Wednesday, August 10, 2011

"Doing Something He Loved..."

So I read an article about a quadriplegic that died skydiving last week. He died when he hit the ground at a hundred and twenty miles an hour after his reserve parachute failed to go off and BAM! he was done. But I don’t really want to talk about the specifics of that case, because they’re funny enough as it is.
No.
I want to talk about the fact that his friends said he “died doing something he loved.”
Really? He loved hitting the ground at a hundred and twenty miles an hour?
Why don’t they ever say that about junkies that overdose? (By the way, there is no “overdosing.” Seeing as there’s no legitimate “dose” of heroin or cocaine or meth, every dose is an overdose.) Or when a lazy bastard dies in his sleep? Why is it that when David Carradine was found with his belt around his neck and his shriveled dick in his hand, no one sighed and said: “Well, he died doing something he loved”?
Yet, every time some wack-job environmentalist gets mauled by a tiger we have to hear about how wonderful it is that they died doing something they loved. Correction: he may have loved tigers, but I doubt he enjoyed being eaten by one.
It’s total bullshit. What they mean is “The bastard got what he deserved.” That’s more honest, that’s actually true. When some shmuck decides he’s going to live with bears, or a fucking living torso decides to jump out of a plane, they got what they deserve when the bear finally snaps on them or they hit the ground…

1 comment:

  1. OMFG, love love loving the Carradine remark ... I hope that's what they engraved on his headstone ...

    Best;
    PMT
    http://thisthattheotherone.blogspot.com

    ReplyDelete