Nursing home? bugger that. They'll find me waiting for a hole in the dirt first. Like fuck to I want to rot in the grim reaper's piss-smelling, psychot-inhabited waiting room. If I'm going out, might as well do it on my feet, not on my knees. The thought gives me the creeps more than the likes of getting meatpasted by a car. At least, as long as the driver is drunk enough to finish me off the first time.