• I had a good run. 

• I’m ready for the next stage of my spiritual journey. 

• Dumbledore will be there, ready to peel back the cellophane cover on the Mysteries of Existence. 

• My body will putrefy and life will sprout out of my bones and melted fat. 

• At least I left before things really turned to shit. 

• My mystery novel will leave a lasting legacy. 

• They’ll be sorry. They’ll all be sorry. 

• The afterlife will be like a never ending episode of “Welcome Back, Kotter,” only now I’ll be Barbarino. 

• No more condoms.

• No more status updates.

• No more ringworm. 

• I’ll finally know how “The Sopranos” ended. 

belllwitch:

Saint Francis performs an Exorcism

theyoungestbeswick:

Made at his own request. What a guy. RIP

When I ask people how they want to die (which is my standard break-the-ice question at social gatherings) they usually reply that they want to go peacefully and painlessly while they sleep. Which is absolute baloney. Because there is no way anyone is exiting this world peacefully and painlessly. I know this because I woke up with a terribleCharley Horse last week.

During a particularly idyllic dream I stretched my leg and was shocked awake with a painful tug in my right leg. The pain began radiating in my calf and my breathing was hard and labored, hoping that it would soon pass. I stretched my foot, trying to remember if you were supposed to lead with your heel or toe to alleviate the twinge. I obviously chose wrong.

What had started as a minor irritant transformed into the feeling of one hundred unseen ghost hands hammering at my flesh. I touched my calf, now rock hard, and felt the muscles tightening and straining under the skin. The pain was unbearable. With Marissa sleeping next to me I tried not to make any noise, but still some yelps escaped me. With the pain unrelenting, I leaned over and bit down hard on the nightstand. Tears welled in my eyes and sweat dripped down my forehead. Eventually the muscles calmed themselves and I tentatively moved my leg and fell back to sleep.

The point of this is: if that is the kind of gut-wrenching pain that happens when a muscle in my leg wants to slightly act up, how is it not going to be painful when my heart decides to stop pumping blood through my body? It may be quick, but it will feel like hours. And it will be the last thing I ever know.

Courtesy of LAist:

“A Toyota Corolla traveling in the fast lane around 9:30 p.m. hit a couch. That car was then hit by a GMC Safari, which overturned and ejected a passenger who was later pronounced dead at the scene.”

Yeah. That sucks.

Last week Heidi Montag’s plastic surgeon, Dr. Frank Ryan died in a car accident. How did he die, you ask? Well, according to his ex-girlfriend, Dr. Ryan was:

“He was texting while driving and he accidentally went over the cliff.”

Excuse me, but what?! He’s like a shitty, Twitter-obsessed Thelma and Louise.

Ever since moving to LA, I’ve tried to adopt a healthier lifestyle. Most people motivate themselves because they want to “look and feel better” or “live in communion with nature.”  But no, that doesn’t work for me. I need something stronger.

Instead, I repeat this mantra to myself every morning. Feel free to use it for yourself if you like:

You’re gonna die. You’re gonna die. Oh my God. You’re gonna die.

And that usually works. But sometimes it’s not enough and I need to step my game up a little.

You’re gonna die. You’re gonna die. Holy Maloney, you are going to die. And you will be an embarrassment to your family.

And if that doesn’t work I pull out the big guns:

You’re gonna die. You’re gonna die. Oh sweet Jesus, you’re gonna die. And when the paramedics find your bloated corpse they will pose you in hilarious positions and take photos with you while calling you names. And those photos will get posted on the internet and will be the biggest thing since Keyboard Cat. All the while your ghost will float above them crying and wishing they would stop.

As you can tell, it’s very motivating. Except on the days when I have no choice but to pull the covers up to my head and pretend that I’m a robot created in an artificial lab who has no need for emotions or exercise. Let me know how it goes for you!