Have you ever given much thought to what your final words might be? I think about that subject a little more often than I probably should. It’s not as though I find myself overly preoccupied with death lately. I just happen to be suffering through an obnoxious obsession with significance.
Am I the only one who cuts himself short in the middle of a road-rage-fueled, obscenity-ridden tirade after being cut off in traffic because I’m paranoid of dying in a car crash mid-sentence, and I don’t want my last words to be, “Go fuck yourself with a sharp rusty fork, motherfucker”?
I’m having a hard time figuring out whether that thought process makes me an optimist, or a cynic.
That’s a good point. I should probably cut back on the road rage f-bombs and such. Or, I could just start using your “rusty fork” comment all the time. That way, if I do die while driving, I will have been quoting a damn good writer.
Nope. And I would be damn proud to have thought of something so creative for my last words, because honestly, my real last words will probably just be something like. “Oh Fuck!”
I’ve actually given this some passing thought but I’m not sure what my last bitchin’ words of wisdom should be. I am harboring a massive grudge against Oprah Winfrey for killing Discovery Health just to create her own, stupid network so I might say, “I’ll never forgive Oprah.”
But then I could say “Converse low tops RULE!”
Maybe it should be, “Sweep the Leg.” Not sure, I’ll have to work on this but I’m pretty sure it’ll just be a gasp and then I’m out.