It really baffles me how a man that has been pissing with over fifty years of experience can miss the toilet.
This was the deciding factor of my death.
You may ask yourself "How is this possible, Mr. Narrator?"
Simple! I say! Simple as putting your keys into the ignition of the car you once drove. Simple as having that one extra beer you used to enjoy. Simple as fucking breathing in fact. I'm pretty sure my instance of death is very much like most falls that happen in the bathroom and some are even fortunate enough to survive.
It has happened to you, probably most frequently in the shower. You let one foot up and whoops! You almost fall but you catch yourself and say something about how close that was.
I didn't have that opportunity. Let me paint the picture.
I had just got home from work at about 230 am and was doing nighttime routine so I don't break out or wake up with sore teeth. My knee had been killing me from running around an office building for 9ish hours earlier and i decide to stretch it out. I pull left leg up and do the balance hop and what do you know? I slip on the wet floor and get severe blunt force trauma on the way down. You know that little nubby spot on the back of your skull that feels super sensitive and sometimes imagine horrible, penetrate-y things destroying this guy? My skull got shattered there, sending bits of fragmented skull into my occipital lobe. With Mr. O.L. being destroyed, I instantly go blind and I can feel the blood pooling around me and there isn't a fucking thing I could do. I couldn't move. My thoughts? My girlfriend, my mom, my friends, my little brother who will find me in the morning and my dad's piss that left me in this situation. The coroner will determine it as blunt force trauma that did me in and won't find the piss that had dried. They will rule it as an accident as they do all of these bathroom mishaps and I will be added to the household injuries----->bathroom accident statistic and the best part is that no one will know what happened. But let me tell you something, there is one other person who knows what happened; I told him to aim a little bit fucking better next time he took a piss in the hall bathroom.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
He stood in his lab, lighting each smoke with the one before. Observing his work, he was filled with something close to pride. The bomb was small enough to fit in a briefcase and could kill millions if placed in the right spot. Say, a metropolitan city would do just fine. But the bomb was intended for just one, and if it killed more in the process the news would say terrorism, collateral damage, tragedy. These words meant little to the man, the one in the lab who chain smokes without discretion. He was unconcerned with worldly matters, taxes and television and parties, that was all Earthly bullshit. This was war, and there wasn't time for such things that did nothing. He lived for something bigger than himself, unknown to his fellow citizens who would die for the love of a single person, which is really dying for the self. They knew nothing and He knew nothing, only that he loved his laboratory. The instruments clicking and humming, all this work only to destroy. He was having doubts, but nothing substantial enough to change his mind. He wore glasses and hated contacts. He suffered from cluster headaches and took Tylenol 3 for them, a bit of Codeine to smooth out the edges. His veins were dark and scarred from needles and one ear was missing a piece, from a knife fight he could no longer recollect.