10 October 2013

Death is a Whore

Dying. Sucks.
I don't care much for Death, so selfish in her agenda. All take and no give, that Angel of Darkness. I met her once, on a dark road in the middle of life. Thankfully I was too drunk to walk all the way to the gates of hell, and Death doesn't seem much for carrying people. Some places you got to get to on your own.

Like a sloppy blowjob, Death sucks. She doesn't seem very logical in her choices. It's how I know Death is a woman. Conclusively and without question. Ain't no way those random decisions are coming from a man. To say nothing of her efficiency. Why, she's been known to wipe out entire species on a whim! Annihilation to that degree feels like female frustration. I've been angry enough to extinct a Neanderthal or two in my time.

Hell, I reckon Death has the intake capability of a twin-turbo. That's a lot of high-pressure suck. (dear gearheads, I KNOW.) Still, just as soon as a thrown rod will ruin your day, Death will knock without warning. (I don't know why I wrote to the gearheads. Everyone knows they can't read*. Please do your part to improve the life of a gearhead by reading them my hilarious puns. It'll get your motor running.)
*(editor's note: my ex-husband informs me that I am wrong. More on how much I don't fucking care as the story develops.) 

Back to you, Death.
Death probably gives road head. But in a Dodge Omni. With hand-crank windows. She only half pays attention because she's trying to program a pop station on the staticy radio. In the end everyone is horny and thinking about the fuckability of former Disney stars. (I'm looking at you, Jimmie Dodd)
S-U-C... See you real soon..
K-&-S... Es a damn shame you died.

It's inevitable, you know. Road head. Happens to everyone. No, I mean death, of course. Doesn't make it any easier to deal with. There's an unbelievable sadness that follows Death around. If she could be any one thing, it would be a Death Cab for Cutie album. On cassette. Stuck in the radio of a teal T-top Camaro. But a mid-80's Camaro. And not even the V8.

Grief is contagious. When you die it spreads to everyone you know.

Death can be sneaky. Sometimes that bitch will snatch someone from your life so fast; the Ninja of the Afterlife. Didn't know you needed to say goodbye so you didn't. Suddenly they're gone and you still don't understand where they went. Death watches you falter from the shadows, having stealthily extracted a tiny pillar from your life.
I must have turned in a hundred circles today, looking at a spot that's empty. It sure is going to be hard to adjust to not having Pockets.

Goodbye feels like bullshit.