Cardiac arrest.
Suicide, possibly assisted.
I’m diabetic, and Alzheimer’s runs in the family. If things ever start to become really bad, I’ll give myself an OD of U-500 insulin. My partner wants to be with me, but I won’t let him if it means criminal charges for him.
If I don’t choke on something first.
By a technology that hasn’t been invented yet.
By a piece of falling masonry, mid-sentence.
Unserious: Sudden cardiac arrest, after a truck was parked on it.
Serious: I’d venture the odds are about even between a heart attack and cancer, because both are so prevalent in my ancestry.
Man can’t live on a diet of really good meats and liquors alone, but I sure as hell tried.
Heart attack a long time from now, I hope and expect.
Thank you thank you thank you.
The LOL was sorely needed.
Now onto my death predictions!
I fear that I will die in a car accident every day. Im going to look up from my phone that Ive momentarily glanced at (I swear, just a glance!) to find the back end of a stopped delivery truck crushing the hood of my car like an accordian. And my last thought would be “N…” because the “ooooooooo” would come too late!
The closer truth, if I used my grandparents final years as a template, would be whatever alzheimers/lou gehrigs/congestive heart failure does to kill you; which is probably complications from pneumonia.
Probably while using a compu
Hey, any of y’all want to go check on elninost0rm?
Rescuing children from a school bus which is about to fall from the Golden Gate Bridge. Wait, that was Superman, wasn’t it ? Yeah, that’s right. My answer is the same, only I die heroically. Even Superman didn’t do that.
Crap. Now we’ll never know. RIP. You died doing what you loved, whatever that was.
A cancer of some sort with the possibility of liver failure.
My wife says that my kid will kill me. Sounds like a “False Flag Operation” if I’ve ever heard one!
And now I’ll admit that I threw every game of Battleship with him, allowing him to win so I could get it over with. Consider this a Deathbed Confession.
I won’t. It will be me, Dana Scully and the cockroaches.
Logically it would be melanoma or a related complication. However, part of me would rather it be some accident while I’m living it up waiting for tumors to spread.
I’m hard pressed to figure out the exact mechanism, but I flat out know my death will involve a steam roller parade and a misplaced banana peal.
My best guess of probabilities:
40% - Complications caused by allergy-induced sinus infection (I’ve felt like death was hovering on many occasions because of this).
30% - Heart saying, “F-this!” while overexerting myself during exercise of some kind.
20% - Victim of road accident that was NOT MY FAULT!
10% - Alcohol abuse complications, assuming I do not slow down with that stuff…tomorrow.
Choking on a guitar pick. I have a habit of holding them between my lips when I put the guitar down and I sometimes forget they are there. I’m afraid I’m going to inhale one someday.
This reminded me of a not quite fatal, but embarrassing story. I used to have the goofy habit, when playing live, of sticking my pick to my sweaty forehead for this one song with a fingerpicked intro. One time, when the rest of the song kicked in, I grabbed a new pick from my mic stand clip instead of my face, and the forgotten pick stayed on my forehead for 2.5 more songs. The photos from that show are remarkably dumb-looking.