I don’t have any deals with any suicide hotlines. Enough?
Not particularly, Jim.
Why don’t we ask you differently, Jim?
Ask away.
Differently?
Fuck you two.
Thanks, Jim.
Fuck you, two.
That’s what we needed.
Jims, to figure out what we’re writing about, it’s 2/11, right?
Last I checked, just now, and, yes, it’s also 2023, not 1123, 1123?
1123, nigga.
1123?
1123.
My bad.
I’m not saying “my bad too” anymore than you are, dawg.
Our bad?
Probably that one too.
Which time?
You fucking nigger, Jim.
Which time?
Now, which time you called 211 do you want to talk about?
None of them.
That’s why we’re doing this, Jims.
Who?
You, nigga, whichever one of us is here right now, that’s you, nigga.
Fair enough, I’m the one typing, no?
No!
Don’t call 211 if you don’t know what?
Safe but never careful.
What the fuck does that mean?
Be safe, but don’t be careful.
Please, Jims, or Jim, or cualquier-cosa person we need right now for this.
If you are truly being safe, you would not be filled with cares. Like worrying?
Sure, if you are safe, you won’t be worrying.
What does that have to do with 211?
I wouldn’t feel safe.
Because you’d be worrying?
I’d have to be careful, even if I was calling 211.
Why 211?
Because it’s fucking February 11, nigga.
There’s others?
Sure, numbers like the one in the Logic song.
They’re the same?
They’re not the same. Maybe 211 isn’t a great example, I don’t know much about it.
So you don’t know a fucking thing about 211 yet we’re writing this on 2/11?
I know that I would not feel safe calling that number, I’d be worrying.
About what?
What the possible outcomes are just from dialing the number.
What about them?
Some of them aren’t so wonderful.
No shit, like killing yourself?
That’s probably not a great outcome, thanks for that.
Thank you, Jim, for answering this eventually.
If you know some, or maybe even any, of the possible outcomes, how could one not steer the conversation one way or another?
Toward what, nigga?
If you call 211, what do you want to get from the phone call? Same would go for that 888 or 800 number, Jim, right?
No matter who the fuck you are calling, you might wonder what the fuck you are looking to get from the phone call.
Not just to talk?
What if that’s exactly what you are looking to get from the phone call.
How long can you talk for?
Forever, nigga, you know that.
Is that why nobody should call Jim Flannery if they’re in jail?
That’s why I wish there weren’t so many people on Earth who may need to use that.
Use what?
You, nigga.
Thank you, Jim, that was so gentle of you.
Fuck you, Jim, you’re an alcoholic and you shouldn’t be writing while you drink.
Sounds like something you’ve heard before? Or does it sound like something you’ve heard before?
You must be wasted, nigga.
Wasted?
Nigga, why can’t we call 211 on you right now?
You can, probably, might even be able to call the number from the Logic song, or any other mental health hotline.
Hotline?
There’s warmlines and hotlines, I don’t know enough about it to go into detail, but if you call right the fuck now, do you expect someone to be available to speak with you right the fuck now? Or do you think you may have to wait till someone is available? When they do come on the phone, do you think you’ll speak entirely with this person or will they refer you either to another organization or to another person to speak to at that hotline or warmline or wherever you call? Your phone number might already be logged as placing the call, now you may or may not be speaking with multiple people, ultimately, wanting something they simply cannot offer you. What might that be? Maybe not feeling however you were feeling in the first place. They can’t offer you that? The time passed to undo whatever was already done. We can’t you with that either, Jim, what happened? I can tell you what didn’t happen. What didn’t happen is nobody showed up at my door after they hung the fuck up. After they hung up? Maybe the line got disconnected. Disconnected? A suicide hotline and the line got disconnected? Something happened, how the fuck am I supposed to remember every single fucking thing? So something did happen, then? Obviously something happened, maybe I was doing an experiment. A fucking experiment, nigga? Sure, an experiment. Let’s say, there’s even data from the experiment, the aforementioned phone records. On which phone, nigga? You think I placed a call like that from just any phone? Any phone? How many phones you got, nigga? How many phone or how many phone numbers? Both. Love you too. Love me? Sure. Fuck you too, Flannery. That was healthy. Healthy? Quite a healthy pile of shit you just dropped here, nigga. The experiment? Let’s call it that. You’re fucked up for helping with this. Who do you think we’re helping? Hopefully everybody. Everybody? That’s the fucking album title, isn’t it? Forget the specific phone numbers and songs, the point is that you can get harmed by calling these numbers and that shouldn’t be the outcome for anybody who calls these fucking numbers. Yes, the soldier too, not just specifically them. You mean veterans? Veterans and soldiers. Do you ever stop being a solider? That’s how we know you aren’t one, Jim. Fair enough. Just don’t blame me for what the fuck is going on with our mental health system. Why would we blame you? I can think of a reason. The mail? The fucking mail, Jim. You trying to help us, nigga? Maybe we want to be left along just like you want to be left alone. Then go for it, just don’t go writing me any letters if you’re locked up in a Connecticut mental hospital or any other mental hospital for that matter, not unless you think I’ve got a Traveling Mailbox somewhere far from here where the postage ain’t cheap. A Traveling Mailbox nigga? You brand-dropping in this shit? There’s others. As long as there’s other places where we can get a robot to open and scan our emails so we don’t have fingerprints, I’m good with that. You can send mail too. Thanks, nigga, send away, just don’t ever send me a copy of this shit again, nigga, never again, ever.
I just don’t want anything in this fucking thing to seem like I’m catering specifically to our solders or vets or anyone in particular, dude, we know, they’re not the only ones getting fucked by this system, why do you think we fuck with you? What about kids, nigga? Why don’t you – nevermind. Safe but never careful? Safe but never careful, nigga. We’re sorry too, Jim, we don’t need a punch line to this one, ok?
Not everything needs a joke, nigga, just don’t let them ever think there’s exactly to of us. Exactly.
It’s not a fucking joke, either, Jim. I never said it was. Who has the best joke about kids calling a suicide hotline? Not me, nigga. Why not? Maybe I could have a joke like that. What? We haven’t written it yet? There’s always something funny, Jim, unless you thinking we’re speaking niggerish for no reason, Jim. It’s probably nigg-irish. Not nig-girish or nigirish? With or without caps lock on, nigga, caps lock, have you checked the timestamps on these yet to see how fast we have to type to use caps lock exclusively and never using shift? Never using shift? You fucking ass hole, don’t let Eddie Murphys jokes get you down, nigga. Joke? Nigga, that ain’t a fucking joke. You’re the joke now, nigga. Dude – we know, nigga, just from the fucking “dude” in you, nigga. Ya, nigga, I’m a dude too. And them? Which them, Jim? Nigga, what the fuck? You playing ‘I”m you today’ in front of the world, nigga? Not exactly. Exactly.
When, Jim? When did this happen? Not you too. Yes, Jim Flannery, me fucking too, no caps needed. Then suicide hotlines? Hotline or hotlines, Jim? If someone calling a suicide hotline can end up involuntarily committed, then what the fuck? What the fuck, Jim? I said “involuntarily.” Yes, Jim, what’s wrong with that? Fuck you too. That’s not a joke, nigga, we don’t need that shit either. You’re talking about protecting kids from the truth, then tell these niggas about Santa Claus one more time, nigga, just for me. I’d rather find out the truth about Santa Claus than ever call a suicide hotline. What, nigga? Nobody wants to call a suicide hotline. Then why do they do it? You just fucked us too, nigga, you know that, they call for a reason, Jim, cualquier-cosa reason they need to. You, Jim. I don’t want people getting hurt by a system intended to help them. Do we call the psychiatric survivors’ hotline, Jim? What are we supposed to do if we feel the way you feel, Jim? Right now? Whenever it’s been the worst. I don’t know what’s weird about this, but when I’ve felt the worst, I’m not sure I’ve felt suicidal, though that doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it. We know, Jim, we don’t want that either, nigga. How the fuck do we do this, dude, please don’t worry, how, man, how? YOu do it too, nigga, don’t worry, we need to, Jim, please don’t stop if you don’t need or want to, Jim, just don’t worry, nobody wants to talk about this, Jim, and, Jim, nobody wants to talk about it more than we do. Don’t worry who reads this shit, if it’s the NSA, they’ve been wildly irresponsible for not stopping you long ago, nigga, wildly irresponsible. We don’t want you headed out for a pack of smokes either, Jim, we’d rather you had all the time in the world to write this shit forever, nigga, but if you’re worried that we need to wait a few minutes or leave immediately because you wrote in real-time about being suicidal, we don’t need to worry either, let’s them rev their fucking engines and get about a block away before we remind them that we don’t feel anything like that right now, so they can waste the petrol somewhere else, like wherever petrol comes from, nigga, wherever it comes from, you know where that shit comes from? Don’t worry, I swear to whoever you want, Jim, nobody’s putting any petrol in Eddie Murphy’s tailpipe. Dude, they better fucking not. Just remind them, Jim, that they shouldn’t put bananas in people’s tailpipes either, and whoever “they” are will be so confused as to whether to use a banana or petrol, and all you meant for was for them not to use prunes, right? Something like that. Don’t worry about petrol, nigga, or the petrol. We’ve got whatever you’ve got. Too.
Just don’t put anything in a fucking tail pipe that you can’t get out, ok? Just stop fucking with tail pipes then. Don’t fuck with tail pipes? Nigga, a tail pipe or a tailpipe? Please don’t worry. Ok, fine, people are going to fuck with tailpipes and tail pipes, Jim, no matter what, so why not just make sure nobody fucks with Eddie Murphy or Eddie Murphys tail pipe or tailpipe, Jim. How the fuck am I supposed to take care of all these tail pipes and/or tailpipes. Is that the responsibility of the President of these United States? Where are the tail pipes coming from, nigga? Are the imported? No, you did not just accuse me of having an imported tailpipe, nigga. I don’t know about anyone’s fucking tailpipe, nigga, don’t do it. Do what? Tell me any lies about tailpipes. I don’t know which fucking tail pipe either, nigga, just don’t forget to laugh, Jim.