Well, let's bump this one more time so I can write this shit down and not forget the details in my old age.
There was basically nothing left when they found him, after a month in the heat in the woods. Scavengers and nature took their course pretty quick. The medical examiner initially refused to rule it a suicide (weird, how do the Clintons manage to get them all ruled like that?) because they didn't have enough to go off of. They literally fucking proposed that he could have been shot by someone on the trail off to his side. Uh huh. Yeah, totally reasonable. The only reason the fucker relented is because his hoodie was still in good enough shape that it had detectable powder burns on it, meaning it was close range. They found the shell casing, couldn't find the bullet. Bullet passed clean thru the skull from right to left. They didn't even have enough brain tissue to analyze, so there really wasn't much of anything left of him by this point.
He was in a spot just north of Afton Alps, in a ravine, and the gal that was leading the search team caught a whiff of something when she was closer to the trail, let the dog off the leash, and the dog went down and found him. It was surrounded by rock faces 5-6 feet high, and she actually broke her leg getting down to him. So it's not like I was going down there with my bum knee anyway.
The cops are real hung up on the fact that he had 10 rounds in one mag, 13 in the other, and the spent casing, making 24 out of the 25 rounds in the box. I thought about it for a minute and realized...oh, Hornady Critical Defense? Silver casing? "Yeah." There is no 25th round. I bought that box, determined Critical Defense groups worse than Critical Duty in my gun, and since he didn't have any defensive ammo, I gave it to him. That 25th round probably went into my range pile after being chambered and unloaded a dozen times in my carry gun before I made the swap.
So, now I gotta live with the fact that I gave my buddy the round that killed him. That's sweet, totally not gonna bounce around in my brain for the rest of my life. Cool beans. I mean, I guess on the bright side, we always wondered if that Hornady stuff was any good, turns out, pretty good penetration, and an obvious result. Reckon I'll keep using it in mine.
He never had a girlfriend. His dad said he was extremely modest and would need to be pursued extremely hard for him to have any interest in a woman. So yeah, exactly what clown world has wrought. Some self esteem issues coupled with no driving force to keep going, and just had nothing to live for and felt like he had no one to talk to. Didn't talk to his parents, wasn't talking to us, had no one else to talk to. So, another bright side is that there's absolutely nothing that any of us could have done to stop this. Can't help someone who doesn't want help...someone who's too ashamed or too embarrassed to talk about his problems to anyone. We as men don't do a good enough job stressing that you've gotta talk to SOMEONE about shit. It doesn't always have to be your partner, but you do need to talk some shit out so it doesn't end up eating you up.
So, that's about it. He bought smokes at 1030am. Smoked 2 of them in the parking lot of the gas station. His last text to me was a meme of the fucking pope playing basketball that I didn't understand at 1130, and they found him with a couple bottles of vodka, a couple bottles of coke, and 18 smokes. So he probably was dead 12 hours after that picture at the gas station.
View attachment 480008
That's it? That's your last word? No note, no nothing. Just peace out on a Pope Francis meme that ain't even that funny.
I guess go out with a question mark instead of a period.
