Life gets crazier by the day
EXIT LAUGHING: A GUIDE TO GOING IN STYLE
With the success of the best selling book "Final Exit" comes the big question: "How much will it cost the public libraries to keep enough copies around"? Let's face it, If people take out the book and use it for its intended purpose, who in the hell is going to bring it back? And what retailer would take a check?
The idea of committing suicide is, to more and more people, becoming a realistic option and a suicide manual is a helpful tool. Too bad Charlie Sheen lent his copy to Heath Ledger (What? Too soon?) And Mel Gibson never picked up his Book of the Month Club selection. So he’s just killing his career.
The rich and famous will always have glorious ways of destroying themselves, but what about the average Joe? Mr. and Mrs. Mediocre? If not dignity, there should at least be revenge in death.
We have always been taught to respect the sanctity of life but as you look around you notice that the gene pool has too many people at the shallow end. If you find yourself at Wal-Mart at 3:00 am, you just might be part of the problem so c’mon, do the right thing…Off Yourself!
Don't just jump out a window. Even people from Appalachia; in-bred, doughy eyed rednecks who scratch themselves until they bleed can manage to kill themselves that way - at least three out of four times. You want to jump, jump big! Make sure that when you go through those pearly gates everybody's holding up a nine.
Dress up as Santa Claus, go to the top of the Empire State building and when the Christmas Parade passes, step over the rail yelling "On Dancer, On Prancer." Your passing will be remembered.
For the politically active there are a number of ways to extinguish your own candle and still advance your cause. If you're a white guy and you feel that racial tensions are a problem, walk through a ghetto at night calling everyone you meet “boy’. Let them know you want to call a spade a spade. If you’re black and want to go out quickly, move to an Italian neighborhood and put a cast iron eggplant on the lawn. May you rest in peace. For the environmentally conscious, dress up as a dolphin and entangle yourself in a tuna net. Greenpeace One, Chicken of the Sea, zip. Of course if the Gun Lobby burns your butt, put on that NRA T-shirt with the second amendment written on it. Get a "Protected by Smith and Wesson " ball cap and head on down to the local T.V. station with your choice of machine pistols. Remember, its sweeps week and you're up against Geraldo .
Maybe you just don't like kids, who does? Go to the circus on matinee Sunday and when the lion tamer starts to do his thing, dress up as Hamburger the Clown. Sure popcorn sales will be down that day, but you will have had three rings of fun.
If you're not into an open casket ceremony; sidle on down to your local Hells Angels chapter wearing a “Bikers Suck” Tee Shirt. They may make you a member or more likely dismember you! If you're lonely, show up at the Mustang Ranch with four or five credit cards and tell them to max it out. Even if you don't die, you won't mind.
As you try to get used to the whole idea of death, maybe you should ease into it. Stop getting your mail, don't answer the phone, put on bad makeup and lie perfectly still for hours at a time or just move to Bakersfield, where, even though still alive, it will feel like death. And, while you have the makeup on comparison shop those funeral homes, after all; who wants’ to lie around rotting for eternity in something that doesn't fit?
Dying well is the best revenge. As for me, when I go I'm going to piss off as many people as possible. Not a whimper, not a bang, but a four star conflagration.
Just prior to rush hour on the Golden Gate Bridge, I'm going to climb out over the rail. As I look out over the three hundred feet or so between me and Davy Jones Locker, I'm going to wash down a handful of prescription and street drugs with a bottle of moonshine. Just to keep warm you understand. Since I'm a stickler for details, I'll have made the necessary phone calls to the appropriate agencies. Then I pour gasoline over myself, while marinating, I'll attach a bungee cord noose around my neck while strapping on a vest full of dynamite. As I leap toward the smokestack of the oncoming rescue vessel below, I'll pull my combination fully automatic assault pistol / crack pipe and shoot myself in the head. The ensuing sparks ignite the gasoline, which in turn touch off the fuse on the TNT. There I am, smart ass flambé!
Top of the world ma. Just about this time I hit the smokestack. Halfway in, the bungee cord reaches it 's limit and as my useless, lifeless corpse rockets skyward the dynamite explodes. Put jam in my pockets cause I'm toast for sure.
My ultimate revenge will have been to meet my maker on my terms and have honked off as many people as possible . If all goes well, my passing will have been noted by a couple thousand commuters, traffic reporters bridge officials, police and sheriffs departments from S.F. and Marin, the DEA, BATF, CHP, Coastguard, and the Air Quality Management Board. But the person who will be the most upset is the bastard from the coroners office who cut me off in traffic last week. I figure cause of death ought to run 700 pages.
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