A Solid Plan For Supernatural Immunity

I can’t die of the coronavirus. I already have a plan, dear reader, and it has nothing at all to do with this epidemic. Maybe give it a try yourself. How did I come up with such an exit plan? It wasn’t even my idea. One day I was sitting around in this tattoo shop I was working in and there were maybe three or four other artists buzzing, and just like that, how we all wanted to die came up. It quickly became a group discussion. One guy wanted to die in his sleep. Everyone agreed this was weak. Even bugs have a greater sense of glory. Some chick said thoughtfully that she wouldn’t mind choking to death on dick, but this had no appeal to the rest of us. I went with a plane crash, but of course I’d be the pilot and the plane would be stolen. This sounded okay to the group. Suicide by stolen muscle car was popular (after a terminal diagnosis). One guy wanted to jump out of an airplane and land on his bosses house, just tear through the roof and explode in the living room. Acceptable. And then the old guy came in. Grizzly, smelly, half insane. Someone tossed the question at him and he didn’t even think about it for a second. He already knew. “Gun battle with the cops in a whorehouse.”

Everyone agreed he was the winner, but with a few colorful modifications. Mine runs like this- a gun battle with crooked cops in a whorehouse. I envision myself as very old and frail, wearing a suit that looks two sizes too big. Drunk, of course. Two handguns that look like bazookas in my gnarled old hands. Screaming prostitutes all around me (I’m saving them) and it all takes place somewhere in Mexico or maybe Argentina. Old gothic buildings and bright blue sky outside the shattered windows, guns blazing, and the last terrified wave surges in and- wink.

That’s way too good. Bold, heroic even, and relatively clean. Plus my so so novels will get reprinted in the wake of such a magnificent death and my questionable paintings will double in value. My hypothetical heirs will be pleased and hipsters will have a new cafe conversation piece for the ages. I can hear it now- “You didn’t hear how that guy went out? (nervous giggle) Well, he didn’t whisper toodleoo and they had to cremate an entire building with him. See…”

A virus can’t touch that.