The joke is, “There are only two certainties in life, death and taxes.” It’s a stupid joke, mostly told by old Republicans, but it’s entirely true. We’re all going to die. What’s important is how we do it. I’m not the first person to say this and I won’t be the last, but I’m not going out like no bitch. If there’s a global war with Neo-Nazi zombies sent from space to invade Earth and they happen to stumble into South Austin, those undead mother fuckers better watch out, because this guy ain’t going out like no punk-ass mark, ya heard? If this were December 8, 1941, I would be suiting up to punch some Japs in the face for good old Uncle Sam, regardless of whether or not Ken Burns would mention me in his documentary about America at war or not. America doesn’t go out like no pussy, and I don’t either.
I want to go out fighting like 19 ninjas. I’d kill 18, and the 19th one turns into a 30-foot robot that shoots lasers out of its eyes. After a 3-hour battle which involves Megan Fox, the “Most Interesting Man in the World” and Harrison Ford in some way, I get taken out by the robot. After completing its mission of killing me, the robot self-destructs and blows up a chunk of South Congress, preferably where those new SoCo Lofts are or those stupid trailers set up shop. In the aftermath, I want there to be a song written about me like “Candle in the Wind” or something just legit as fuck like “Crossroads“, and have it written by Francis Scott Key’s distant nephew Steve. (I miss my Uncle Charles, y’all!)
Anyway, I really don’t have many specific goals for my life. I just want to get my PhD, teach and be happy. I think it’ll work itself out from there. There is, however, one goal that I have to follow through on, and that is not to get lamed, pwnd, pwnt, owned, lolled or rofled in a manner that would be stupid and totally my n00bish fault. I seriously don’t want to end up getting a Darwin Award or winding up on the local news getting ridiculed for being found dead after trying to race a train or something.
The Highlander never has to worry about this. He knows his death will be epic. He will probably yell something like, “RUN! Save yourself!” [chop]
[head rolls on floor]
[cue sweet lightning and Queen song]
I don’t know why I’m so focused on death. It might be the whole Caradine-McMahon-Fawcett-Mays sadness going around (No, I’m not at all sad about Michael Jackson). I don’t think I’m afraid to die. Knowing that everyone does it makes it seem so much more acceptable. At least no one is getting a free pass. All of you are going to die. :P And that’s okay. My parents are going to die, and that’s alright. We all end up in the same place.
I’m just concerned about how much I will miss when I do die. I will miss out on watching Scientology become the largest religion in the world. I’m going to miss the rise and fall of Michael Jackson’s Zombie Army. I will miss Carl Weathers become America’s Third Black President after Obama and Morgan Freeman. (Everyone from the movie Predator has to hold public office–except for “Billy”, he’s a Native American.) I’m going to miss the 2 Girls 1 Cup made-for-TV movie produced by Hallmark. I’m going to miss Perez Hilton… just straight miss him.
I’m going to miss out on a lot of things.
I enjoy life a lot. As lame as life might seem for a lot of us, there is so much to appreciate. I never got why Christians are so damn ready to die. They’re all in such a rush to get to heaven. Life is already pretty bitchin’. I just don’t want it to end with me being videotaped and the footage being used in a new Faces of Death video.
On second thought, Faces of Death was pretty sweet,