Twice in my life I’ve had occasion to seriously consider my own mortality. The first time was 10 years ago, the second time was last week. Both times I came to the same conclusion, that I didn’t want to die. Ever.
It’s not that I’m afraid of dying a horribly painful death, or that I’m afraid of dying alone or anything like that. I’m not afraid of going to hell either, mainly because I don’t think I deserve to go there. I know there are some out there who might disagree, but I just don’t see God punishing me with eternal damnation on a technicality like using birth control or voting democrat. No, what scares me the most is that there’s nothing after you die.
That doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it? If there’s nothing after you die, I won’t know the difference will I? Still, I’m scared. I’m afraid of those last few minutes, knowing it’s coming, and knowing that it might be the very end.
So, I now know how I want to die. I want to die on the operating table. That way I’ll just go to sleep tthinking I’m getting my tonsils out or whatever, thinking that in a couple of hours I’ll be chilling and eating ice cream, then I just won’t wake up. If there’s nothing I’ll never know. If I go to heaven, bully for me. I never knew anesthesia could be such a wonderful thing.
(Damn, that was morbid wasn’t it? Sorry about that. Here’s some levity for you: )
I just saw on TMZ that Brooke Hogan is available for public appearances at Sweet 16’s and such. Her fee is $25,000.
Since I’m also famous for doing nothing I’m also available. I’ll do it for $12,500. Consider it a bargain, the conversation will be much better than with Brooke. Hey, you’re lucky I don’t charge by the pound.
Also, a pic of Orlando when he was a hottie: