Life Raft Debate

Last week seemed like a series of anger-inducing episodes. This week, I'm turning it around. Nothing but positivity. So what better way to kick off the week than argue why I should live and everyone else should die?

On Thursday I went to a "Life Raft Debate."

"Room for one more? No? Crowd surf me a little? Rats. How about I wear floaties and you drag me behind the boat?" Source

The concept is that there has been a nuclear war, and the survivors (the audience) are setting sail to rebuild society from the ground up. There is one spot left on the boat and a group of academic-types argue why they should get the last seat. There's also a "Devil's Advocate" who implores the audience to kill them all (metaphorically). They get really creative and it's really entertaining.

Even as bloated old pill popper who dressed like a gay matador, Elvis was still cool. Source

Of course, I would like to state my argument to be included on the raft (if I were to do this on a stage, rest assured I'd be in full Elvis bedazzled jumpsuit and I would definitely have a hype-man):

Esteemed raft riders, as an English major, I must implore you to not choose me based on my are of study, but for my consideration AND most importantly, tastiness. I give you my four point plan for keeping me:

• I do not fart. But I'm pretty good at raising morale through fart jokes. Okay, I do sometimes fart (Shhhh! Don't tell the person made of flowers and ice cream I married.) but my farts smell like pumpkin spice lattes. 
• If we encounter another group, I'm well spoken but pepper in enough curse words and colloquialisms that my speech is nonthreatening and somewhat parochial whilst sounding moderately authoritative. Also, I'm easily sacrificed in case the other group is hostile. You don't want to send Beef Mankick in there, his testosterone alone will provoke action send me, ol' hollow-boned pacifist, Pickleope.
• Speaking of death. Remember, you're going to run out of food, and it may come down to a people-eating-people situation. Sure you can eat Steve, the marathon running vegetarian, or, you can eat ME! I'm packed with all sorts of nutrients, good tasting things I ate in the past and I drink a lot. So I'm like a watermelon that you fill with vodka in the morning then eat at night and wake up next to somebody who will probably steal something of yours and looks vaguely like a manatee. That's right, every minute I'm sitting on that boat, my blood is fermenting. A 15 year aged me is better than the best scotch. And if there was a nuclear war, we're probably dying of radiation as we speak, so why not go out hammered on human?
• Finally, I probably won't fight back, nor will I make you feel bad for eating me because I'm sure to die relatively quickly. I have negative survival skills. Not just zero survival skills, but negative survival skills. Like if I'm without toilet paper for a week, I'll probably be dead. Remember, though, it is in your best interest to keep me alive so that my sweet sweet 80 proof blood keeps fermenting. 

There you have it. Save me because I'm a fragile human cartoon with fermented blood that would taste great when we resort to cannibalism and have to eat my moderately doughy body.

Then again, if you're a religious people, you probably don't want to anger whatever God(s) you worship (I'm not on good terms with any of 'em, except Cthulhu of course) so the right move is probably to slaughter me in a horrible way and set fire to my remains. Your choice.

Y'know, Hulie, I was at the store, I got that tea you wanted, but they were, uh, they were all out of pasties. They had 'em in "petite" but not the "saucer" you were looking for, I'm sorry. It's not my fault. Hey, hey, look, I got you some Rocky Road ice cream. You love Rocky Road, right? See, we're still friends. I even brought a spoon. 

Enjoy your week, and spread love, people.