For whom the bell tolls

May 17, 2006 at 1:41 am (Uncategorized)

I remember sitting in the soothing confines of the confessional and coughing up my sins like the dry heaves. "Well, father. I smoke two packs of cigarettes a day, I probably put away a twelve pack each night and I run the bars at least four nights a week. I go home with girls I've never met before, have unprotected sex I don't always remember, and occasionally experiment with mind altering chemicals. I also eat red meat, often while smoking and having hedonistic sex with strangers." The priest was quiet a moment and then he said: "Son. You're not confessing. You're bragging."

Ba dum DA! Of course, I'm kidding. I never really went to confession. But sadly, the rest of it is largely true. There was a time when my closest friends secretly wagered on how soon I would die. The most optimistic prediction was that I'd drop at the age of 27. Which was fine by me, since it's such a Morrison, Joplin, Hendrixian age to die.

I came around though, and as far as I know, nobody is putting money on my mortality these days. I still smoke a pack and a half a day, tend to go overboard on the hooch, and I eat red meat maybe three days a week. But there is something far less reckless and self-destructive about this grown up me and I reckon I'll live to 200 or so.

Still, with death so often reaching out its cold, bony fingers to stroke my imagination, I dwell frequently on its inevitability. And like so many people at so many parties, it is darkly compelling to try imagining the source of my own demise. And I've decided that to usher me off to my doom, it will take nothing less than the hand of God in the form of lightening. Call me melodramatic. But there is just something romantic about a force from the heavens lashing out to smite a man. It implies that no force on earth could bring this person down, and so a power from above had to be invoked. Yeah. Lightening.

And what about you, Mr. or Mrs. early-to-bed, yogurt eating, St. John's Wart taking, three-days-a-week-to-the-gym-going, non-smoking, rarely-drinking, tofu-gobbling health nut? How will you leave this mortal dimension when your time has come? Peacefully in bed? Struck down by a speeding beer truck? Slain by a jealous wife or husband? Eaten by wolves? Open manhole?

Tell Mark Macabre all about it. And while you're at it, here's a quiz from Mainetarr to ease your journey into the afterworld. I'll see you on the other side. I'll be the one with the singed, smoking hair.

Death : The Death Clock to find your Armageddon's Day with Death Test Meter find death date