Thankfully I just turned 25 so this can no longer happen, but I cannot fathom how bad it would it have been if I’d gotten myself killed at 24 and instead of giving me a reasonable person’s funeral, my parents were dumb enough to take something I’d drunkenly told my friend as my dying wishes. I’d probably still be propped up on the ceiling of the neighborhood record store with a hidden tape player blaring a loop of me yelling “I’m sorry I never got to fuck you, Dana Campbell!” in a turban with viking horns.