There's a lot to be said about dead people; they don't argue or retaliate when their are valuables taken. They also know when to shut the fuck up and can always...ALWAYS be sold off fairly quickly. In fact, you could say that dead people are some of the kindest, most inadvertently useful and generous people on the planet. Hell, they even fertilize plants in their off time. So, they're "thinking green" without even being forced to.
Despite their obvious goodwill and eco-friendly abilities, they're be quite inspiring. Here are 5 things that show we living folks are MILES behind the dead.
Despite their obvious goodwill and eco-friendly abilities, they're be quite inspiring. Here are 5 things that show we living folks are MILES behind the dead.
Fantastic Nightmares
They're having sex under there. Gross.
They're having sex under there. Gross.
Never have a people so harmless distributed so much terror willy nilly. And for what reason? Dead folk rarely walk unaided and they can't even fight. Believe me. Goading a dead man to do anything, other than stare vacantly and rot, is a chore with little pay off.
Despite their immobility, they still deliver when it comes to nightmare fuel. Mortality, it seems, is a big sticking point with the "still breathing" set. Apparently, a corpse reminds us all of our impending shuffle off this mortal coil...to the point of pissing our sleepy pants about it.
Not a bad reaction to illicit, especially when a dead man can't actually kill anything.
Not a bad reaction to illicit, especially when a dead man can't actually kill anything.
Bad Assed Writers
Three wise pimps.
The ability to bestow fantastic nightmares aside, the dead log an impressive amount of creative firepower, none more so than writers. Far be it for me to call today's writers shitty, but, they are. They don't NEARLY have the chops the dead do. Breathing authors have marketable skill sets, sure, but, nothing beats greatness like being good at what you did...and also being stone cold dead.
According to leading scholars of our time and time's past, the best things ever written were by people who bought the farm. The big dead farm. Which, inevitably leads to the notion that the land of the dead would pump out some pretty kick ass literature, if their authors fingers weren't seized by rigor mortis and death. It stands to reason that if capable, the material generated by corpse versions of literary greats would still be far superior to our own. Our own being that awful 50 Shades of Shit nonsense we suffer with today.
Seriously, read that 50 Shades horse shit. It's like some someone kicked a paper filled typewriter down some stairs and later, inserted the words "leather", "sex" and "finger" into the resulting pages. Fucking dreadful.
If they were all in the same movie at one time, every movie theater would have exploded in a blaze of astonishment.
Seriously, read that 50 Shades horse shit. It's like some someone kicked a paper filled typewriter down some stairs and later, inserted the words "leather", "sex" and "finger" into the resulting pages. Fucking dreadful.
Better Music
The 27 Club: Because 28, is just too damned old.
The 27 Club: Because 28, is just too damned old.
Why does today's music completely suck ass? You could blame it on being talentless, auto tune and the lack of Satanic involvement, sure, but, there is, unquestionably, missing something. What is it? It's death, of course. It seems like all the best music in the world is collectively behind us in the hands of dead people. It's there whirling around in a haze of too much drug taking, skipping of baths and breaking things that would one day fetch thousands and thousands of dollars.
Certainly, at the time, the music created by soon to be dead coke/LSD/booze fiends, was thought to have sucked. Little did they know was how much music would come to suck ass later and to what greater degree. Alas, the legends, like all things are rarely recognized in their time. It takes generations of turds to make them amazing.
Compared to contemporary drivel, the dead have it over the living when it comes to basically kicking music's ass and taking it's name. Which I'm pretty sure is a girl's name. Because more often than not, music was made, largely, to get pussy. Though, given that their dead, it's now dead pussy. Gross.
Certainly, at the time, the music created by soon to be dead coke/LSD/booze fiends, was thought to have sucked. Little did they know was how much music would come to suck ass later and to what greater degree. Alas, the legends, like all things are rarely recognized in their time. It takes generations of turds to make them amazing.
Compared to contemporary drivel, the dead have it over the living when it comes to basically kicking music's ass and taking it's name. Which I'm pretty sure is a girl's name. Because more often than not, music was made, largely, to get pussy. Though, given that their dead, it's now dead pussy. Gross.
Just Plain Cooler
If they were all in the same movie at one time, every movie theater would have exploded in a blaze of astonishment.
Far be it for me to argue what is and is not cool. There are pictures of me donning a mullet and wearing a Q-Bert shirt somewhere, so, my position is a mockery of cool at best. However, upon seeing "Rebel Without A Cause" with James Dean being...well, James Dean, it's hard to ignore how fucking cool he is. He dresses cool, talks cool, smokes cool, he even looks cool flustered. I'm pretty sure that if footage were found of him having an orgasm, he'd be the first person in history to look cool doing that too.
Could the same be said for a Justin Bieber or Kanye West (Those are my "go to" modern pop...guys. Namely because I don't frequent MTV and am not 12.)? I would say...hell no. Both of them look like they were dropped into a vat filled with discarded sporting goods and 80's thrift store fad rejections, stirred around and thrown out of a clown car. If said clown car were able to transport a vat big enough for two douche bags, of course.
As it turns out, most of the coolest of the cool have bitten the dust. Either by over dosing on coolness or drinking themselves into cooldom and cancer. Those most cool are for the most part, departed. What does that say about we, with hearts still beating, living in their long drawn shadow? The living are LAME, is what.
Well, until a few breathers figure out some way to attain coolment, then, you can bet they're corpse bound. The lesson to be learned is...the minute someone slaps you with the "cool" label, ready yourself for passing on. It's coming. You can take solace in knowing you're in good, cool assed company, however much dying sucks, at least it's something.
As ardent as I am for the benefits of the dead, however, it's good to remember that they made all those beautiful things while alive. So, with that in mind, maybe there's a chance for all of us; in all of our creations to not be so damned awful. What's the worst that could happen? We become legends?
Well, everyone except Justin Bieber, because that kid seriously fucking sucks.
As it turns out, most of the coolest of the cool have bitten the dust. Either by over dosing on coolness or drinking themselves into cooldom and cancer. Those most cool are for the most part, departed. What does that say about we, with hearts still beating, living in their long drawn shadow? The living are LAME, is what.
Well, until a few breathers figure out some way to attain coolment, then, you can bet they're corpse bound. The lesson to be learned is...the minute someone slaps you with the "cool" label, ready yourself for passing on. It's coming. You can take solace in knowing you're in good, cool assed company, however much dying sucks, at least it's something.
The Dead Got Dat Wit!
Oscar "Ass Man" Wilde
Sarcasm and wit seems to be in great abundance nowadays. Every form of media seems to froth with writers full on fisting the wet depths of sarcasm's bottomless well. Unfortunately, it lacks the subtlety and flair the old school dead seemed to have. You could say it's from a cultural numbness that has grown steadily throughout the years, calling for a more "in your face" sensibility when it comes to intellectual material. I call it lack of creativity, thought and workmanship. Regardless, the dearly departed smart asses of literature and their like had us beat in the wit department long before today's writers were a gleam in their closet homosexual father's eye.
Writers of Mark Twain's, Oscar Wilde's and Noel Coward's vintage possessed a devilish mastery of double entendre, sarcastic nuance and funny grace the equal we shall probably never see again. Unless the worlds sarcasm lightweights start drinking heavily, smoking cigars by the case and start banging their own gender, the dead have our meat beat.
Denouement
Well, everyone except Justin Bieber, because that kid seriously fucking sucks.
