Unsurprisingly, this has put me in a rather sour mood. I feel grumpy, hungry, sleepy… hell, I’m all seven dwarfs combined! And since I don’t believe in a hereafter, being dead would pretty much ruin my sex-life. (Then again, if we were judging from my sex-life, you would probably conclude that I’ve already crossed The River Styx. You hear that Diane! Dead man talking!) But seriously, I don’t ask for much…all I want is the sweet sweet loving of a good woman and to live forever. (Oh, and sharks with freakin’ laser beams attached to their heads … that would fucking rock!)
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Statistically, One out of Every One Person will Die
So the results from last week’s check-up are finally back and it turns out I’m going to die. (Not necessarily anytime soon, but it’s bound to happen eventually.) And thus ends my long futile bid for immortality. Now there is no need to worry, I’m not ill and the doctor assured me that I’m in normal physical condition for someone my age. But that’s precisely the problem. Since most blokes my age are mortal, being normal (i.e., just like them) means I must be mortal too. I realise this may seem like a trivial matter to many, but I’ve long had my fingers crossed that somehow the first law of thermodynamics didn’t apply to me. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I think I’m special or anything; it’s just that I happen to be severely allergic to dying.