Better off dead?

I have been thinking about an appropriate way to off myself. Don’t worry Ma, this is not a cry for help. I’m not depressed, however; I am sick and tired of stupid shit. I could go with the Artie Lange method: become a radio show sidekick, achieve B level star status, bloat to 350 pounds, addict myself to heroine, and plunge a knife into my chest and abdomen about 9 times. That just seems like more of a commitment than I’m willing to make to the process. Plus, Artie survived. I guess it’s too late to co-star in a incomprehensibly, popular sitcom starring a nervous anorexic, a Christian nut-job, and a Canadian. Did I mention my character’s name? Boner! No, too derivative. I think I would clock out something like this: spend a life time training and learning about an animal commonly known as a Killer Whale -that naturally spends it’s free time swimming over 100 miles in a day- and keep it cooped up in a tiny tank and teach him to perform tricks for tourists. But the greatest feat of all would be him yanking me from the stage, and proceed to thrash me about until blood flows from every orifice (old and new) in full view of young innocent attendees. I wonder if I would drown or be bludgeoned to death? I know it seems selfish on the surface but to be fair, my employer does believe the show must go on and wouldn’t dream of euthanizing their prized, multimillion dollar orca. He was, after all, just following his instinct of beating to death a 40 year old homo-sapien. See, everybody wins.

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