When is a good day to die?

The obvious answer to this question is no day is a good day to die. Because until it is proven that the afterlife exists, with its bevy of virgins and bad-ass harp music, dead is dead. And anyway why are virgins good? Not like they put out. Reminds me of an old bumper sticker I saw in an Aussie movie: To all the virgins, thanks for nothing. Of course it was an Aussie movie. If there is one thing you can rely on Aussies for, that’s to cut through the bullshit. They call things the way they are. And for the moment, the rumours of a hereafter are about as dry as a dead dingo’s donger.

So yes, there is no good day to die, just as Lolly Jackson found out tonight at 6.30pm. But if you had to choose, if you had no choice in the matter, what day would you choose? I think if Lolly had any say, not that he probably did, he’d be fairly happy with a Monday. Mondays are a pretty miserable day. The first day of the working week. The first day of having to go back to your worthless fucking job that sucks every last drop of fun and purpose out of your life. Well that’s if your life totally sucks and you hate your job. I quite like mine, so I quite like Mondays. On Mondays I roll into the office late(ish), roll back out the door five minutes later, get a coffee from Screaming Beans, our local coffee shop, roll back in, write an email, tell some people how disgustingly busy I am and then machinegun-mouth the people around me into oblivion with non-stop chatter about whatever garbage that comes into my head. Finally when the coffee wears off I stare at the internet until I have idea, or don’t have an idea, depending on what mood my brain is in. At some point someone will come tell me to go to a meeting where I will be required to act strange and say random things like it’s a bit Gondry-meets-AC/DC-on-crack. So Mondays are good for me.

If I was to choose a day to die it wouldn’t be Friday. Friday is cool. On Friday I get to kick back. Stop pretending that my beard is the world’s greatest statement in irony. And actually just enjoy it because I like looking like a pirate. I get to nerd out, read Harper’s magazine, think about how the internet has sidetracked us from greatness, watch rugby and hang out with my wife and our two cats.

Saturday. Sunday. Ditto the last bit. Ok, I’m running out of days here. What we got? Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. So I can’t do Tuesday because that is like today. It is now 12.14am Tuesday. And if I pick Tuesday I’m gonna die in my sleep or something. I had Blasphemous Rumours on cassette when I was a kid. I am all too familiar with God and his sick sense of humour. Not that I mind a sick sense of humour, George Bush had one, and it made him a mint. But I don’t want to take any risks. Which leaves us with Wednesday and Thursday. But Wednesday is Klein Saterdag. The day we get to break the back of the week with a beer bottle. The day I get to send everyone my favourite hump day video. And Thursday is the new Friday. The upward spiral into oblivion … and that brings us to zero, zilch, zip, nada, nothing.

So what am I trying to say? Not much. I just don’t really want to die. Not today, not any day. And I’m sure Lolly didn’t either. So can we go easy on the bullets tomorrow, I’m sure there are lot of people who think Tuesday is a pretty sweet day to survive.