Here is a list of seven of the greatest single badasses in history. Namely, the ones who had horrifically awesome last stands. And for the historically disinclined, No, Custer is not on the list.
No, these are the guys who deigned not to be comforted by loved ones in their final moments. Instead of spending their last precious seconds on earth repenting their doubtlessly copious sins, or regretting having never seen Paris, these guys decided that their final act would be best spent breaking as many skulls as possible before carting off to their final reward.
But really, that’s a final reward in and of itself, isn’t it?
But I didn’t inhale…
Update! From the latest news on- “Things I’ve Had In My Lungs!”
Okay, the list of things I’ve had in my lungs isn’t all that long. In fact, with the exception of atmosphere, a good deal of secondhand smoke, a few knife points, and one very unfortunate moth, the list comprises everything there is. Until this morning.
Perhaps this is a common occurrence among most people, who will read this and think me daft, but it’s never happened to me before, so imagine my surprise when I was brushing my teeth this morning, and managed to inhale a nice gob of toothpaste.
And I don’t mean ‘accidentally-choke-on-your-water-when-someone-tells-an-ill-timed-joke” kind of inhale. I mean ‘down-into-the-bronchial-tubes-gasping-for-a-breath-that-just-won’t-come-vision-starts-to-narrow-as-you-think-you-see-a-bright-light-before-looking-down-to-behold-a-fiery-pit’ kind of inhale. With toothpaste.
I wound up slamming my abdomen into the bathroom counter to heimlich myself into coughing up enough of the mint gel to clear my airtubes. I can still feel some of it in there. Kind of burns.
Toothpaste. In my lungs. It’s a first for me.
On the upside, my breath should be minty fresh for quite a while.
What follows is an excerpt from the expedition log of an explorer group destined for the furthest reaches of the Appalachian Mountains. The mission was set to catalog the social interaction between all native species present, and then poke them with sticks. The university funding the study has yet to come forward with any further information on the expedition, or the fate of its members. Although rumors persist, their fate has yet to be determined. The log, and the photos that accompanied it, offer some clues.
Expedition Journal- Day 1
We have come to the apex of our toils, having reached our destination. My comrades and I are intensely gratified that the day is finally here. Having driven for hours, we have reached our outpost, and set up camp. With me is Chum, the hospitality and billiards expert, Ahab, our scout, Semi, our historian, and Thundersqueak, our minstrel. These fine young adventurers have taken to calling me Papa Bear. Likely in reference to my protective nature, or perhaps my overheated porridge. They will aid me in my responsibilities as head chef and zombie slayer to prepare for the rest of our party.
The first thing we notice about our campsite is the staggering amount of bears present. They are on our walls, adorning the tables and scrollwork of the furniture present, even supporting the kitchenware. They are not hostile towards our presence, appearing to go about their business. We will keep a wary eye on their activities just in case, as they seem to be well organized. In the meantime, we practice our charge of poking the local fauna with sticks in order to get a head start on our project. In addition to the bears, there are a good deal of deer and moose present, with a spattering of raccoons. One of which Ahab put to good use. We were also lucky enough to run across a rare yeti, which Ahab promptly applied our research to.
Expedition Journal- Day 2
The remainder of our party has arrived at our camp. We are happily joined by Sunshine, our botanist, Kansas, our art appraiser and forger, Kitty, our hairstylist and assistant zombie slayer, and Woody, our sports commentator. After exchanging our welcomes, we prepared our dinner, and enjoyed an evening of discussion, gaming, boozing, and hottubbing.
After toweling off, we were distressed to discover the bears had stolen our provisions. We quickly turned to infighting, as is our custom, turning our scientific implements on each other, attempting to immediately resort to cannibalism.
Fortunately, we were saved from our plight by none other than St. Nicholas himself. Santa brought us new supplies from his magic sack of provisions, having something special for everyone in our party.
Resupplied, we turned our attention away from prodding each other, and set back to our normal activities, welcoming Santa into our expedition party.
Expedition Journal- Day 3
During the night, we had suffered attempted usurps from various forces from the bear encampment. They first attempted infiltrating our camp with spies, but Kitty quickly turned them. Our new informants told us of the unfortunate situation we had stumbled into. Apparently, there has been a long feud running between the bear, moose, and deer clans of the forest. And we walked straight into it.
Their spies having failed, the bears settled for different tactics. We woke up this morning fewer in number. Santa had suffered a hatchet to the face. The only remains we found of Kansas were his Euro shorts. Low on hot tub water, we are forced to resupply via bucket brigade from the nearest alternative source.
Sunshine and Kitty had disappeared along with Woody. Only the scouting party is left. We are preparing ourselves for combat, and conducting raids on the bear camp, who appear to have attacked Santa for his magic bag of supplies. Not knowing where the other encampments are, we cannot afford to move our position. We can only hope to ally ourselves with the moose or deer clans. If this journal finds civilization without us, you will know our fate.