death by spaghetti

it’s morning and i am alive. i am surprised that i survived. i thought for sure i was going to die last night by explosion. i ate too much spaghetti last night. i wasn’t even really hungry, and had not originally planned on eating anything to begin with. consequently i’ve spent the past 14 hours feeling bloated and sick. this sux, yo. i hereby pledge that i am not eating food anymore, nor will i even look at food.

as far as my death is concerned all i ask for is to die in an interesting way, and explosion sounds reasonable, but my gf has explicit instructions to make my death sound better than it may have actually been — and to tell people how cool i was.

in a best case death scenario i am attacked and killed by marshmallow dogs, or spontaneously combust, perhaps even am flattened by a grand piano falling on my head from stories above. whatever seems interesting, unique, something to make for a good story when other fellow dead people ask me “So how’d you die?” and I can say something like “Oh, me? I was killed when whole bunch of naked leprechauns, who were stampeding downtown, and ran me over.”

See how much cooler that is than admitting you were struck down by “natural causes” or “prostate cancer” or being “mistaken for a duck or a deer.” it’s totally the opposite of mundane. and more importantly, for me it’s totally believable. besides, it will help the mourning process for those i’ve left behind to be able to retell the story of how i died bravely fending off an evil atomic monkey, preventing him from stealing all of the bananas in Washtenaw County in a kung-fu fight to the death.

until then tho, i still feel unwell. cross your fingers that something good will happen.

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