Suicide is NOT Painless

Keeping with my tradition of posting a song on Mondays, here is my rendition of Jim Croce’s I Have to Say I Love You in a Song.

I Have to Say I Love You in a Song

O.K.

Suicide.

Crazy subject right?

If you have read at least one of my previous 170 published posts, you know that there are things that go through my noggin that have no business being in the minds of man nor beast.

Nuttier than Cooter Brown.

I love the theme song from the 1970 Oscar-winning “war” movie M*A*S*H. It is called “Suicide is Painless” and it’s a great song by Johnny Mandel. The movie was a darkly-comic political treatise delivered with brilliance by the cast. In it, there is a subplot involving the surgical unit’s dentist. He is a renowned lothario, supposedly in possession of a prodigious man-flesh. His nickname is “Painless” hence the connection to the song.

Painless decides he would rather commit suicide rather than face the prospect of being a gay man.

That concept alone makes this a fucked-up movie device.

So, in a Fellini-esque staging of the dentist’s “funeral” scene a “Black Pill” is consumed and final farewells are given. As Dr. Painless drifts off to sleep, Hawkeye offers up a beautiful nurse, Nurse “Dish,” played by JoAnn Pflug. She just happens to be leaving in the morning and she is being prescribed as the “cure” for whatever ails the dentist.

I don’t think there is a gay person alive who would say that is an accurate representation.

Pan to the next morning as an obviously beaming and satisfied Nurse Dish is departing the military base by helicopter.

The next scene shows Doctor Painless back to his old skirt-chasing macho ways.

Cured.

Can you believe that shit?

The movie made Hawkeye and Trapper, played by Donald Sutherland and Elliot Gould, household names and icons for 70’s chicks. It made Donald Sutherland the second-coolest of all Canadians behind the MAN—Gordon Lightfoot.

Besides, suicide is wrong in almost ALL cases.

When is it NOT wrong?

God forbid, but if my beloved wife ever asked me to prematurely end her life, she would have to be in pain with absolutely NO OTHER OPTION, and that is seriously the only possibility I would ever entertain of ending her life.

What she would NOT know is that I would have made arrangements ahead of time to make sure our pets are cared for, and our “loose ends” are tied up, and then I would crawl up in bed with her and we would power down some Dom Perignon, about 10 hits of Purple micro-dot acid, and 20 RORER 714 Qualudes each.

My life would be effectively over when she leaves anyway.

We will Sophie’s Choice our way to the Other Side laughing and entering the Next Sphere with two of the biggest shit-eating grins of all-time.

You see we have actually talked about this and I think there are worse ways to exit. The problem that I can see is by the time I need to do this, who will I know that I could tell my plan to that would get the drugs for me?

I told you I think of the craziest things.

I can’t imagine pulling the rope that releases the guillotine down to lop my head off and into a basket, the last vision I would take with me. What if my mind stayed active and the last vision I had was of my headless corpse falling back from the blade? Or setting myself on fire to burn to death?

How fucked up does your life have to be to incinerate yourself?

I’m guessing pretty bad.

Stay well.

Published by maddogg09

I am an unmotivated genius with an extreme love for anything that moves the emotional needles of our lives.

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