I have tasted death and it has the light flavor of grilled salmon with a nice brown sugar marinade. ~ Me
The other night, I almost laughed to death while at dinner with my sister and a friend. One second I'm doubling over in hysteria and the next I'm doubling over for the Heimlich. Short of being found dead in my bed after a wild session of love-making at the young age of 120, I'm not sure many other footnotes would be so enjoyed when read in my obituary. The column would state: She died laughing. But that publication will have to wait. I fully intend on being cremated with my ashes spread over some wonderful place yet to be seen by these eyes of mine. Not to mention my truest intention is a life's journey leading to that saucy alternate ending. I'm certain it would make the news sans photos, I hope. Wow, that's just kinda sick otherwise. My great-great grandchildren will never live it down and, secretly, they won't want to.
Oh, that granny...! ~ My Lineage
Well my behavior's been in question since the day I was born. ~ Quiet Riot
Before I could drive, my friend and I (in our oxford cloth pink and white striped button down shirts and chinos) were determined to go to a Quiet Riot, Axe and Queensryche concert 40 miles from home. I've no explanation for this except an unknowing teenage death-wish AND the fact that there was this guy my friend really liked that was supposed to tag along. Well, he didn't show but a very sad looking 1973 Pontiac Safari Station wagon, in the year of Our Lord 1984, did. Within those 11 years, this car had been resurrected over and over and over. Clearly, its end was nearing. Just getting in required suicidal tendencies but then again we were making our way to heavy-mega-metal-madness in some serious Rick Astley garb. Anyway, my friend assures me all is well in spite of the lack of seats, a muffler and, from what my ass remembers, shocks. Nonetheless, as we make our way down the road, without too many complications, I'm gaining confidence that all is very well. I've never met the driver but is someone my friend describes as a cool and mellow guy. Feeling his own brand of confidence, he torches a roach and is off to Cool City somewhere near Mellowville and I'm hoping somewhere near the concert. Forty miles takes 90 minutes...without traffic. Luckily, the concert isn't near any majorly populated areas and we arrive at the beginning of Take Hold of the Flame. I'll never forget thanks to the rather melodic headbanger serenading me while inadvertently and simultaneously stabbing me in the head with his spiked leather arm band. Attempting to avoid blood, my friend and I gravitate to the only other people in the arena that look like they might break out into Cry for Help. Two guys in oxford cloth and chinos. The four of us hit it off right away though it's more like being stuck in a foreign country far from your native tongue and finding an English oasis of conversation. But there is no talking over the concert and as it abruptly ends our "ride" finds us. He is stoned and ready to cruise. Playing heroes to us damsels-in-distress, the frat boys offer us a ride. My friend and I are at crossroads (keeping with the whole roadtrip metaphor) considering the cons (there were no pros in this situation) or a.k.a. Frat Boys vs Stoners:
#1 Frat boy con:
Potential psycho killers (using Aramis' Devin to lure their victims in).
#1 Stoner con:
It will take forever to get home if we get home (with car compounding the issue).
It's a coin toss between death on one side and how soon we could get home on the other.
The Frat boys win (and, looking back, were perhaps on a date).
But we do make it back by my friends curfew (otherwise her father would have killed us). Whew!
Ssssssssome other time, perhaps? ~ Kaa (The Jungle Book 1967)
Run over a rattlesnake with your three speed bike then almost have a heart attack trying to get home to your mom while trying not to look at the gory tire trail following you without apology.