How I want to go

The fact and the matter is that, whether we like it or not we’re all gonna die.

But let me start with the beginning.

Couple of days ago I hurt my back. Devil only knows how or why or when or with what. But I fucking hurt my back to hard the next morning I couldn’t stand up.  So as I was crawling to the bathroom I said to myself “Fuck me I’m gonna die.” Then I realized I don’t want to die and so, an internal conversation began with myself.

I don’t want to die, but I will but at least don’t let me die like this, from a back pain with my pants around my ankles in a room that smells like shit. I want to die in a big blast, or a plane crash or a train collision or something like that. I wouldn’t like to die alone, I would like to have my fellow plane or train travelers with me and please God let there be a celebrity amongst us.

Mainly because I have a picture in my mind of how Heaven would be if it exists. And we’ll all go to Heaven cause I heard some illusionary shit somewhere that if someone kills you without you having to piss him off beforehand all your sins are whipped clean and you’ll end up in Heaven when the conductor or the pilot would be downstairs doing the hell fire rumba for killing all those “innocent” motherfucking people that just needed a ride.

So we die and our souls don’t just grow wings, go to heaven and that’ll be that, no no. We would go to the main lobby of Heaven and wait for the receptionist to check us in because I somehow don’t believe that the celestial realm has a better grasp on guest greeting than a hotel manager. So we’d stay in line while the nice lady with the creepy smile and the shy hair checks us in like she has all the time in the world to do it and you can’t just go outside for a pack of cigarettes anymore cause that’ll send your ass in Hell according to some beliefs and you have to entertain yourself somehow.

And what’s the main entertaining pass time of the world at this hour? Sports? NO! Literature? NO! Quantum physics? HELL NO, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT QUANTUM STANDS FOR!

The main entertaining pass time is celebrity gossip.

So you sit there in the lobby trying to read pamphlets and maps and rules and you see Robert Downey Jr.

MAN THIS DAY JUST GOT BETTER!

You’d start asking him all kinds of stupid questions like: Why doesn’t Sting have any balls? Why does Jud Nelson’s nostrils flare like that when he’s upset? You’d make him repeat his kid’s name every five minutes because it is such a dumb ass name there’s no way you can remember it for too long.  You’d make him do the Iron Man stuff than the Sherlock stuff, than the stuff he did in Less Than Zero or Home For The Holydays but not too soon cause that shit will send his ass straight to hell. You can ask him if Sarah Jessica Parker’s face looks like that from sucking too much dick. If he says NO you can start yelling in the lobby “We have a liar here, there’s a liar amongst us” so you can slow down the process of checking into heaven even further because the creepy smile girl wouldn’t just call your name and give you the key to the pearly gates anymore, she’ll implement a series of “routine” questions as well, just to be safe.

Ah, yes. It would be a lot of fun to die in an airplane crash.