So when I die, I’m going to do that thing where you stare at your body from outside of your body, until they come and take photos and then take your body away. And there I’ll be, left staring at the bloodstains on the patio. Seriously, fuck that asshole.
But then I’ll realize I’m in a tunnel the same color as the sky I left behind, gradients of gray leading to throbbing white. I’m prone to migraines, so I turn around and head back.
The space baby from 2001 looks at me in a way that’s just rude. But I’m like, “Space Baby, how can you judge me? I don’t think you understand me. I don’t think we have much in common.” But he doesn’t even say anything. He just glares his supernaturally large black eyeballs at me. Like a douche.
I’ll miss my family, I think, looking up at General Sherman. But now, nap time.
Yep. That’s how it’s going down.
P.S. It’s true that I have almost nothing in common with the space baby from 2001. Surely you will acquiesce on that point.