Dying on a dick joke


I take things seriously, and as such, contemplate that_life and that_death. When I'm dying, I'll ask, "Did I do my best?" in doing what the rest of us humans do: find what makes us content, and continue from there to the best of our ability. This assumes one will reach death with a few moments to spare.

Hopefully, my last day will have been spent well, and in a position where the pursuit of my utmost personal happiness was at the root of my actions. However disagreeable, may my every step be thought out and fought, with a resistance to what I believe is wrong. It's important, as so finely put: "Our integrity sells for so little, but it's all we really have. It is the very last inch of us, and within that inch, we are free."

Yet, even in freedom there is the ability to compromise. Are you catering to a crowd with subconscious motives, or truly seeking what makes you content? Every compromise is a slight shaving of your integrity, and too much will tear through to the bone. Were your actions guided by desire and will, or forced by demand and survival? If the latter, did you question its worth and keep it in mind?

It's a fleeting thought I get, that of the motives behind actions, and the role integrity plays. To die as you live should be important, if you live happily. For me, taking things seriously means ridiculing things silly, but seen otherwise. It means welcoming and one-upping the unseen absurdity revolving around most facets of modern life. That's why every inch counts.

I wouldn't mind dying if this blog post were the last thing I did, as it was gratifying to write and I'm satisfied with it. Nor would I mind most any previous post, as they were critical, thoughtful, and never needlessly serious. And because my big, fat, long penis always stays rock hard (for Heather and Kelly Clarkson).

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