not that i would enjoy being in a car wreck, mind you, but i figure if i'm in the hospital, dying from blood loss, i could request my transfusion come from Natalie Portman's menstrual fluid. you know, like those chemotherapy kids get to go to disney land and meet charlton heston.
or maybe i'll just become a pacifist/socialist/communist/hippie/whatever. then i could spend my days spinning around in an open prairie to the godawful howlings of the grateful dead spewing out some tortured cover of a bob dylan song. or whoever's music they decide to mutilate.
not that dylan isn't mutilated anyway. that guy looks like they rolled him out in a wheelchair and jump-started him off of keith richards' dried-roast-beef-lookin' buttocks.
damn dirty hippies.