Sick beds and last stands

I don't like thinking about it but I guess dying wishes are important . . . A local story about a poor guy and his disabled son bring to light some pretty important issues about quality of life and the state of medical care in this country:

Father Upset Feeding Tubes Denied For Son

Luckily, like most minorities if something really catastrophic happened to me I'm pretty sure substandard medical care would make quick work of me . . . But there's always the slim chance that I'll survive and in that case I've instructed all of my relatives to simply smother me with a pillow, throw some bulky item through a window and run off into the sunrise. Truly, that would make me happy.

However, in my lighter moments I've always hoped that my eventual demise will be much more dramatic. Kind of like a Sci-Fi movie and maybe I'll even have the chance to say something cool.



Maybe I could quote somebody and the following gem pretty much captures my general demeanor:

"From hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee."

- From Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan and I'm told some other book that goes by the name of Moby Dick, which sounds kinda ghey if you ask me.