R.I.P.

Today my brother Martin was snooping around the pier in French Port, having a chat with one of the local fishermen about the price of lobster.
They were trying to guess what the upcoming season will be like, what prices the pound of wild Atlantic lobster will fetch.
The guy then got into his boat with his son and set off to drop his lobster pots.
In a matter of minutes the boat did a wild u-turn and the son screamed at my brother to call for an ambulance.
His dad had just collapsed from a heart attack.
They gave him CPR for 20 minutes, in the knowledge that the risks of severe brain damage were getting bigger by the minute.
To no avail.
The poor guy will never worry about the price of lobster ever again.
May he rest in peace.

I hope the brother is ok tonight. He was fairly shaken.

But he said that this is the way he wants to go. Quick and clean.

If I had a choice, I'd rather not die at all. But if I really really have to (after much persuasion), I too would rather die from a heart attack. From an orgasm. At the age of 92. While I still have full control of my faculties and my spinchter muscle.
The chances are it will be cancer, much sooner than that, and it will be a lot messier.

Bummer... Statistics do suck...

Have fun each and every day. At least a little bit. Every day. One day at a time...