Senseful ramblings of an incoherent nature from a delusional schizophrenic (or my views on current events)

Monday, January 31, 2005

Just Let Me Die

So I was having an MRI done today and during the hour long period that I spent waiting in the waiting room so that I could have a 10 minute MRI scan a nearly non-functioning invalid rolled into the office. Well, let me back track a little first...... While waiting I noticed a special bus pulling up to the outside office. This special bus was equipped with an onboard elevator so that all the handicrapped people can easily get on and off the bus. However, this experience didnt start out as easy as it could. The bus driver got off the bus, unlocked the elevator, folded it out, and wheeled out the nearly non-functioning invalid. This nearly non-functioning invalid woman was dressed in white sneakers, black socks, pink sweat pants, a grey trench coat, a scarf covering her mouth, and a hat pulled down so that the only skin touching the cold elements of this blustery winter day was her nose, which resembled a fake pig nose worn by those fat burly men dressed in skirts who call themselves the "Hogs." The driver lowered the elevator and, whoops, it doesnt touch down properly so up it goes, back into the special bus. The daughter, who was also along for the ride, let out a heaping sigh (as evident by the puffy cloud of steam that eminated out of her mouth and into the atmosphere. Polluting bitch). The driver secured the nearly non-functioning invalid back into the bus, backed up, and forward, and left, and back, and unattached her, lowered her and scooted off like they didnt matter (and they dont).

The daughter then rolled the nearly non-functioning invalid up the ramp, and into the building. She then began to talk to the receptionist and gave all the info that was needed. The receptionist then asked the nearly non-functioning invalid what her birthday way. The daughter then took off the hat and unraveled the scarf thus revealing her eyes that were opened far too wide and staring at the ceiling, and her mouth, which was also open, tongue slightly sticking out towards the right, and drool slowly oozing down her face. "SHE ASKED WHAT YOUR BIRTHDAY WAS," yelled the daughter (yes, she used the word was, past-tense of the word is, as if the nearly non-functioning invalid doesnt celebrate them anymore). The nearly non-functioning invalid responded with a series of grunts followed by what sounded like two clicks and a whistle, which aparently meant September 12, 1928... The nearly non-funtioning invalid was then rolled into a corner (as she probably spends most of her days) and continued to star at the ceiling, except for one incident where she laughed uncontrollably for no reason whatsoever, nearly laughing herself out of her chair.

Naturally this image got me to think about mortality and my life and I have come to the conclusion that if I am ever that bad, instead of rolling me into an MRI imaging center, just roll me off a fucking cliff, and while I am falling, make sure to take pictures so that people can remember me. If the most excitement I am going to get during my last days is nearly falling off my chair, just let me go out in a blaze of glory, by swan diving off a cliff. And if I am not in a mountainous region, how about pushing me into traffic and allowing me to bounce of cars and buses like I was a pin ball. Maybe if I am hit with enough force I would be bounced into a store and then tilted back out again.

Maybe I should rethink what I am saying here... Do I really want to just limit it to being a nearly non-functioning invalid? Hmmm... Hell no! Say I get hit by a car and become a quadropaligic, thus eliminating my ability to download free porn from the internet, wheel me and my bed back into traffic so that another car can finish off the job.

If I loose my hands due to a horrid chess accident, leaving me unable to, uh, write, yeah, write, lop off my head so that I wont have to live without, uh, writing.

Say I have to get my tonsils out because they are inflamed, if you are the doctor, just cut my breathing line, I dont want to live without my tonsils!

Fuck it, why not just kill me now. Life and all this worrying about what is going to happen to me is just too much of a bother. If you know me, just stab me in the eye with a rusty nail and leave me out in the middle of the Mohabi where I can become lunch for some pack of vulchers and then returned to terra firma through there huge vulture turds.

Fine, this post went no where and it stunk, but in all truthfulness, never let me become a nearly non-functioning invalid. Sure it would be funny the first time someone had to change me and I purposefully left silo number 2 partially full for a sneak attack, but that gag would get old awfully quick. After 5 or 6 times just curb me and call it a day.

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