Ok, I know there is something wrong with me because I enjoy reading stories about frozen waste from airplane bathrooms that falls to Earth and almost kills people. Seriously, it happened in Calgary. A bag of frozen poop from an airliner came hurling through a lady’s roof and nearly killed her.
When I think of the ways I could die, almost all of them are better than being killed by flying poop. That’s the sort of thing that could erase a lifetime of accomplishment. I would instantly stop being as “me” and forever be known as the dude whose head was crushed by a turd. If I die from frozen restroom waste, my friends and family would have trouble stifling a laugh. And who could blame them, really?
“How did he die?” someone might ask. “I guess you could say he got pissed off,” one of my ex-friends would reply, before laughing heartily.
It seems unlikely I would be killed by airplane waste, but it seems just as unlikely we would have had a woman, and black dude, and a Mormon in the running for president and that happened. I don’t rule anything out. From now on when I hear jet sounds, I’m standing under a doorway.
I recently went to see The Foo Fighters. I can imagine standing in line and the guy next to me getting knocked the fuck out by a bag of frozen poop. When telling the story later, would I be able to resist saying “The shit hit the fan”?
I think not. And that is why I probably deserve to be killed by frozen poop.
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