Dying happy

When celebrity professionals pass away while at work, it's very common for people to comment, "Well, at least he died doing something he loved the most". Surely these people had at least one thing in their life they loved more than their work? How about sex? Or snorting coke? I wonder how many celebrities died on their toilet seat, reading a pornographic magazine and had the media go, "Well at least he died doing what he loved the most."

And why's that a good thing anyways? If you were doing something you really loved, wouldn't you be pissed as heck if you were to suddenly pop off? It's like, you're sitting in your studio, painting a masterpiece that Bill Gates has agreed to purchase from you in return for half a share in Windows 7 profits and you're so goddamn happy, you're loving every minute of it and just as you're about to put the finishing touches on your work by painting the head on that sweet innocent moose calf, BAM, your palette turns into an urn of nectar, your paintbrush into a harp and you feel something fluttering on your back which, as it turns out, are wings. You feel like you've died and gone to heaven and you really have. You're an angel.

And then you remember your unfinished masterpiece with the now permanently headless moose calf and you go looking for God to get some answers. You ask Him, "Why God, why me?" And God replies, "Well son, you looked like you were deriving so much enjoyment out of what you were doing right there, I felt that it was a great time for you to die". And you're all like, "What the fuck God, are you a complete idiot, why would you do something like that?" And God, doing His thundering Christopher Lee impression that he performs at parties nowadays to considerable critical acclaim, replies, "Silence fool, it is my world to fuck around with, now go play that harp like your life depended on it". Here, God would probably laugh his stupid face off because God is a fan of his own funny. Asshole.

Me, I want to die doing something I really really hate. Nothing would give me more satisfaction. Could be I'm shoveling someone else's shit, giving a cow a colonoscopy or trying to fix a memory leak in somebody else's software code, if I were to die at that moment, it would be with a fucking smile on my face. And really Society, I want you to be happy for me. I want you to look back at my life and say, "Boy, that guy's lucky, he died doing something that he really really hated. Good for him."

Rigor Mortis

We bought a new carpet for our apartment. So we rolled up our old carpet and left it in the dining room. The problem is that the rolled up carpet looks a lot like a rolled up corpse. And so, every time it twitches, it feels like the corpse inside the carpet is coming to life. I can't go on living in fear like this. I need to throw it into the dumpster and wipe my fingerprints off it. But it's too cold outside, it's freezing. On the other hand, if I continue to procrastinate, rigor mortis might set in and it will become more difficult for me to dispose of the body. You know what, fuck it, it may be 2:00 am and I may be drunk from Sam Daniels, but I think I'm gonna go throw out my carpet. I can't live with a dead body in my apartment.

My new carpet looks gorgeous. Good job, wife.

I went to an Irish bar today.
Half and half : Guinness with Harp Lager
Black and tan : Guinness with Bass Ale
Blacksmith : Guinness with Smithwick Ale
Car Bomb : Guinness with Baileys Irish Cream and Jameson's Whiskey

Being a card-carrying member of the IRA, I ordered the car bomb.

They brought me the Guinness in a glass and the bomb in a shot glass. This was perplexing because unlike the other concoctions, they brought this one in two separate glasses. It raised questions as to the proper method of its consumption. I had no idea what the fuck to do. Should I drink the shot and then drink the Guinness? Should I throw the shot glass in the Guinness? Should I pour the shot glass in the Guinness and drink the mixture?

I decided on option three. And the cream from the Baileys coagulated and formed blobs of shit on top of the Guinness and Ireland began to laugh. Fuck you Ireland, said I, and drank it all up. It's all going to the liver anyways.

I think Option one was the correct option to follow.

By the way, Sam Daniels = Sam Adams (1 bottle) + Jack Daniels (1 shot glass). All rights reserved.