It makes life that much more rewarding,
You had never met this dude, ever, but he’s gabbing like you're old chums. Like you use the word: chums. This hombre is telling you to live like you’re Cooter Clemons, the stunt man from the eighties or nineties who would jump over buses, lined up cars, and tried shooting himself into space in a homemade rocket.
The guy who never stuck the landing. Ever. Always walked away with a broken body. Cooter Clemons once severed his urethra because of a crash due to faulty brakes on his dirt bike. He never took the time to put physics into his equation when it came to jumping ravines safely. Wore outfits drenched in Americana, had an assistant from Japan that spoke once never, but was truly committed to Clemons’ antics. Twice, this Cooter Clemons guy, broke 34% of the bones in his body preforming a stunt.
The guy just didn’t know how to die, this dude is telling you. He goes: you gotta live like him, Clems, dangerously. Cooter Clems had an unspoken philosophy, this rando is telling you, said, ya gotta keep pushing, no matter the danger.
I don’t know about that, you tell him, playing the skeptic, as he takes the syringe out of his arm and hands it to you, belt on your bicep, on the verge of jonesing, before sliding the needle into your vein.
Cooter Clemons died at the age of ninety-seven from complications due to lung cancer. He had never smoked a cigarette a day in his life. Over his time as an amateur stunt enthusiast, Cooter Clemons, preformed 64 death defying stunts, with a coincidental success rate of 6.4% over the entirety of his career. He was survived by his four children and eleven grand. Cooter Clemons was buried next to his wife, June, in an undisclosed location in Montana. Cooter Clemons’ eulogy was read by his tearful assistant, Fuji. His tombstone epitaph is said to read: . . . Look at what I almost stepped in! Plastic gag shit coiled on the grass of his grave.
