Rick saunters into the living room and sits on the couch. He takes out his flask and slurps a long sip. “Burrrrppp. Well, here's to another Burrrrrpppp Monday.” Rick looks over at Morty and says, “What day is it?” “You just said it Rick.” replied Morty. “I know what I said. What is the number? Ya know? The stupid system named after Pope Gregory XIII (the 13th) when the Romans got tired of using the other one invented by the guy that killed his best friend.” Morty paid attention to Rick, but sometimes wished he was more black and white with his explanations of questions. “It's March 23.” Rick stared blankly at the inactive television screen and sighed. “Oh. Okay. I don't know what about today makes me feel the way your Dad does everyday.” Rick started to think back to that day where he almost killed himself.

I went to the garage, my laboratory, den, my man-cave stashed with asian ass porn. Where it all began and where it wasn't going anymore. I put together the machine, placed the red crystal in its cartridge, and put my head in between the transfer connectors. Right before that, I drank a decomp liquid that I previously poured on an alien creature found in my freezer. It sure did a number on that melted popsicle alien. In the end, I just couldn't go out that way. Fuck that.

Coming out of deep immersed thought, all Rick could hear was Morty saying over and over again, “Rick? Rick, are you okay?” Rick...