Day 15: He Died Doing What He Loved

Nothing makes me want to rape midgets more than this statement: "at least he died doing what he loved".

On Sunday, one of the three men missing on Mt. Hood, Kelly James, was found dead. Of course, when his family found out they said this: "at least he died doing what he loved". What kind of bullshit is that? Who cares what the fuck he was doing when he died?

I'm pretty sure while Mr. James was huddled in his little cave, waiting for deaths sweet embrace he said this to himself: "at least I'm gonna die doing what I love". Hmm. I'm pretty sure that is not how it went down. It probably went down something like this: "FUUUUUUUUUUCK! I'M GONNA FUCKING DIIEEEEEEEEE!!! SHIIIIIIIIIIT! FUUUUUUUUUUCK!"

I don't mean to trivialize his death. I also don't mean to trivialize the awe inspiring sport of which Mr. James was a card carrying member, mountain climbing. OK. I do mean to trivialize mountain climbing.

Only crazies and robots are stupid enough to climb a mountain for fun. Just because it's there.

Here is the moral of the story. When someone dies. Know matter what he was doing when it happened. Don't say this: "at least he died doing what he loved". Nobody wants to die. Not even doing something they love. Nobody.