T.O.’s SUICIDE PREVENTION HOTLINE by Chris Joseph Was it a suicide attempt, a shameless ploy for media attention, or just a lonely, confused guy who mistook potentially lethal painkillers for a handful of Skittles? We may never know the real story behind the bizarre incident involving Dallas Cowboys star receiver Terrell Owens. But if it really was a suicide attempt, T.O.’s rapid recovery was so remarkable that he may want to consider making a career change in order to better serve his fellow man... "Thank you for calling T.O.’s Suicide Prevention Hotline, your chance to talk to the greatest wide receiver who ever lived. My name is Terrell. How may I help you?" "Terrell, my name is Bob. I’m feeling really bad, man. I don’t think I can hang on much longer." "What seems to be the problem, Bob?" "My whole world is falling apart. First, my wife left me for some other guy. She had the nerve to call me a loser, probably because I haven’t had a job in over two years, and I spend most of my time lying in my own filth while drinking beer and watching reruns of F Troop." "I see. And then what happened?" "Since I’ve been out of work for so long, I wasn’t able to make my mortgage payments. Those sleazeballs at the bank foreclosed on my house and turned it into a Chuck E. Cheese’s. I had to start living out of my car." "That’s a shame. What else?" "Well, speaking of my car, a guy from Al’s Qwik Credit came and repossessed my ’87 Fiero while I was in the liquor store. Now I’m living in a cardboard lean-to behind a sewage treatment plant...My life is crap, Terrell. I’m thinking of ending it all." "Damn! You are messed up, dude. I mean, who in his right mind finances an ’87 Fiero? I have fillings that are worth more than those." "But Terrell, I--" "Hey! I’m talkin’ here! You think you have problems? Let me tell you about problems. I am the best damn wide receiver in the history of the National Football League, yet nobody respects me. Not the coaches, not the players, not the media....you’d think everybody would love me. Why hasn’t anyone named a country or a candy bar after me yet? It’s so unfair." "Gee, Terrell, I--" "Shut up! I’m not finished...And let’s not forget about my contract. That skinflint Jerry Jones is paying me 25 million dollars. How am I supposed to survive on that? I have an ego to feed." "I see. Is there anything else?" "Bob, it feels like the whole world is against me. Just the other day, I ‘accidentally’ overdosed on the pain pills I’ve been taking for my broken hand. The police tried to say it was a suicide attempt. Then, my publicist said a man of my ‘statue’ would never try to take his own life. I mean, where did she learn to speak English–at the White House? I bet she can’t even spell ‘T.O.’" "Wow, I can see why you’re so despondent." "Hey now! Don’t you start with me, Bob. There’s no need to be calling me names...Oh, Lord, I’m so depressed. Why can’t everybody love me as much as I do?" "Terrell, you’re the greatest! I’m cured! After listening to you whine like a child, my problems suddenly don’t seem so bad...and I think I know just the thing to cheer you up, too. "Oh yeah? What’s that?" "I’m gonna give you a big party down at Chuck E. Cheese’s. I hear little kids love the place."
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