Since we’re on the cheerful subject of death (see last post), I’ve talked to more than one person recently on how we would like to die. A lot of people say ‘I wanna go quietly in my sleep.’ Booo! I want to go loud and violent, getting my ass kicked for hours and hours, maybe days. I’m not talking about torture here. I hate torture of any kind. (Good job Mr. President on shutting down GitMo. Glad you’re keeping it cool.) I had trouble during the famous “ear scene” of Reservoir Dogs and nearly jumped out the fucking second floor window of a friend’s house while watching Audition.
No, I want a knock down, dragged out extended FIGHT to the death. A brawl. You may think this is gruesome, but you know what? After that you’re dead. You’re not going to care because you’re going to be DEAD, so go out with a bang.
Some historical deaths I admire:
EDWARD TEACH aka BLACKBEARD
Teach wanted to retire from piracy, but the powers that be didn’t care. On the morning of November 22, 1718, Lietunant Robert Maynard led two boats to attack Blackbeard and his crew of 19 pirates aboard their boat, the Adventure.
Yes, I know this is terrible of me, the number one sin of all sins of journalism, but it’s Sunday and I’m lazy, so I’ll let Wikipedia tell you what happened next:
“In the battle, Blackbeard was reportedly shot five times and stabbed more than twenty times before he died and was decapitated. Legends about his death immediately sprang up, including the oft-repeated claim that Teach's headless body, after being thrown overboard, swam between 2 and 7 times around the Adventure before sinking. Teach's head was placed on a pike or pole on the north shore of the Hampton River in Virginia, at a place now called Teach's Point, as a warning to other sailors who thought of taking up a life of piracy.”
BONNIE PARKER AND CLYDE BARROW
Well, they pissed off the cops, that’s for sure. I mean they had offed a couple. These things happen when you’re tommy gun wielding depression era gangsters. Bonnie was somewhat of a poet and sent the newspapers poetic odes, “The Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde,” etc. They kidnapped a cop at one point and posed with him in funny pictures before letting him go. The long arm of the law didn’t see the funny side of that.
Those coppers ambushed Bonnie and Clyde May 23, 1934 out in the sticks of Louisana. Clyde was tricked into pulling over the couple’s stolen Ford V8 and then six lawmen from Louisana and Texas stepped out of the bushes and emptied 130 rounds into the couple. They wanted to make sure they done died and stayed dead, I guess.
Preferred ways of dying:
FIGHTING A SHARK
And not one of those fucking anklebiter sharks, we’re talking a Great White, or a giant Tiger or Hammerhead at minimal.Or a school of Makos. And if you think I’m going to just, boom, get bitten in half, you are seriously mistaken. I’m going to beat the fuck out of that shark (sorry PETA). I’m going to punch it, stab it, and bite it until it wins, like the shark in Jaws when it gets Quint.
FIGHTING A BEAR
This is the land version of the shark attack. Unlike Timothy Treadwell in Grizzly Man, though, I’m not going to let the bear just crunch my skull like a coconut. I’m going to beat the fuck out of that bear (sorry PETA), slap the shit out of it, etc.
LONG ANECDOTE ABOUT ME THINKING I MIGHT HAVE TO FIGHT A BEAR WHILE I WAS HIGH
Summer and fall of 2001 was the one of the high points of my life. I mean this because I was traveling a lot, and having a blast. I was also getting high a lot. I spent most of the month of July visiting my friends Dan and Flo in Portland. In August I flew from Portland to Australia and spent most of the month there. I flew back to Portland. I was travel weary and my cash supply was burning up quickly (I spent a lot of money in Australia on meat pies, vegemite, and souvenir boomerangs). I was supposed to meet my friend Micca in Portland and drive back to Milwaukee with her. I hadn’t heard from her, though, so I was like, screw it, I’m hopping on a bus out of here. I’m tired of sleeping in a damn sleeping bag. Then I got a call from Micca at Dan and Flo’s house.
“Yo Tea!” She said, “I’m down in Fort Bragg, working at this tourist train station for these hippies in the middle of the redwood forest. It’s amazing! They need another worker, so come down here and work with me for a month, then we’ll take off.” So I went.
It was pretty amazing. The old steam powered locomotive would bring tourists to our stop, Northspur station, where the tourists could buy lunch, beer, jars of homemade jam, t-shirts, trinkets, and cute little bears carved out of redwood. Bears.
We saw evidence of the local bears. Does a bear shit in the woods? Yes, they do. A lot. Especially near the berry bushes. The garbage was kept in sheds, to prevent the bears from getting in, and I often found giant muddy paw prints on the shed doors when I pushed the garbage cart there to unload. So, I knew the bears were there.
The work was fair, a lot of kitchen work and clean up. After the work day we would unwind with some drinks at our cabins, or smoke some grass in the outdoor, wood stove powered hot tub. Me, Micca, and this dude Forest shared a big cabin, and this dude Hayden had one down the road. After work one evening Hayden invited us over to smoke some cheeba. Was this good stuff? Duuuuuude, we were like next door to Humboldt county, ya know what I’m saying? The Humboldt dude, the Humboldt. Anyhow, we go to Hayden’s cabin, which has a little porch out front. He has two things on this little porch.
1. A rocking chair.
2. A gravity bong.
If you don’t know what a gravity bong is, it’s an evil invention built with the top half of a plastic gallon of milk and a bucket of water. ‘Nuff said. So we’re doing hits off this gravity bong, and suddenly I’m like “shit, I am very high. And now I feel kind of dizzy and nauseous.” I tell Micca and Hayden that they should keep on rocking in the free world, but that I’m going to go lay down in bed. By now it’s completely dark, and I have no flashlight. There’s only the moonlight. I walk down the road a bit and come to the clearing where our cabin is. Now I’m about a football field away from our cabin, and I hear this huge snapping, crunching, stomping sound in the woods behind our cabin.
“SHiiiiiiiiiT!” I think, and my heart speeds up. “Maybe my high, paranoid brain just made that up.” More snapping, crunching, stomping sounds. Something big.
“SHiiiiiiiiiT!” I think, “What the hell should I do?!” I stand there for what seemed like forever, totally frozen, holding my breath, listening. More crunching and stomping. Finally I decide what I must do. I must take out my house keys. This way, if the bear attacks me, I will stab him (sorry, PETA) with the keys. I will key the bear. Then I ran as fast as I could, the whole football field, threw open the door, ran inside, and slammed it behind me. Then I carefully hid beneath the window, listening. I was too afraid to peek out the window, because I was afraid the bear might be staring in the window, looking for me. After awhile I got into my bed, but soon heard the crunching and stomping again. It sounded pretty close. I had an awful night’s sleep, because I kept waking up in waves of paranoia.
FIGHTING A HOT ANDROID
And of course, fighting a hot android would be a good way to go.
“Is that a vray gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” She’d say in a cocky, sexy, robot voice.
“Yeah toots? That’s pretty funny talk. And whaddaya got down your pants? A fuckin’ toaster?”
“Vhy don’t you try to find out Krulos…before I kill you. Before I kill you dead!” She’d say, pulling a giant lazer gun out of her shirt. You get the idea. Some sassy, sexy talk and then BLAM BLAM BLAM ZAP ZAP ZAP!!! (sorry PETA or whatever agency handles the rights of hot androids). She’d shoot me over and over again. It would go on for like ten hours. Then I’d sneak up on her and croak out “suuuu…priise” and shoot her with a hand cannon, then fall over dead myself.
A lot better than dying in your sleep.
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