Notes From My Deathbed

Having spent about a week on my deathbed, suffering from some kind of bastard infection, I have had some time to ruminate upon a number of matters.  The first and most obvious is that a person’s deathbed is a pressure filled environment for the deathee.  The deathee, or the resident of the deathbed must have something ghastly sounding enough to garner sympathy from visiting strangers, or co-habiting loved ones n.b. If you are a man trying to induce sympathy from a woman, the only way to do it is to hack off your left arm with a rusty spoon, any other method has been scientifically proven as a waste of time.

Sympathy is not the only issue for the prospective deathee.  The second problem is your last words.  Imagine if you cough your lungs up, and mutter ‘bloody bollocks’ and then dropped dead.  Those will be the last words you will ever utter.  That is precisely what loved ones will remember you for.  Therefore you must make sure that everything you say on your deathbed is incredibly poignant, so poignant that your words would make a left-handed lesser spotted australian tree frog sob with tears of regret for the sins which they themselves have committed.  This in turn means that expressions such as ‘oi darling can you chuck me the paper’ are out the window completely.  Instead you could perhaps wax lyrically about how looking at your reflection in your cup of tea is like looking at life itself, or how the only way to be truly happy is to…  Just make sure you do actually die at the end of the last one or it won’t have half as much impact.

Another unique deathbed experience has been my first fever in adult memory.  It reminded me of visiting elderly people in hospital near the end, when they are barely coherent and everyone assumes that they have lost their marbles.  It was surprisingly hard not to utter random squeaks and groans whilst boiling like a squashed snake on desert sand.  The most disappointing fact of all was that I expected a fever to be a somewhat more pleasant experience.  The only adult connection I had in my mind was with the song ‘Fever’ which is about a woman getting a ‘fever’ via the medium of lust and is sung in a deeply suggestive manner.  Having experienced a real fever if I ever meet anyone in my life that gives me a fever I will punch them in the tits and tell them where to go.

And there end my notes from my deathbed, as I have to get back to the business of dying.  It’s not easy mind you.  Some of us spend our whole lives doing it.  Till next time.

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