Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Why the affordable Care Act is going to cause a measurable uptick in humans attacking large bears, or, How Dr. Chem is Going to Die.
Credits to Pri(3-hand)K. for the inspiration for this.

First, let me preemptively state that I'm doubleplus(++)supposedtobedoingsomethingelse, but that other thing is stupid, and serves mostly no purpose.  My time would be better spent tooth trimming my toenails, at least I would have something to show for it at the end.
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So, as I am a Type I diabetic, an early exit from the meaningless void of my life is pretty much at my choice.  Stop taking insulin, eat 3 dozen donuts, and "hello there, great saints that have gone before me."  The other side of that is, if my supply of insulin (from TCFKAG [the country formerly known as Germany]) is long disrupted, or the cost of securing it becomes too high, I die.  Due to the completely disastrous, still steaming pile of poo commonly known as Obamacare--though I take issue with the word "care"--it is highly likely that I may not have needed insulin in the next few years.  Yet another lethal gift from "Mordor on the Potomic."  Just love those wack guys and gals.  Do they every produce anything other than death?  One wonders.
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Back on topic:
Never one to want to die in bed, begging for one more worthless day... in fact, I sometimes daydream about being a kilted, shirtless, and covered in scars, warrior-poet who also dabbles in chemistry and theology, I'd think I'd rather die on my feet.  Die on my feet in a hopelessly outmatched desperate struggle that I can only loose, but can loose on on my feet, like a warrior.  Heroic last stands are quite inspiring to me: Scots vs. Anglish; WW2 Poles vs. the Nazi tanks; 300 Spartans; Picket's Charge; cricket vs. interested cat.  In my case, the image of me vs. angry grizzly bear seems fitting.  Note that this is a daydream and I fully realize that no one would every actually mistake me as someone who is going to die on my feet as a kilted, shirtless, and covered in scars, warrior-poet who also dabbles in chemistry and theology.
With this in mind, my whole plan is to, when it is time:
1. buy one-way bus ticket (gotta go cheap) to Bonner's Ferry, ID.
2. get off bus with nothing but the clothes on my back and a kilt and 12" US Army 1902 bayonet in a satchel.
3. start walking north, looking for a bear to anger.
4. Find bear
5. poke bear with bayonet.
6. die in great glory.
My wife, on the other hand disagrees with this.  She wants, amough other things, to bury my dead body.  I argue that she can just buy a casket and put some lead weights in it.  Make it closed casket, it's not like there is any mortitian that could fix whatever a bear is going to do to my remains.
She responds that, if I don't go poke a bear, there won't be anyting to "fix."  Um, yea, except for that fact that I'm dead either way.
-Just a Chemist