What a #$%^ story this is . . .
Imagine being 63 years old, hanging at the beach with friends and getting dragged away by a big ass shark and nobody seeing it happen or doing anything to save you. What a lousy way to die.
Our subject story tells us just that. The woman was swimming with her husband and friends when she decided to return to shore. Nobody went with her, nobody watched her progress towards the beach, but she was not there when the rest of the swimmers returned to the beach. As much as I feel sorry for the guy losing his wife that has been part of his life since they were children, I feel for her a lot more. I mean think about it . . . 63 years old and some big friggin fish has grabbed your ass and is pulling you under and out to sea for his lunch, and nobody sees anything of it happening except a guy down the beach that wasn’t sure it was you or not. Can you imagine the fear that was the last minutes of this woman’s life?
What a $%^* way to die. If I make it to 63, I plan on going in a much less painful and/or frightening way.
When, or should I say as you get older you tend to think of how long you have before the death dude starts looking towards your direction. You start thinking about smoking too much, too much booze, too many broads, and how lousy your diet really is. Then you start doing the math. And suddenly, the end is nearer than you think. Well listen, If I can’t go out with a heart attack while working up a real good sweat between the legs of a much younger woman, please let it be a quiet and peaceful passing. I do not want any of that painful and/or frightening crap. If I have to go fighting for my life, make mine an honorable death worthy of a Klingon Warrior or the sincerity of a Boy Scout.
What am I talking about. I can still make money. And as long as I can make money and there is someone doing their best to take it from me, I cannot die. But, the day I get to keep a nickel of it for myself, look out . . .