The purported last words of Karl Marx were: "Go on, get out. Last words are for fools who haven't said enough.” This is a particularly rich contrast with the purported last words of Pancho Villa: “Don’t let it end like this. Tell them I said something.”
Given this, it’s advisable to have something ready in case you realize in a sudden moment of clarity that you have only moments to utter your own last words. I’ve given this some thought recently, and I have a pretty good idea of where I’ll end up. My last words are probably going to be something like this:
Given this, it’s advisable to have something ready in case you realize in a sudden moment of clarity that you have only moments to utter your own last words. I’ve given this some thought recently, and I have a pretty good idea of where I’ll end up. My last words are probably going to be something like this:
"I got a new bracket for my oxygen tank yesterday, mounted on the wall of the trailer near the plasma tv. The best part about it is that now I won’t risk knocking the tank over on my can of diet Pepsi every time I reach past it for some nacho cheese doritos, and plus, there’s room on the bracket to balance my ash tray so I don’t have to worry about starting a fire by flicking my ashes into an adjacent trash bag. Best of all, my cats also seem completely uninterested in climbing on the wall bracket and marking their territory, deterred most likely by the barely audible hiss where the hose doesn’t quite snap tightly into the tank. So, now that my life is perfect, I’ll just sit back, tune in Oprah, and light up this here Cigarillo…"
At least my loved ones can console themselves by saying I died doing what I loved.
4 comments:
Maybe you should just have it printed on a card and pin it to your chest. That way you can save your breath for that last puff on your Cigarillo.
Which reminds me: why doesn't TCG get himself an O2 tank? I see little old ladies with small ones on shoulder straps in the grocery store all the time. Then maybe he could walk a few steps without all the drama.
O2 tanks are for pussies! Also, he apparently converts oxygen just fine - that which makes it into his lungs. The pulmonary docs explained all about this. But, like their advice that he walk and do aerobic moving to retain what's left of his pink lungs, he knows better and pays no attention.
Either that or his short term memory is going. Perhaps he saw something shiny at the point when the doctor was talking about this, and that redirected his attention. Ohhh, pretty!
Marx was working on his famous work that would finally define the term "class." He died before he did.
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