Dead Issue
Bizarro is brought to you today by A Comfortable Demise.
I’m not afraid of death because, as Mark Twain said in his autobiography, “Annihilation has no terrors for me, because I have already tried it before I was born—a hundred million years—and I have suffered more in an hour, in this life, than I remember to have suffered in the whole hundred million years put together. ” Twain has now been dead for over a hundred years and no one has heard him utter a peep of complaint.
I’m slightly afraid of dying because I’ve never done that, but I don’t reckon there is any point in getting my panties in a wad over it until it is impending. (Okay, yes, I wear panties.) My only anxiety about death is the pain it will cause to the people I leave behind who still give a hoot. My solution to that problem is to become such a monumental ass that no one will care.
I grew up very spiritual and held those beliefs in various forms well into adulthood. But now, after much research into the topic, I hold no beliefs in spirituality or an afterlife of any kind. I’m fairly confident that death will be exactly like it was before I was born. The closest thing I can compare it to is a deep, solid sleep forever. I like sleeping, so I don’t anticipate having any objection to being dead. To object to something or experience displeasure, a person needs a working brain and, by definition, I will no longer have one. So that’s that.
Still, I think the Grim Reaper needs a makeover.