shit.

Anyways, where was I? Ah, the sex toy. And what a sex toy it was. A vibrator. But not one of these sleek, smooth well oiled machines that stare seductively at you from Big Larry‘s Amsterdam Video Exchange and Sex Shop, just begging to be placed you know where. By the by, I’d told Big Larry repeatedly that his shops name was too long. I mean come on, it was a bit of a mouthful really. But he never listened, business was booming. But that’s a story for later. This sex toy was a rather vulgar piece, shaped just like a mans erect penis. It seemed to scream desperation and lonliness at Herbert. This I know for a fact. He said it himself. We both often wondered about vibrators and things of that description, it seemed that it was easy for women to get sex. Any man would have it with them. I mean honestly, if Jilly the barmaid turned and offered me a ride I’d say yes is an instant. Wouldn’t surprise me if she did do it one day. She’s been around, but so have I, so I guess I can’t judge. But yeah, as Herbert himself was telling me, he looked at this thing and it made him feel terrible.

So he jumped off the chair.