The one where I revisit another bad idea…

Some language NSFW. Then again, this one calls for it.

I was cleaning my room, looking for my muse. I already have 2,000 words today, and I was going to get a chore or two done while I recharged then I found some neat stuff, then I posted something, then I read something and suddenly: internets.

I happened upon a blog post reposted by a friend, that basically said We need to die already.

And this douchebag, (sorry) dickface, I apologize, the mongrel of human kindness that wrote it had a long list of detractors replying. And one supporter.

The supporter said, more or less: I’m a doctor and you know there is a bit of truth in what he is saying. To which I had a reply. And, because I am the height of laziness not one to waste words. I thought I would repost them here, slightly edited since I am no longer locomoting on an engine redlined with steam:

My Father is 75. He and I are not the closest in our family unit. He and my brother get along far better, I realize. They have the same hobbies. They have a lot to talk about. Still, even if we live two states away, if he calls I am there. If an 18 year old in the prime of his sexual potency, usefulness to society, and feelings of immortality, were to draw a gun on my father I would spatter the young punk’s thinking parts into airborne vapor without hesitation.

My father spent decades running into buildings that were on fire, literally on fucking fire, to pull out people who would otherwise have died choking on the ashes of their own lives. Then he and his men fought the blaze that would threaten lives on every side. He spent days at a time away from his family, doing a hazardous job, as far back as the 70’s when the equipment was laughable compared to the space aged stuff they have now. He still did it. He still ran in to burning buildings.

And you know what? I have never heard him brag about that, never heard him pat himself of the back, never mention it to strangers unless asked. Even then it’s just a simple: I was a firefighter.

Anyone, ANYONE, tells me he has not earned every single breath he wants that modern science can deliver, I point to the legions of people, but for him are only bodies in the ground. I can guarantee he never asked how old the people trapped in a burning building were before he chucked on his gear and climbed the ladder into an inferno.

And THAT is the problem with the abstract. The author of this drivel, this pontificating perverted pissant, can go on all he wants about how much better it would be if “people” died at 75. If that is his wish I’ll send him the Raven .22lr and the bullet with a blessing and precise instructions.

My father is not “people”. He is my father. And whether it be punk or surgeon, or bureaucrat who decides he has lived enough, they get the same treatment.

Nuremberg was supposed to teach us that even shuffling paperwork in the name of evil is still evil. Giving it aid and comfort is much the same.

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