Let’s face it: death is really trendy right now. With US Weekly regulars like The Pope and 3000 Indonesians dying, kids are all rushing out to the malls to have their feeding tubes removed. But not so fast! Much like tongue piercings, dying is something you immediately regret afterwards. Also, dying and tongue piercings both constantly terrify old people.
So who really wants to die? It’s bleak, it’s not any fun, and it makes your family cry. But unlike your Political Science degree, you can’t fix death by telling people you’re still thinking about Law School. No, death is a tricky customer.
Avoiding death, on the other hand, is actually quite simple for any non-dumbfuck. Just use common sense at any given point and you’ll live forever. For example, if it has whirling blades, don’t have sex with it. Don’t eat at a place with a sign that says “Health Inspector: D” or “La Val’s.” Don’t eat soup, because it always leaves you unsatisfied.
Getting sick: don’t do it! Simple. But if you’re one of those Mountain Dew rock stars that just has to live on the edge, try this: only contract diseases that sound bad but aren’t fatal, like Fickle-Cell Anemia or Bread Cancer. Signs of poor health include coughing and sneezing, which means you’re already sick and could die. Even poorer health is indicated by coughing and sneezing blood onto downed powerlines.
Okay, you’re a cocksure racecar driver with a pregnant wife and you crap valuable baseball cards. Though you’ll probably never die, don’t go and do anything stupid like buying life insurance. That’s like signing a paper saying “Yes, I’m going to die one day.” You can’t bet against yourself! Pete Rose never bet against The Cincinnati Reds, which is why they always win at everything.
Say you live a long and healthy life, but death still comes after your decrepit and withered soul. He’ll probably want to play a game of chess with you, so if he’s winning, be sure to swallow a bunch of the pieces and choke. Don’t give that asshole the satisfaction of winning at chess. Same goes for playing poker with death, or a footrace with death, or playing chess with your grandfather.
Every time I think about the hereafter, I’m reminded of an old-world proverb my mother used to tell me at night. “Matt,” she’d say, “you’re going to die at 21 in a fiery hovercraft accident.” Which reminds me of the new-world proverb: “Hey, what’s the number to that hovercraft rental place.”