Auntie Loraine never misses an opportunity to tell someone her experience with "the other side", she'll ramble on at the drop of a shot glass about how Jesus is so happy she's not a Mormon, and how God is very charming and always remembers to kiss her hand when they meet.
However, she is not the only one that makes assertions about whooping it up in the after life. I've heard it many times from many different sources, none of whom seem very credible. But, my mother always used to say "How do you know unless to try?" So I decided the only way to really know the truth would be to kill myself, hang out in the afterlife, then return home and write a book all about heaven, only to later recant and say I lied.
I wasn't sure how to do this since I'm a bit of a coward and the first thing every self-respecting coward avoids, is death. I didn't want it to be painful, like electrocution, or damaging to my insides, like poisoning, and it certainly couldn't be disfiguring, since my looks are the only thing that gets me extra wet naps from the waitress at Denny's. If I was going to die I wanted it to be as fast as possible and in such a way that didn't cause me to loose control of my bowels and poop all over myself, which is a possibility more frightening than death. I finally settled on an overdose of sleeping pills, which seemed like the least frightening way to go.
I also wanted my death to occur in a bathroom since that's where all the cool people like Elvis, and Jim Morrison died, but it would have to be a bathroom located somewhere in a hospital, where there are plenty of professionals around to bring me back when the time was right.
My plan was to go to my aunts house and steal the two bottles of sleeping pills I saw in her medicine cabinet. Then buy a 40 of vodka and sneak into one of the public bathrooms at a random hospital. From here I could leisurely take my pills and sip my beverage until darkness begin to overtake me, at which point I would set a twenty minute countdown on my phone. This would give me enough time to die, go to heaven, ask God if my aunt is full of shit, and maybe play some air hockey with Jesus, before the alarm is heard by the hospital staff, and I am brought back to life.
The pills and vodka were easy to get, but finding a bathroom with a floor clean enough to die on was a whole different story. When I did finally locate one, I locked myself in and got down to business. I broke the seal to the first bottle of sleeping pills and downed the entire thing, along with several gulps of vodka, then I put on some Beyoncé and danced around at bit. When I felt ready, the second bottle of pills went down, as did most of the vodka and even some water out of the toilet that I drank out of curiosity.
As all this was going on, people were pounding on the door to use the restroom. One guy complained about his overflowing colostomy bag, while another was bitching about his diaper being full, as if they were the only ones that needed the bathroom. It really surprises me how selfish some people can be, I mean there I was about to take my last breath on earth, and these self-important jerks are crying about a little human waste. At least they'd live to poop another day, whereas I would never poop again.
After two hours of drinking and fighting with the guy in the mirror, I finally began to feel the effects of the pills. Knowing it was time, I reached for my phone to start the countdown and was surprised to find I could no longer focus on the screen sufficiently enough to see the numbers. At this point I keeled over on the bathroom floor, dead.
I awoke on the same floor the next morning having none of the signs one would normally associate with death. I don't mind saying that I was a little sad at my non-death experience. I had wanted to see the after life, but had somehow screwed it up. When I examined one of the empty pill bottles, my questions were quickly answered. Yes, they were sleeping pills, only they were homeopathic sleeping pills, which means they effectively have the same medical function as a box of Smarties. This made perfect sense, auntie Loraine consults a Ouija board when she wants to know the weather, and believes her dog was the king of Portugal in another life, so why wouldn't she have homeopathic remedies in her home?
So it turns out, with all my effort, all I really accomplished was getting drunk in a hospital bathroom, and pissing off a lot of sick people that needed to use the toilet, which is nice that I can finally cross it off my bucket list, but gets me no closer to knowing the truth about life after death.