Thursday, July 19, 2012

Best Canberra Conclusions ever?
by Matt Bulman

(This next essay is in the form of a character. It raises unpopular sentiments, which is why I have a character say it. And to complicate matters, I am going to have the character speak in the first person...So in your minds, just substitute 3rd person for the personal pronouns of I, me and my. Regards, The Author)

During my time in scenic Canberra, I have for some reason been inspired to contemplate death and suicide to no small degree. My ideas remain unpopular. Was I hoping to find the lighter side of the subject? Perhaps. Or, as is more likely, has God chosen me as some type of modern day messenger on a hitherto under discussed topic? An Angel of Death, no doubt. Or, perhaps, an Angle of Death. The reasons, labels and spellings are yet unclear, however, time will tell. My conclusions follow.

CONCLUSION 1: No one under 75 should be able to commit suicide. We are all in this thing together, and it is not fair that you should get to check out early when I still have student loans to repay. It is cheating. Sure, reach 75, and the choice for sweet release is yours. Perhaps some sort of chair could be invented, and there is a mass celebration where septuagenarians sit with sceptre and crown, and then go to sleep never to wake. Spectators chant like Tibetan Monks. Ah, at last. All of these years, and there is now a socially acceptable way out.

CONCLUSION 1a: Also, you should be able to elect this procedure for someone else, but only one person, and you must really hate them. They can be any age. The procedure is permanent, and takes place in a random basement of your choosing. And you only get one choice, so please choose wisely the person for the sleepy-never-wake-upy chair.

CONCLUSION 2: Clearly, awakening from an attempted suicide must be the worst feeling in the world. Not only did you get caught trying to cheat life, but just when you think things cannot possibly get any worse, this happens. You really can not seem to do anything right these days, can you. Worst day ever? Well, try to think of it, instead, as the worst day of the rest of your life.
Also, you lose your shot at electing someone else for suicide. Sorry, but those are the rules.

CONCLUSION 3: Everyone really must start to plan their funeral from grade 10. Essays in English class will be on the duel subjects of what you want to do with your life, and your death.
Teens would say the cutest things about death. I have asked around Canberra. A few examples of their ideas follow:

The Most non-Traditional Funeral Ever?

When I die...I want a non-traditional funeral. For example, I want my remains scattered, but not cremated. Then, each of my relatives will be inherit a limb to dispose of as is their want. It will be weird, logistically, too. For example, if they get stopped by a police officer driving back from the funeral, they might find themselves saying things such as, “What’s that officer? Oh, that’s nothing. Well, it was my brother’s arm. But he’s dead now. It’s okay, officer, it belongs to me now. “ They will have to take it home and put it on the mantle, store it in an aquarium like some sort of post-modern relic. Then, when the kids get unruly, the parents will be like, “Behave yourselves! Don’t make me get down the arm from the relic-tank!”

The Cutest, most Creative Funeral Ever?

I want my funeral to be a public event. Memorable. I want to surprise people, borrow from the ancient Navaho tradition: be drawn and quartered by a thousand squirrels set off in a thousand directions. People will get the metaphor, and be torn between tears and tenderness, just like I was literally torn by such cute creatures. Because while they will be disgusted by the gore, they will also have to admit to themselves that it’s okay. I was already dead after all, and it was very entertaining. Perhaps the cutest mutilation ever.

The Most Funny Funeral Ever?

As a comedian, I want my funeral to be very funny. “Did you see his funeral? How was it?” they will say.
“Yes I did, and too bad you missed it,” Attendees will respond. “It was hilarious.”
Even other comedians and my detractors will say, “Man, that funeral was fucking funny. His magnum opus, really. It’s not even my type of humour, but I respected it, creatively...it’s certainly not how I want to go. But I sure did laugh.”

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