The minute I turn 60 I'm going to hurl my pointlessly prolonged husk of a body in front of a speeding bus. My frail bones shattering like dry toothpicks inder the mighty wheels of the unstoppable leviathan, blood bursting out of every orifice.
That's the way I want to go. Not sitting in Marty's retirement home smelling of wee, luke-warm tea and biscuits.
