Why won't you die already

I'm so fucking sick of seeing your face everywhere I look. I can't stand hearing your name every time I turn the TV on. There was probably a time when I might have given a shit about who you are but that time is long gone. Now I just wish you would die so the world can move on and shut the fuck up.

Yes, Terri Schiavo, I'm talking to you. I don't really know why I am, though. I mean, you're just a lump of flesh with a name by now. The only thing that keeps you on the CNN.com front page rather than the obituaries page is the fact that your heart is still beating. I bet if you could talk (or blink Morse code) you'd tell everyone to shut their whiny mouths and let you die properly. None of this half-dead half-alive shit. You must want to climb into your big spacious coffin by now and relax.

But you can't. Your parents aren't going to let you go that easy. They'd much rather ensure that the rest of your life consists of staring at the opposite wall of your hospital room. They say you're now down to your last hours and something has to be done immediately. Well I've got news for them: Your "last hours" have already been prolonged to about fifteen years.

Let's talk about that for a while. Try spending ten straight minutes doing absolutely nothing but what your body does involuntarily. No talking, no moving, no smiling, no laughing, no crying, no scratching yourself, no turning your head to change the view. You can blink, but that's pushing it and you should consider yourself lucky.

Now, do it for FIFTEEN YEARS. Yeah. That's what I thought.

If I was your husband I'd get you secretly stuffed and leave the country. Your parents probably wouldn't notice a difference for at least a week. That'd give me plenty of time to get far, far away from them and anybody who thinks you're going to recover from a fifteen year coma that's left a big puddle of spinal fluid where your cerebral cortex should be. Far away from anybody who thinks you're anything more than a poster child for euthanasia. And far, FAR away from the shithead who decided that starving someone to death is better way to euthanize someone than a quick and relatively painless prick in the arm.

But, then again, there might not be anywhere far enough on this planet. I'd probably have to invest millions into getting myself launched into space where I can finally get away from all those people. And you know what, Terri? I don't have millions of dollars. So just fucking die already.