I am in the prime of my life, which is a depressing thing if you consider how out of shape I am. Other than my physical prowess, though, the rest of me is theoretically at the peak of what it will be. I may not be as wise as I one day have the potential of being, but things like memory and general coherency are at their best these days: I guess that is also sad with how poor my memory is. So why am I bringing this up?

I am in the prime of my life, and the prime really ain’t so great. Can you imagine what I will be like when I’m old? I can’t remember anything now, sometimes I have no idea what is going on because I am completely enamored by the spot on the floor, and I have a lot of deterioration to look forward to.

There was this show on at night when I was child. The show was called Picket Fences, and my brother and I were fairly involved with this show. We watched it every week, and the plot of this show was intertwined with our lives. Alright, so maybe that’s an exaggeration, but I will move on to the point. There was an older gentleman in this show, and he made a pact with his son after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. The father made the son agree that if he were to ever do something that was so ridiculous and embarrassing, then the son was to kill him. Several episodes later the father charged into a courtroom where the so was naked and riding a toy pony. The son promptly stood and shot his father.

I know that sounds shocking, and maybe even appalling, but I am totally digging it. I only wish I had somebody that had the cajones to shoot me if my debilitating disease caused me to act out incredibly irrationally. So in the absence of someone like that, I have been forced to improvise the last years of my life.

First:

I really should be drinking and smoking as much as possible these days because the days I am wasting are the last ones anyway. Those are the days I want to waste, not these.

Second:

I need to play it safe right now. Then when I hit like 65 or 70, I need to do anything I possibly can that is as dangerous as possible: If someone isn’t going to kill me if I have a disease, then I am going to go out in a flaming ball of dangerous glory screaming my lungs out all the way down. Absolutely terrifying, but incredibly fun.

By Dangerous things I don’t mean just jump off a cliff and commit suicide; the point, afterall, is not to just die, but to have fun while doing it. I want there to be a chance of living, but just a low one. Examples? Skydiving, speeding in excess of 120 MPH…in town, basejumping, etc. And of course if any of these things mamed, I’d pull the plug myself.

I know this all sounds terribly depressing, but the alternatives are worse…trust me. Either I become a member of The Rudest Demographic, or I am insane and oblivious to everything that is going on and my children are sad because I don’t even recognize. So when faced with the prospect of being oblivious, being really freaking rude, or being dead…I choose death.

Thanks for stopping by...I know I sure enjoyed it.

-Luke Snyder