[Editor's Note: Shea Serrano sometimes writes about Why This Song Sucks, and sometimes about his hilarious and poignant life and times. Better put your shoes on because your socks are about to be blown off.]
By the time you read this, only one of two realities will be true:
Reality A: The plane that my family and I were flying on Tuesday morning as we traveled from Houston to Florida crashed and everybody died. This was maybe because the landing gear didn't descend and so the plane burst into flames when it hit the tarmac or maybe because Drake's verse on “Versace” hypershifted the tectonic plates, resulting in a new chain of mountains that the pilots weren't anticipating and so they crashed into them. Or maybe because one of the pilots watched Flight and tried to fly the plane upside down and then just drove it rightthefuck into the earth. (I hope it's the third one.)
Reality B: The plane landed safely, but it arrived with five dead bodies on board, as I murder-suicided my wife + boys + me from having to be on a plane with three boys under six for more than eight minutes. For real, Boy A and Boy B are dope from afar, but up close OH MY GOD PUT A GUN IN MY MOUTH.
But anyway, the point: Both result in the same ending: I'm no longer alive.
So, here's my goodbye note:
Hi. Shea here. So I'm dead now. I'm sorry. Or I'm not. I don't know. But I do know I'm dead. I also know I'd like to say some things to some people. There's no real order to it because this is my goodbye note and fuck you if you think I'm going to make an outline for it. I don't even like doing that when I get paid to write, and I'm not getting paid here, since I'll be dead. Fuck, I'm sad already.
Thanks to UGK for making for Ridin' Dirty. That album's so dope. Thanks to Future for “Karate Chop” and thanks to whomever it was that made that Vine where the guy from that old dance show is dancing to “Karate Chop.” That shit is the best. I'm glad I lived long enough to see it. If I had to die in order for that to be alive, then it was way worth it.
Thanks to Drake for “The Motto.” Thanks to Z-Ro for the “Mo City Don Freestyle.” Thanks to Turbo and Ozone from Breakin'. I used to loooooove that movie. I tried to get people to call me Turbo for, like, two straight years. Oh, also, thanks to Wesley Snipes for New Jack City and White Men Can't Jump and Blade. I know those aren't music movies, but whatever. Wesley is that dude. I guess thanks to him for never ever putting out a rap album even though I'd definitely have listened to it and definitely found something in it redeemable. Thanks to South Park Mexican for making me feel like someone was paying attention to young Mexican males (and also thank you to SPM for not molesting me).
Thank you to Killer Mike and El-P for Run The Jewels. That album is also so dope. I tried to listen to it while I cut my sons' hair recently and very nearly yanked Boy B's head from his shoulders in a fit of impulsive rage.
Thanks to Stevie Ray Vaughan and thanks to Kanye. Thanks to cassette tapes (or, specifically: cassingles). There are a ton more music things to say thank you for but I'm not going to spend my last moments on earth in front of a computer.
I hope that I get to hear new music in Heaven. I hope I get to hang out with Pimp C and Tupac and Biggie and Big Moe, or at least that I get to follow them on Afterlife Twitter. I hope that it's less like What Dreams May Come and more like This Is The End. I hope that Jesus is above playing “Thug Mansion” over and over again.
Thanks. I'm dead. Don't let them delete my Tumblr. Bye.