if i should die young

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Whitney Houston is dead at 48, and on the same day, a colleague died at 41. Like everyone else, I'm dumbstruck and saddened to see them go so young, still in their primes. This has, of course, led me to think a bit about my own mortality.

There are a few things I want to be clear.

• • •

To my friends, family, trolls and hangers on, on the occasion of my premature demise:

I implore you not to grieve for me. Except for Dorkass, who I want to drape herself across my casket while it lowers into the ground, sobbing and wailing "No! NOOOO! Why him? WHY? Take me instead, Lord!"

But I digress.

I didn't want to die yet, particularly, but frankly I see the upside. My mom died after a protracted bout with cancer, my dad with Alzheimer's. I assure you, having seen that up close, I was not going the same way. Would you rather I die young of, say, a heart attack, or live another twenty years, start degenerating like my dad, and blow my brains out during a moment of lucidity? I vote for youthful heart attack. You should, too. This way, instead of questioning whether there was something more you could have done to keep me from self-euthanizing, you can blame my death on the pizzas and booze and cigars and sloth.

Speaking of which, I regret none of it. Don't let some Seattle asshat use me as a parable that validates his tofu-and-sprouts brunch before he hits the gym. I was way, way happier than him. Until I wasn't. But who are you gonna miss when they're gone, me or him?

Exactly.

Anyway, don't grieve. This is not tragic. It's not my first choice, but it's pretty far from my last. I have no kids. The dogs are taken care of. After it buys a safari, the money is making the world a better place. As for me, I get to spend eternity in Heinz Field. It's ugly, but it's home. I'm not really seeing the downside.

To summarize: this isn't tragic, and fuck vegan douchebags.

john

P.S. If you found my body on the jon, would you do me a solid and pull up my pants?