Take-out Death EatersBy R. J. Snell for FRONT PORCH REPUBLIC
Well, if drive-through Ash Wednesday services weren’t enough, the Dutch have finally invented mobile euthanasia units to do house calls when your own doctor won’t. A town in Wisconsin I once lived in had drive-through liquor stores, but that seems perfectly reasonable in comparison.
Finding a good euthanist is so hard these days, and I’m all for convenience, although I do wish these mobile units had committed to using zero emission vehicles. All that driving around is sure to add to climate change . . . although I guess they do guarantee an offset since . . . well, they’re killing CO2 producers. So that’s fine.
Jonathan Swift, where art thou? The West hath need of thee, for we are now beyond satire, so irrationally consumed by false conceits of freedom that we no longer seem to have the capacity to distinguish the laughably ridiculous from the just plain wicked. So deprived, beyond good and evil, it no longer seems to matter what we choose so long as choice itself remains. I choose choice! in an endless loop of self-love.
The culture of death is no bogeyman lurking at the bottom of an unlikely slippery slope, we live it each day as we spurn the weight of being in favor of the lightness of floating free.
I can think of no image more descriptive of who we are becoming than mobile euthanasia units–so self-involved and impatient that we cannot even wait for death, but have our last meal and our expiration delivered to our couch as we make a final update status for our friends.
Of course, as we become increasingly aware of the frivolity of our choices, it should not surprise us that a thirst for death emerges, an ultimate declaration that we are gods, poets, makers and unmakers of our identities beholden to nothing, no one, and no place. Death Eaters, thirsty for annihilation.