Preparing everything was actually much easier than I thought it would be. Vanilla scented incense. Check. No filthy excrement stench shall cloud my last hurrah. Half a pint of Grey Goose. Check. Pain is for weaklings. Shotgun (apparently best for this kind of venture). Check. Well, you know what that’s for.
To be honest, I knew it was a stupid bet as soon as I said goodbye and started walking away from the park. I probably knew it was stupid as I was making it. Of course Garfield was also stupid, so at least the stupidity of it all kind of balances out. And I did cheat him off the $100. Come to think of it, when you factor in everything that came afterwards I think I still ended up with the short end of the stick on this one.
Anyway, winning that bet wasn't really something I thought of that much, brushing it off as yet another example of drunken one-upmanship. By the time I reached my car, I had already written off the 100 bucks. But as the days passed I found myself wondering if it could be done. Perhaps as a mental exercise. Perhaps just as a big fuck you to the world. But it really was impossible. You simply cannot prove shit like that.
But by the time the weekend had come and gone, I have to admit I spent some time dwelling on it. Perhaps even a bit too much. And yes, I even tried some really stupid experiments, which proved nothing while taking a real toll on my laundry machine. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I found a way to win the bet and put an end to Garfield’s boasting once and for all.
Preparing everything was actually much easier than I thought it would be. And for some reason, once I got started not a trace of that soul saving doubt entered my mind. I simply went through the motions as if such a plan had been stored in my unconscious mind for ages. Vanilla scented incense. Check. No filthy excrement stench shall cloud my last hurrah. Half a pint of Grey Goose. Check. Pain is for weaklings. Shotgun (apparently best for this kind of venture). Check. Well, you know what that’s for.
“I blew my brains out all over my bedroom window. My mom would have been pissed. White curtains and all. In my note, I explained that I had killed myself, or at least attempted to, in order to prove that there is no God. I asked that if I was right, and there is no God, than my dying wish is to make sure Garfield pays up. To my estate or something. I figure I deserve it”.
“I don’t understand. How were you trying to prove this?”
“Well, if there is a God, he would never let me die just for some stupid bet”.
“But there is a God”.
“Yes, I know that now, thank you”.
“And he let you do it anyway”.
“Eh, I’ve been called worse”.