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You’ve Just Been Erased


Death is a real buzzkill. Odds are you had plans the next day. Maybe something incredible like a European vacation, maybe something trivial like a bit of gardening. Either way it’ll never get done now. Not ever. Of course you might not die today, but you’ll die some day, and the scenario will be the same; your plans for tomorrow will be fucked. Maybe this is the last thing you’ll ever read. And it’s not Shakespeare. Not Dickens. It’s not even Tom Clancy. It’s a blog from some prick who tried to ruin your day before it ruined itself. I’d laugh and say “I told you so” if you weren’t so fucking dead.

Death. (POV shot)

The reaction when confronted with thoughts of death is the survival instinct, a simple reflexive fear of pain and dying. But the fear should run so much deeper. Death doesn’t just end the story of your life, it erases that story from history. You, the average Joe, have no lasting legacy. As soon as your day to day interactions with those around you cease, your memory fades. When the memory fades, when no one remembers anything about you, then you never existed at all. Thank fast! Who was the president of the United States of America in 1910? Don’t fake it, you aren’t fooling anyone. It’s not on the tip of your tongue, you just don’t fucking know. That’s only 100 years ago, and he was the god damned president. If you can’t remember Howard Taft, what makes you think someone will remember the insignificant shithead You? Shit, pick anyone. Go ahead. Build a list of people who were alive in 1910. Take all day, I don’t care. Sure, you can use Wikipedia, go for it. Done? Whatcha got? Are they all famous? Probably great scientists, world leaders or famous authors. Are you a great scientist, world leader, or famous author? Then it doesn’t fucking matter, does it? Name one worthless shit (like yourself) with a worthless shit job (again, like yourself) that was alive in 1910. Got one? No? Welcome to the abyss of your biography.

You in 100 years

No one cares, nor wants to care. History doesn’t even celebrate simple respectable lives, so it sure as shit won’t take note of you. When history is written, you’ll be just another faceless Early 21st Century American Citizen (deepest apologies to my foreign reader). Lumped into the same homogeneous group as piss soaked hobos, rapists and meth addicts. A hundred years from now, what will the kids in space school learn about us? “Those ignorant Early 21st Century Americans with their South Beach Diets and their NASCAR. Such barbarians! Why, none of them could even find their own country on a map!” And you’re one of them, too, dear reader.

Only a select few have the honor of being remembered, and they fall under one of two categories. Famous people, and those who have killed famous people. Becoming famous takes a lot of work and even more luck, but buying a gun is easy. And on top of it, the gun will probably make you more famous anyway. John Wilkes Booth is the most well known actor of his era, but I don’t know a damn thing about his professional career. Let’s be clear, I am not advocating assassination. That would be irresponsible and possibly illegal. I’m just saying that you will never be respected or even remembered unless you kill someone more important than you. Like for example, oh I don’t know, Paco up the block.

Look, we both have problems. You are concerned about the insignificance of your pathetic life which can only be cured through assassination of a revered individual, and I have Paco. I sense that you are skeptical of Paco’s reveredness. Did I mention his men call him King Paco? No? Not good enough? Uh… how about that he has agents controlling the CIA and is a direct descendant of Jesus Christ? Yeah? Better? OK then, we’ll roll with that. CIA field agent King Paco Christ and his armies have infiltrated the borders of my sovereign turf. Uh, nation. My people need a hero to save them from these evil forces. Anyone who could deliver us from this, our nation’s darkest hour, would be glorified forever in the pages of history. And not in the Wilkes Booth sort of way, either. We’re talking real hero shit. We’re talking Claus von Stauffenberg. We’re talking  Leonidas. We’re talking Steven Seagal in Executive Decision, where Kurt Russell is all like “We’re not gonna make it”, and Steve gives that cool, “You are” then falls to his death from 30,000 feet. You get the idea. Anyway, there’s a plain brown package under a pile of newspapers by the mailbox on College and 3rd. CIA field agent King Paco Christ will be at the marked location between 10:30 and 1:00 tonight. Use the contents of the package to immortalize yourself. If you have any questions, please remember that you’re probably going to die tomorrow anyway. Good luck, my hero.

One Comment leave one →
  1. Brian permalink
    2010/07/28 5:04 pm

    I now completely understand the series finale of The Sopranos.

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