Kurt Cobain's Suicide Note

(I, not Cobain, am responsible for highlighting (bold) words.)
"To Boddah
Speaking from the tongue of an experienced simpleton who obviously would rather be an emasculated, infantile complain-ee. This note should be pretty easy to understand.
All the warnings from the punk rock 101 courses over the years, since my first introduction to the, shall we say, ethics involved with independence and the embracement of your community has proven to be very true. I haven't felt the excitement of listening to as well as creating music along with reading and writing for too many years now. I feel guity beyond words about these things.
For example when we're back stage and the lights go out and the manic roar of the crowds begins., it doesn't affect me the way in which it did for Freddie Mercury, who seemed to love, relish in the the love and adoration from the crowd which is something I totally admire and envy. The fact is, I can't fool you, any one of you. It simply isn't fair to you or me. The worst crime I can think of would be to rip people off by faking it and pretending as if I'm having 100% fun. Sometimes I feel as if I should have a punch-in time clock before I walk out on stage. I've tried everything within my power to appreciate it (and I do,God, believe me I do, but it's not enough). I appreciate the fact that I and we have affected and entertained a lot of people. It must be one of those narcissists who only appreciate things when they're gone. I'm too sensitive. I need to be slightly numb in order to regain the enthusiasms I once had as a child.
On our last 3 tours, I've had a much better appreciation for all the people I've known personally, and as fans of our music, but I still can't get over the frustration, the guilt and empathy I have for everyone. There's good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad. The sad little, sensitive, unappreciative, Pisces, Jesus man. Why don't you just enjoy it? I don't know!
I have a goddess of a wife who sweats ambition and empathy and a daughter who reminds me too much of what i used to be, full of love and joy, kissing every person she meets because everyone is good and will do her no harm. And that terrifies me to the point to where I can barely function. I can't stand the thought of Frances becoming the miserable, self-destructive, death rocker that I've become.
I have it good, very good, and I'm grateful, but since the age of seven, I've become hateful towards all humans in general. Only because it seems so easy for people to get along that have empathy. Only because I love and feel sorry for people too much I guess.
Thank you all from the pit of my burning, nauseous stomach for your letters and concern during the past years. I'm too much of an erratic, moody baby! I don't have the passion anymore, and so remember, it's better to burn out than to fade away.
Peace, love, empathy.
Kurt Cobain
Frances and Courtney, I'll be at your alter.
Please keep going Courtney, for Frances.
For her life, which will be so much happier without me.

I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU!"

I Love Penny

Got your back.

I finally named her.  She may be the last groundhog left in this immediate area.  There might be another, but she rules the territory around my windows.  It is possible that she has chased all her sisters and her mother away.  She has claimed the hole she grew up in as her own.  The hole is right next to the building I live in.  The first groundhog I ever named, Sheila, used to live in this hole.  Anyway, her name is Penny.  I think it fits her well.  She's very cute, but, then again, the vast majority of them are.  She's been frightened a little too much lately.
The birds were driving me crazy.  Whoever designed the kitchen fans in these buildings is a real dummy.  Birds seem to think they make perfect bird houses.  Since I love animals, I put up with them for the longest time.  Thump!  That's the sound of a bird landing behind the kitchen fan.  You could hear that several more times than you would ever want to in any given day.  Chirp, chirp, chirp!  Birds make so much noise.  Especially baby birds, who are probably saying "Feed me!" most of the time.  I'd finally had enough.  They made so much noise on a daily basis; they were driving me nuts.  I began to try to scare them away.  They'd make their noise, then I would go over to the fan and tap hard on the outside of it: hoping it would scare them away.  It was just a temporary solution, though.  They always came back.  I called the office about it.  The office manager said they can put a cover on it, but they don't like to, because the fan keeps the units from getting too smoky.
I said, "I don't care about that; these birds are driving me crazy!"  Besides, I don't fry, or burn, anything.  I bake potatoes, boil pasta, and so on.  I never do any smoky cooking.  So they put the cover on.  Things were fine for months, but I recently heard the birds again.  I went outside to look, and, sure enough, the cover came off and was hanging open on one side.  But when I went outside to look, I scared Penny.  She had been grazing, and she ran into her hole when she saw or heard me.  So I called the office again and asked them to put the cover back on.  But the next day, I kept hearing the birds.  Since I saw one of the maintenance guys spraying freakin' bushes, instead of covering my fan, I called the office again to say that no one had done it.  I was told it would be done that day.  I went for a walk.  When I returned, I checked to see if the fan had been covered.  Poor Penny, I scared her again.  She dove into her hole.  But then she stuck her head out to look around: very cute.  Finally, the fan was covered.  And no birds were trapped inside.  There were none in there at the time; I checked.