amantedelaguacate's Blogs
How Would You Like to Die?
Everyone dies. And so, each of us will die at some specific time and place and circumstance.
Given the choice, if you've thought about this, how would you PREFER your death to be?
(Don't everyone, please, say, "In bed asleep." I'm interested in other opinions and ideas.)
Thank you for any / all feedback.
Fucked to death
I want to leave a big mess behind so maybe squished by a heavy object or blown to pieces
Lingchi - death by 1000 cuts method maybe?
I've had about that many nurse given needles already... That level of pain is too easy to get used to. I guess they did it wrong or liked using me as a pin bag. LOL.
With my boots off ????
:
Without suffering and with a smile...
Most likely of from some catastrophic illness.. but if it came to it much rather on my motorcycle on the PCH1 north on a turn i just could not make.
I was born blue and dead was brought back quickly after having the cord around my neck untied.... since then I've died and almost been killed in many many ways.... So far, it just doesn't stick. Death and being dead is overrated, trust me! Pain along the way is the real bitch of it. But, there is nothing to fear after death... However, it is unavoidable, so just focus on every enjoyable second you can live. That's what I do.
In bed asleep
To Nick:
"Life's a Bitch, and Then You Die." That's the saying.
The saying can be interpreted as a sad / pathetic. Calvinist / predestination. concept about the uselessness / meaninglessness of life, that we're just robots or puppets for the amusement of God or the Gods.
It's also true. Life is hard; and death is inevitable.
But, the important thing about life (whether or NOT one has faith that it has a PURPOSE), is to stuff as many good / positive / warm moments, and altruistic actions, into that "predetermined time" as possible.
:-)
(Steps down from soapbox / pulpit.)
Sorry for this pseudo-philosophical spiel; I did get beer tonight, after quitting half a year ago and only "cheating" on special occasions like vacation in Europe. Tonight's cheap excuse, was that my migraines have lessened and I now know how to "control" them to some extent, so that I'm free to go back to work 40 hours every week now possibly, so why not celebrate. I tried to "celebrate" with a "new friend" I tried to find on Craigslist..., but was unsuccessful, so here I sit alone and buzzed.
I'm fine, though. Mainly thinking of others; hopefully you can find ways to make Jericho's GBT experience more fluid / efficient? He, a good friend here to many including myself, seems to maybe have problems with logging in and/or uploading and/or understanding the "community" section fully. Let me know if you have communication problems (language-related) with him, I can help to translate.
To be on my deathbed, on morphine drip. Listening intently (this of course is pending I have enough time to sit through the whole things) to either Rachmaninoff's Symphony #2 (complete, by Previn / London Symphony), or Linda Ronstadt's album "Simple Dreams".
May 4th 2084.
2:46pm
A psychopath kidnaps some school children, holes up in a classroom, and demands a ransom; teachers and parents are in tears, screaming, unsure what has happened to their loved ones.
As usual the cops are pussies and basically useless.
I, young-at-heart at the age of one hundred and eleven, am in bed with the cute teen quarterback from the local High School football team, sucking his cock - (as I've done with every quarterback for the last 97 years) - when I hear reports of this shocking kidnap reported live on Infowars.com by Alex Jones IV (the great-grandson of....)
After quickly swallowing(!), dressing, grabbing my car keys and pump action shotgun, I head to the school; time to whip some psycho ass.
When I get there the place is in total confusion and, predictably, the local Sheriff and Police are desperate to avoid getting a bruised finger so engaging in their usual cowardly behavior. So like their great-grandparents pfft!
I will have none of it and slip unseen round the back of the school room, load the shotgun, and burst in blasting away at the scumbag; seconds later his brains are all over the wall, the children are safe, crisis averted.
Needless to say I become a national hero for saving the couple of dozen children but am 111 years old; in the excitement my mind wanders to the cute quarterback's massive cock, my heart gives out and I keel over dead.
The end.
At the grand old age of six hundred and fifty billion in my sleep.
(posting this as a "new post" to be sure Nick sees what I already wrote)
I'm just being philosophical. But let me know if you'd prefer it removed, & I'll do so.