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Died Like A Dog
World leaders choose which animal they will have “died like” | |
Everyone dies.
If you choose to be the leader of a great nation, a not-
so-
great-nation, a political cause or a terrorist organisation,
you’re gonna die.
Your supporters/nation/jihad might choose to honour
you
with a state funeral, but, hey, whatever, you’re dead.
Your “enemies” might
choose to portray you as having
died
like a particular animal. For their own political gain.
Choose in advance (and publicise) which animal you’re
going to die “like”, to deflate their political balloon.
I’m going to die like a wombat.
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//I’m going to die like a wombat.// So, you mean a small but
noticeable post-mortem increase in intelligence? |
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Yes, probably that. Probably scared, cold and
alone. |
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I don’t think there’s any glory in gloating over the
death of another person. |
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But there might be glory, or something, in gloating over ones own? |
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// I don’t think there’s any glory // |
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No; but there's satisfaction at a good plan, well executed (ha, ha). |
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We intend to die like C. Botulinus; individual organisms may die, but the germ line continues forever ... ubiquitous, just waiting to strike ... |
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HIV would be a better model of that [8th], lurking,
Mutating, assimilating across species, recruiting
biological
mechanisms to replicate... killing only some, but
leaving others well enough to unsuspectingly
spread your legacy... |
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... but nowhere near as infectious or rapidly lethal, and not so vulnerable to containment by relatively simple behavioural changes. |
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//I don’t think there’s any glory in gloating over the death of
another person.// That's a bit of a sweeping statement. I've
set aside time to gloat over a small number of carefully
chosen deaths when they happen. After all, it's not going to
bother the deceased. |
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If anyone wants to gloat over my death, if it ever happens,
they're very welcome to. |
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Actually, the most successful viruses must be the
ones that gave us Endogenous Retro-Viruses in our
DNA. They didn’t kill their host, they assimilated
and reproduced with the carrier species’s DNA, to
become a permanent part of it. |
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And the winner of "Jack Ass" is...Wow, that's a no brainer. |
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[MB], you will have a state funeral to shame any
before; virgins will wail at what might have been,
grown men will weep, a year of mourning will
proceed, followed by an month of weeping every
year, Buchananuary. |
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and [bliss], we brits can’t gloat, we’ve elected 2
of our last 3 premieres from a club for whom
sticking their d**k in a dead pig was a right of
passage. |
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Would it have been better or worse if the pig had been alive ? |
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Worse for the pig, definitely. Worse for the perpetrator, very possibly. |
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Worse for everyone else ...? |
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Actually [MB], if you wouldn’t mind bequeathing
your name to chronology, we could have a 13th
month of Buchananuary, re-arrange it and all the
others to have 28 days each, and have an
Intercalary
month of 1 1/4 days named Sturton. |
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The Dowager Duchess would be delighted by that. |
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// [MB], you will have a state funeral to shame any
before// That's possible. I've been to a few funerals, and
there's always someone in a state. |
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//an Intercalary month of 1 1/4 days named Sturton// That
would be confusing. The Intercalary was born in between
Sturton and myself (in time, that is; not in space; although
come to think of it he was born somewhere between
Madagascar and Brazil so, in fact, he is an inbetweener in
that sense too), hence his title of The Intercalary. He does
have a legal name but, due to a bureaucratic error by his
(and probably my) father, it is rather unwieldly and he
spurns it. For some years now, he has been saving up for a
name transplant should a suitable donor become available. |
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Howevertheless, Buchananuary sounds like an excellent
idea, but please don't put it between December and January
- that time of year is quite long enough as it is. |
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I'd like this better if it were dyed like a dog--skin color
changed to patchey black, brown, and white like an
Australian shepherd, or a nice, tasteful dalmation
spot set. |
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[MB], please accept my apologies and
mortifications. For some inexcusable reason I was
confused about the (distinct) identities of the
Intercalary and Sturton. Please proffer to them
(each) my apologies. |
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Regarding the calendar: with your agreement then,
we will go ahead with establishing Buchananuary,
between May and June, subject to satisfactorily
re-arranging the other 12 months. Would you like
the wailing virgins and weeping others to start as
soon as established, or just to stand around looking
a little confused (which I think is rather more
poetic) until your actual demise? |
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Also, what then should be the name of the
Intercalary month? |
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Re. this wailing virgin thing, can we get a little
clarification? First of all, are these virgins male or female,
human or not? It may matter. And, if they're human
females, are they virgins because they have been saving
themselves, or simply because they are mingers who haven't
managed to pull? Again, it may matter. Also, are they
going to wail incessantly (which may get annoying), or
cessantly? |
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Regarding the Intercalary month, it's probably simplest just
to call it The Intercalary Month for now. Obviously, if funds
and a compatible donor become available, we may want to
revise it. |
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I'm kinda planning to die like a meadowlark in a GE90 - no need to pickle
me, buy me a box, look at my ugly mug, or dig me a hole. |
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Are you thinking of just hitting the fan, or going right through the core ? |
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Just get on Boing 737 and just wait a bit. |
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//hitting the fan, or// ... I shouldn't have used the word "planning", which implies much more control than I expect. It's not like it's something one can practice. |
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Well, you can start small, like the "Stopping a ceiling fan with your head" trick, just to get a feel for the concept ... |
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But the actual "ingestion by high-bypass turbofan" thing is pretty much a one-shot deal, the worst part being you never get to see the YouTube video of the engine exhaust ... |
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When you are dying you aren't dead yet. |
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I could see this as a Monty Python routine. A common skit
vehicle they'd do is the "ludicrous tangent". Cowboy walks
into a
saloon, guns drawn "OK, Texas Bob, be prepared to die
like a dirty lemur!" |
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(Saloon keeper) "A dirty what?" |
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(Assassin, about to shoot but interrupted by saloon
keeper turns and says..) "Huh? Uhh lemur. He's gonna die
like the dirty lemur he is!" (then turns back to start
shooting) |
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(Saloon gal) "Don't you mean dirty dog?" |
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(Assassin, now getting cross from these interruptions.) |
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"Wha... NO! I like dogs!" |
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(Piano player) "Yes, but the expression is die like a dirty
dog, not die like a dirty lemur." |
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(Assassin, putting his guns down to his side, absolutely
incredulous at this point.) "What are you saying? That
lemurs aren't dirty? Have you ever smelled a lemur up
close? They're filthy!" |
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(Piano player) "Have YOU ever smelled a lemur?" |
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etc. Long diatribe between various characters about
sniffing lemurs, being a dirty lemur sniffer being worse
than just being a dog etc. Then the writers get bored and
cut to another skit at some point. |
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OK, the fun is gone now. Somebody decided to walk out on a
runway in Austin, Texas and try for the turbine on a landing
737. |
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Wasn't tidy; repairs & cleanup will be extensive and
expensive, and there will be sufficient trauma to go around. |
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