Tuesday, March 25, 2014


 by Mr. Mean-Spirited

This message is for you, my dear reader. You know who you are – yes, it is you, dirtying my words with your eyes. Soiling my prose with your gaze. Infecting the very page.

I might not exactly be inspired of God, but I am sometimes enough of a prognosticator to know what is going to occur in the days to come. I don’t have to be a seer to discern what is in your future. I don’t have to be a prophet to know what is going to happen to the likes of you.

My God, my God, you will die in agony. You are going to die a horrible, painful death. You are going to suffer something terrible.  

Right at this very moment as you read this paragraph, you have a slight pain you are neglecting – yes, the one that comes, but doesn’t quite go away – that condition that you never had a doctor evaluate, that one – well, things are going to turn real serious, real fast. Only, it is now too late, and there’s absolutely nothing a surgeon can do. Too far gone. There aren’t painkillers in the world that can deal with something like this.

Time to get your affairs in order. But, then, what do I know?


  1. My wife will see to it that I have the best death possible. I'll do the same for her when the time comes. File under routine maintenance. Society makes no provision for this need, of course; we're on our own, as always. As we have lived, so shall we perish, blessed to be in loving hands. Birth, death. The fruitless and pointless churn and bullshit of existence. Will my wife or I be the first to go? Pity the one left behind. A coward, I hope it is not me, for my need of her is much greater than hers for me. A bullet to the temple would be merciful; the final memory being one of good moments here and there over the course of years - half a lifetime. Live and die, in full - in completion. That's all that I ask of life. The answer, forthcoming.

    Find someone who cares about the corpse that you will ultimately be. That is love if anything is. That is love when nothing else is.

  2. I refuse to get tested for cancer, and draw out the suffering. Someone recently told me that a guy went in to check for polyps, and when he woke up, they had excised his bowel and prostate. Now he shits in a bag, and cannot have an erection. All because the doctors thought it better he lives like shit than dies earlier with less suffering. Never let them put you under! You'll just come out with less.