aenemated

i was in the shower this morning; laying there, as i so often do, deep in thought. for some reason, the MO of my eventual demise came to mind. what spawned it was a headline on fark.com that read something like 'don't want to be a senile old coot? drink coffee.' this led to me thinking of me being old which further lead to my death which, of course, lead to the exact way i'm going to go out.

the idea of death doesn't much bother me. i've seen it first hand a lot in the last few years, so there's none of that naive 'you mean i'm gonna die?' bullshit in my head ... mostly it's 'damn, how's it going to happen? am i gonna dry up on some hospital bed with a couple of bitter, angry kids whining around me and a dejected old wife telling the kids to respect their father dying right in front of them? will it be a fiery auto accident? perhaps a plane crash? what if i get shot with a stray bullet driving down fremont? that would be a really lame death -- nothing heroic and too blasted sudden. of course, heroic isn't likely to be the case because i'm a big pussy, so i'll be avoiding any potential hero acts. though i guess if i'm on a plane and some towel-head, allah-smoking cocksucker tries to gut me with a pencil, i'll do what i can to beat the living piss out of him. those guys are small, generally. you've seen photos of that atta bastard, right? he's a skinny motherfucker. box cutter or not, it would take one really good kick to the testicles and he's out.

yeah, a kick to the balls, man, i have NO shame. if you're looking to fuck with me, i'm gonna plant your testicles somewhere in your chest cavity -- be assured of that one. call me a pussy when you can breath again, motherfucker.

sorry, litle OT there. as i was saying, yes ... how am i gonna go? how are you gonna go? is there some amount of satisfaction in at least picking it out and going for it? if that's the case, it looks like i've chosen lung cancer and heart disease. or maybe cirrhosis of the liver. fuck yeah.

bring it.