>>> Text-Heavy
By staff writer E.E. Southerby
Volume 96 – August 29, 2004

“Now Significantly Older”

Now Playing: “Sundown” by Gordon Lightfoot

Today is a very special day, because it's the day I turn 22. Yes, that means I'm old now. Old enough to drink. Old enough to vote. Old enough to do pretty much anything, except rent a car in the state of California, where apparently Avis won't talk to you unless you qualify for the senior's discount. Anyhow, there's no way I'm putting up with being old, giving up solid food and needing help with my bowel movements, even if it means I get 10% off socks at Wal-Mart on Tuesdays—which is why I've decided to shuffle off this mortal coil post-haste. Yes, that's right, this week I will be killing myself live on Pointsincase. Tell all your friends. This is an Internet first. Now you all have to help me decide what's the best way to celebrate my birthday through anti-aging suicide. These are the choices. Here's what happened:

Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman Overdose: Everybody knows Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman is the worst show in the history of television, but few realize the adverse effects that watching it can have on the human body. David Burns from Pensacola, Florida was subjected to four hours of a Dr. Quinn marathon on TNT and the next morning woke up with crabs. Patty Cline of Athens, Georgia watched six back-to-back episodes her husband accidentally taped while he was trying to record WWE Smackdown and she's still on kidney dialysis. I will attempt to watch 24 solid hours of that garbage, stopping only to eat, sleep and vomit profusely. On the off chance that I survive I have arranged for Jane Seymour to personally come to my house and perform a hatchet lobotomy.

-Visit Unstable Dominatrix: Most of you probably know a dominatrix or two who's lost her marbles. You know, one who ties you up in her basement and wails on you for hours on end even though you're not her client and she's already taken all your money. I will seek out one such domme and submit myself to her every demand, no matter how crazy, dangerous or ill-conceived it may be. She can put needles in my scrotum, set my hair on fire, or break my knees with a Louisville slugger. Whatever gets her off. As long as she doesn't stick any live animals into my orifices. That's where I draw the line. I'd like to die with dignity.

-Replace All My Ivy with Poison Ivy: I'm sure you've all heard about my legendary ivy collection. My house is festooned with ivy, inside and out. It's growing on the walls, the floors, this keyboard; everywhere. However, I am prepared to destroy my prize-winning ivy collection and instead begin a poison ivy collection. The ivy necklace that I wear to work every day will be retired, and I will begin wearing a much itchier variation. When I go to bed, instead of the comforting feeling of ivy leaves wrapped around my pillow, I will be subjected to poison of the iviest variety. Eventually, I will scratch off all my skin attempting to relieve the pain, and I'm pretty sure you need skin to live. Even if you don't, I can't imagine surviving very long after drinking my sixth bottle of calamine lotion.

-Attend Children's Spelling Bee: Some people are allergic to bees. I am allergic to spelling bees. I cannot sit at a children's spelling bee for longer than a few minutes before my muscles tense up, my breath gets short, and I start huffing and wheezing. After fifteen minutes, it takes all the effort in the world to keep from shrieking out “POCOCURANTE isn't even a real word! You just made it up for the bee! This is bullshit!” Sometimes it takes as many as four spelling bee officials to tackle me to the ground and force-feed my prescription medication. (“Z-O-L-O-F-T”)

-Set Fire to IKEA: The IKEA chain of furniture stores combine maze-like store layouts with merchandise made entirely out of untreated wood. Should some mischievous hoodlum ever attempt to start a fire inside an IKEA store, you can rest assured the fire would spread in seconds and nobody would escape alive. Go to IKEA and look for the emergency exits. Go ahead, try it. They're just regular exits. Under this plan, I will sit in the very middle of an IKEA maze and smoke a cigarette using an IKEA wooden ashtray. To minimize the casualties this plan would necessarily entail, I will post a sign saying, “This store will be set ablaze in half an hour. Please exit by the nearest emergency exit if you wish to live.” Actually, better give them a whole hour.

-Fight a Vending Machine: A few years ago three people died attempting to extract free soda from pop machines. This caused an uproar in the vending machine community. Pretty soon you couldn't walk past a vending machine without giving it a suspicious look, as though it might attack at any moment. Across America vending machines became the outlaws of the automated food-service industry. People thought of them as ne'er-do-wells, machines that might corner an innocent bystander in an alleyway and rob him of his change, or perhaps set fire to an IKEA. So the vending machines started wearing stickers: Stickers that had a picture of a man fighting a vending machine, and the vending machine clearly winning, and the whole thing had a diagonal red bar through it as if to say “I am a good vending machine. I am not here to hurt you. Do not be alarmed. Enjoy a soda.” I will not heed this warning, and will attempt to engage a Pepsi dispenser in unarmed combat. Winner gets a free Diet Mountain Dew.

-Marry a Nigerian Millionaire: One of my favorite things to do when I receive an email from a man posing as a Nigerian millionaire in need of some assistance is to pose as a wealthy debutante who would gladly marry a Nigerian she met over the Internet. Under this plan, I will actually fly to Nigeria to meet and marry this supposed millionaire. Before I go, I will sell all my worldly possessions, and then donate my money to charity (“Nigerians in Need”). When my fiancé finds out I'm not really wealthy or a debutante, he will probably resort to some sort of petty Nigerian revenge, such as murder or limb removal. Even if he doesn't, I'll still be stuck in Nigeria, which, judging by the emails I get, is slightly worse than being dead.

-Dance Dance Revolution Party: The hit videogame Dance Dance Revolution has actually been added to the Guinness Book of World Records under the title “Lamest Videogame Ever.” Under this plan I will host a party and when people get to my house they'll ask, “Hey, where's the beer?” and I'll respond, “There is no beer. But I do have Dance Dance Revolution.” At this point I will find out exactly how far one can fit a Playstation up my rectum. If I do attempt to compete at DDR I will immediately be stabbed to death by an Asian gang. And no, I'm not bitter about this just because only Koreans are good at the game. You don't see me making the same sort of jokes about math class, do you?

-Vacation in Najaf: I've already told you that Iraq is one of this summer's vacation hotspots but what you probably didn't know unless you watch Fox News is that there's a mosque in Najaf that you absolutely must see if you feel like ending your life. Actually, seeing a mosque ought to make anyone want to end their life, because those things are—pardon my cultural insensitivity—more retarded than a Special Olympics track meet. Anyhow, the American military has decided not to invade the Najaf Mosque and kill everyone inside because they don't want to cause an international incident. Fair enough. So instead, they've surrounded the mosque with more weapons of mass destruction than there were in Iraq than before the war and refuse to let anyone in or out. Good call guys. Now the integrity and sanctity of the mosque is preserved, and life can go on as usual. Right. I'm pretty sure nobody will be using that mosque for prayer anytime soon. Might as well blow the fucker up. Just make sure I'm in it first.

-Suicide Wings Buffet: Quote of the Moment: One of my friends, at an all-you-can-eat chicken wing buffet: “How come they don't make wings spicier than suicide flavor. Is it because they don't have a name for them? I guess the only thing spicier than suicide wings would be homicide wings. Man I would kill for some of those right now.” Take me. Take me.