How to Die with Dignity
The Proper Way to Leave this World
By Paul G. Parry
Hi.
Listen, fan, I’m sorry I didn’t call or anything. I know it’s been a while, but you understand, right? It’s tough, what with everything going on in my life. I didn’t mean to upset you, fan. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.
Reeeeal busy.
Now I’ve apologised to the one guy who accidentally reads this shit (huh? This isn’t porn.), it’s time to get on with the show. Today’s lesson, children, is about the last and probably most important thing you do in your entire life. Namely, dying. The thing that pisses me off the most about our society is the faggoty way most people leave it. Boo hoo, I fell off a cliff, NOT HARDCORE ENOUGH, Jim. In this little corner of the internet, so graciously provided by our benefactor and ALL-POWERFUL LEADER known only as Lucky Number Kevin, I shall teach you all the tips and tricks needed in order to avoid a boring, mundane death and achieve terminal awesomeness.
Forward Planning
The Problem:
Let’s say that you’re walking down the road, minding your own business, when suddenly, you up and die. Could be a car, could be a falling tree, could be the seven Red Bulls you’ve had today. Whatever caused it, your plan of Terminal Awesomeness is ruined right there and then.
MURDERER
The Solution:
Don’t be a dick. Look where you walk, avoid running into heavy traffic, stop drinking so much shit, oh and also THEY SHOUT TIMBER FOR A REASON, ass. The reason is so idiots like you know when trees are about to fall on their stupid, stupid heads.
You want something slow. Preferably not painful, but I guess, there’s not many ways of dying that can be described as slow and pleasant. Overdosing on morphine while being pleasured by Kate Beckinsale? Ok, there’s one. Stick with that one.
Look how happy he is. YES THAT IS THE MOST I CAN DO WITH PHOTOSHOP OKAY
Vengeance
That’s right son, Vengeance. Besides being another fantastic name for my penis, this right here is one of the most important stages of going-out-with-a-bangage. You’re dying; congratulations on completing stage 1. Whether it be from old age after living a life punching sharks in their eyes, or something equally as awesome, now is the time to settle old scores. By settle old scores, I of course mean send flaming bags of shit to everyone you hate.
A few ideas for your own personal Vengeance:
- Give everyone you hate a sealed envelope to be opened on occasion of you death; inside they will find a large framed picture of you giving the finger, and several DVDs full of footage of you banging their wife. Or husband! This boy’s all about the gender equality.
- Call them up and spend as long as you can making up with them, apologising for the things you did, and hopefully getting some apologies back in return. Just as you’re about to put the phone down, shout “NOT!” Congratulations, you have just won.
- Get yourself a large, heavy-duty chain. Preferably something that keeps ships tied to the dock. Combine that with tattered clothing, and you have a perfect ghost! Come back to haunt assholes from beyond the graaave. OH, get a sword, too. Ghosts with swords? That is sure to freak someone the hell out.
- Did I mention the bags of shit? Oh, right.
Those are of course only a few of the many ways you can wreak havoc on anyone who has ever called your favourite shirt gay, or disagreed with your music taste. Come up with your own! Hell, send them to me! Actually, I’m joking; don’t send me anything.
Ever.
Do Everything Stupid You Ever Wanted To Do
So, you’re still dying. And it’s getting kinda boring. But hang on- can dead people be held responsible for their actions? Perhaps in “Heaven”, yes, but you clever people out there know that it doesn’t exist, right? Because if you did believe in heaven, what in the clittery doodah are you doing on a website called Why I Hate Everything Dot Com? The hell do you think you are, GOD? That wrathful bastard probably has us bookmarked.
SO. You’re dying. You can do whatever the goddamn hell you want to. Wanna ride a dirtbike through a theme park? You can, although god knows why you’d want to. Want to punch a celebrity? Go ahead. Word to the wise though- choose someone weak. Miley Cyrus, you could break that bitch like a twig. Wanna set fire to small animals, and then inhale them? Then I don’t want you on my page, you sick bastard. Seriously, you’re not welcome here.
Have An Amazing, Flaming, Balls-Out Victoryfest Of A Death
Now that everything pre-mortis is taken care of, it’s time for the grand finale. What would you rather do: Sit in a hospital bed for the last few weeks of your life, waiting for the inevitable end? Or would you rather construct a giant obstacle course comprised of powerful lasers, wall-mounted chainsaw crossbows and springloaded bears?
You’d choose the latter, obviously. Because that’s how you want people to remember you: As a badass son of a bitch who laughs in the face of death. And bears.
Whatever you do, do not leave this earth any other way than going up in a ball of flame. Hell, if you get cremated, the least you can do is request that your ashes be used to blind high-profile criminals during drug raids. Imagine taking down a goddamn drug cartel. Imagine the heroism. Imagine going out of this world fighting a fucking bear.
