Ten More Tips For Getting Yourself Killed

As knowing dawns and encompasses, suffer your first heart attack. Fall from the stage. Writhe and gasp. Clutch your chest like Redd Fox.

One: If old Beelzebub the devil, known in some circles as the Infernal Serpent, won’t abide your testimony in Jumbo’s Clown Room, please don’t think for a minute that a mere heart attack will be the extent of your torment. Fall from your chair, fracture your arm, cranially impact the floor such that your teeth act as the penetrating force mechanism needed to sever the anterior inch of your tongue.

Two: If while waiting for an ambulance, the stripper, actress really, stage name: Ada Lovelace, affixes latex gloves, removes a Zip-Lock bag from her purse, and places the anterior inch of your tongue therein, gurgle questions regarding the bag’s sterility, e.g. ‘Why the gloves if placing tongue portion in a dirty old condom Zip-Lock anyway. ’ Learn that Ada Lovelace wore latex gloves for her own protection rather than your anterior inch’s sterile preservation.

Three: Issue a thumbs up as paramedics check your airway. Provide thumbs down as paramedics puncture a stoma in your throat to facilitate oxygen intake.

Four: Invasive procedures won’t end there! Receive attentions from both the cardiac and orthopedic teams at the Los Angeles County Medical Centre. ' Invasiveness'— practically the cardiac team’s middle name. Should your bluish hue necessitate percutaneous intervention, whereby a tiny camera is threaded past your severed and still-bleeding tongue, past the stoma punctured by paramedics, right down into the heart where the narrowest arterial culprit can be identified and duly stented—then while stented, stoma’d and percutaneously-intervened upon, hum thine self a weary tune.

Five: Due to arterial deficiencies, don’t expect your arm to be operated upon any time soon, plus nor are a lot of opiates made available to an anti-Satanic blogger in your rebellious condition.

Six: Gurgle hostile noises at the functionary who demands insurance information while pounding his index finger against a bill for $172,000.

Seven: Request a hospital chaplain by making that old sign of the cross with two index fingers. Hallucinate an alternate self speaking to another, “Still looks computational to me. ” Learn from a nurse that the chaplaincy had been decreed problematic and canceled by the hospital’s no-nonsense Diversity Czar.

Eight: If the functionary refuses to charge your phone, e.g. ‘Not my job!’ make the universal ‘money grubbing/ thumb rubbing against index and middle finger’ motion, i.e. ‘My phone will get you your $172,000, ghoul. ’

Eight: Send the hospital’s geo-coordinates to Britannica. Ask if she remembered to buy traveller’s insurance. If Britannica is now insured as a member of the Screen Actor’s Guild, describe the increasingly-low metrics for corroborating the temporal validity of a common law marriage.

Nine: Text your estranged wife, “Suffered heart attack on Hollywood Blvd. Don’t worry about money. Costs covered by SAG. Should Marcel_Proust wish to say goodbye to his father a flight to L.A. is in order. Please don’t bring Ronald Majthenyi. I hate him. ”

Ten: Drift off to sleep for what may be the last time. Repeat the mantra, “I will not follow the imps. I will not follow the imps, ” until a bald male nurse pops his Raval-ian dome into your room to issue a toothless threat of placing you on the psych ward. Keep your analytical engine running by entertaining thoughts of Alan Raval’s murder.