I’ve never been conscious of death. I’ve never known the pain it causes. The rippling effect of dissension for the most certain act of life, its end, has a long reaching sphere that can touch people quite distant from the deceased. Its irreversible, definite and cause of the greatest fear in human existence. However my ignorance to its effects manages to highlight a more relevant topic than gays in the military: that we don’t celebrate the achievements and life of the individual as we mourn and grieve the loss. Sometimes we have to stand on our hind legs and applaud sheer awesomeness in the way those who are no longer with us lived their lives, and embrace their accomplishments. I could sit here for days in an inane ramble about how certain people had warm hearts and kind souls, but that’s for websites about family planning and the menstrual cycle. At Mycitybynight we look for an even greater “awesome”, a rich anecdote and salute to those who have reached the grave screaming “fuck, what a ride”. So heres to those who embraced the inevitable, and even if it was far too young, I offer a tipped glass to those who perished in the coolest way possible.
Robbing a Bank
“Everybody get your hands in the motherfucking air, this is a robbery”. And… erection. No man on this earth can look you in the eye and say he doesn’t want to strap on a Nixon mask, pull into ABSA, cock a shotgun and fire off a couple of warning shots into the roof. I want to get into a rusted panel van with bags of money and have a high speed chase that ends when the road stops on the brim of a canyon. I’ll slowly exit, with a hundred police guns directed at my brow, wryly chuckle and say those 5 words that make grown men woozy “You’ll never take me alive”. As I point my gun (in a screaming bout of slow motion to the soundtrack of Elton John’s Rocketman), my captors put a hole between my eyes. I fall back into the canyon as a gust of wind catches my loot and hundred dollar bills rain down, silhouetted by the sunset. I can almost taste the awesome.
A recent Swedish survey found that 93 percent of all men who die during sex are cheating on their wives. Not cool. Then I would minus another 5 percent of those who die through accidental asphyxiated masturbation gone wrong. Even worse. But that coveted 1/50th of sex deaths summit a plateau where only truly accomplished individuals hold credence. Obviously the main one is dehydration from just too much sex, where the maid finds you tied up and dry 2 weeks after starting a coital marathon. Suffocation from a clown mask would be well up there too, although make sure you die with a smile. This is why suffocation from a clown mask beats suffocation by a ball gag any day of the week, just those small details that will linger in the coroners mind, cause lets face it that’s who we’re trying to impress here. Him, and hot angel chicks.
I’ve never done a double backflip on a motorcycle, some of you may even know this. But if I got an incurable case of lupus and the doc declared my days numbered, then I would be hitting the motorcross track with vengeance. I want to try a trick so extreme that it would actually shut down Youtube, which kind of makes it better if I fall. A non-opening parachute is always good for hits, especially if you aim for something epic on the ground. Like a church. Imagine hurtling towards earth and falling straight from the sky at the end of mass. Scream. Death. Funeral. Forgiveness. Redemption. Applause. All in the matter of minutes.
Conquering terrain in an off road vehicle features highly on the respectable-ometer too. Out in nature, battling an onslaught of the elements and having a catastrophic accident where it takes days to excavate you from a ravine. If they need a search party to find your body then you’ve unequivocally gone to the other side in style.
Battling a lion
Man’s primal urge is to conquer his challengers. Defend the roost, honor thy family, do tricks with nun-chucks that let you dominate a panther or other wild cat. You earn extra points for surmounting this primordial hurdle while wearing a loin cloth. Go full homo-sapien. Long hair, shaggy beard. I advise spending a winter with a pack of wolves; it tends to get you in that survival of the fittest mode. No guns or crossbows, this is hand to hand combat that Caesar would be proud of. Imagine being in a Coliseum and your daughter’s life hangs in the balance. The beast and you lock eyes and the survival instinct takes over. You both fight hard, a symbol of your bond with the wild, when the pair of you simultaneously collapse due to your wounds. You die with grace and dignity, and you kill a fucking lion. Are you as turned on as me?
Theres a few more but I’ve run out of time. Being a CIA agent, tied up and tortured by KGB insurgents but rather dying than giving up the armament codes is right up there. I’m quite aroused by deep sea diving misfortunes, avalanches or taking a bullet for the president too.
Realistically I’ll probably go in my sleep aged 89. My liver just giving up after turning into an actual raisin. But if I was tragically to depart before my time, then it would be doing something I love, with someone I love. And while it may sound like a Twilight movie on gayroids, there is no greater truth. Live a life with vigor and zest and if luck bestows you her greatest gifts then the coolest way to go is just having those who matter by your side. Fuck that, clown-masked poorly-planned doggystyle for the win!