14 Good Ways to Get Shot in the Head

by BJW Nashe

I was sitting in my car in the liquor store parking lot and this guy just walked up, pointed a gun at the driver’s side window, and blew my head off. I was in the theater eating popcorn, waiting for the movie to start, when someone in the front row pulled out a semi-automatic and started spraying bullets in the dark and nailed me in the shoulder and chest. I was sitting on my porch drinking beer and watching the sunset when a car drove by and this kid in the passenger seat leaned out and shot me in the neck and my blood spurted up five feet in the air before I collapsed dead. I was sitting in my first grade class going over my homework when this young funny-looking man burst into the room with an assault rifle and opened fire killing me and all my friends. Then he shot the teacher.

I got pulled over by the cops late at night and when I jumped out of the car clutching my cell phone in one hand, the cops riddled me with bullets. My boyfriend was real drunk and high on meth and we started arguing because he said I was cheating on him with some guy I don’t even know which pissed me off and my boyfriend started beating my head against the wall so I kicked him and then he pulled out a pistol and shot me in the face. I got burned on a crack deal so I went to the dealer’s hangout and said I was going to kick his ass if I didn’t get my money back and he shot me in both kneecaps and then bent down and held the gun to my mouth and bam, he finished me off. I went to rob a 7-11 store way past midnight and when I told the guy behind the counter to empty the register, he reached under the counter real quick for a gun and I panicked and fired my gun but I missed like an idiot and he emptied his clip into my neck and chest and gut. I was in a motel room with a woman I met at work and her husband tracked us down and started banging on the door and forced his way in, pushed the woman aside, and gunned me down where I was sitting on the bed. I was in my squad car and got dispatched to respond to a 911 call; when I got to the projects, I waited for back-up, then went up a dark stairway and got popped with five slugs in the abdomen and quickly bled to death. I was kidnapped by strangers who knocked me unconscious, tied me up, threw me in the trunk of a car, drove out to the middle of nowhere, took me out and raped me, then shot me in the back and threw me down into a ditch. I was just standing outside the strip club talking to some girls when a crew of rival gang members pulled up to the curb and started blasting away, filling me full of lead. I lost my job and my wife filed for divorce and I took a bunch of pills and took the gun out of the closet and held it up to my head and bang, I pulled the trigger. Two armed intruders broke into my house and they made me and my husband and two kids lie down on the floor and they shot us all dead.

The worst thing was the sight of all the blood and the taste of metal in your mouth. The worst thing was the twitching and gasping for breath. The worst thing was the ringing in your ears from the gunfire and the sirens. The worst thing was the incredible pain like acid burning its way through your insides. The worst thing was your head exploding like red fireworks. The worst thing was your heart blowing up and your nervous system going into shock. The worst thing was the smell of your dying bowels bursting. The worst thing was the weird music swirling around in your mind like a million birds chirping. The worst thing was the sight of all your family and friends screaming and crying in your last thoughts. The worst thing was knowing that all of a sudden this was really the end. The worst thing was how incredibly stupid it felt. The worst thing was the utter finality of it all.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. For me it’s all over. So load me into an ambulance and take me straight to the hospital morgue. Who cares if there’s an autopsy? Have someone who knows me well enough come down to identify my body. Fill out the forms. Store me in a metal fridge. After a few days, cremate me and throw the ashes into the ocean or some lake. Or clean me up and sew me together and embalm me and put me in a suit. Give me a closed-casket funeral. Buy me a bunch of flowers. Sing me sad songs, like “I Shall Be Released.” Listen to a minister give me a moving eulogy. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Drive me out to the cemetery and lower me down into the dirt. Bring in a grief counselor for my family — for my folks, for my kids. Fly the flag at half-mast. Have the paper run an obituary that hardly anybody reads. Make sure I’m listed in all the statistics. Mention me in the next gun control debate. Think about me next time somebody bites the bullet. Or don’t even bother. It doesn’t matter. I’m done.