Resurrecting The Dying Game

I used to play this game with my mother: Which would you rather…? It basically consisted of me thinking up the most morbid, horrible ways you could die and asking her which she would prefer. I remember playing this game on car rides, always just me and her. Funny that I only played this game with her, because she never answered me, really. “Mom, which would you rather do: be burned at the stake or be disemboweled?” To which she would usually respond, “Aargh! Shelly! Neither!” Which, of course, I found tremendously unsatisfying and would proceed with something even more gruesome. I vaguely recall her thinking hot pokers in the eyes would be better than something…
I can see why my mom didn’t want to play that game, now. As a child, you feel so far away from death, it’s as if you’re talking about a fairy tale. I surely would not be burned at the stake or have hot pokers drilled into my eye sockets. I’m sure my mom didn’t think she would either. But, the older you get the more real death becomes. And talking about it - writing about it, even – is tempting it. Those superstitions – as old as human experience – come creeping in.
Throwing caution to the wind, I’ll say that obviously the very best way to go is quietly in your sleep after a long, eventful and remorseless life. Blissfull. Perhaps after a nice bottle of wine and an orgasm. We can’t all go that way, you know.
Second best would be quickly. At any point. Just as long as it was very, very quickly. Like a piano falling on you while you’re walking through a nice urban market. Or, getting hit by a car you never saw coming, thinking about an erotic moment you had with your lover. Or maybe a plane crash with somebody beautiful and famous, lighting up a cigarette and toasting your demise with a free mimosa.
There are good ways to go, I suppose.
But, surely, there are many more infinitely sucky ways to die. Those would probably be different for all of us, but long, painful illness and disembowelment come to mind. Death is death, and the moment it comes can’t be too long, I suppose. So, I think the absolute worst way to go would involve something grotesquely embarrassing. It’s a good thing that Elvis had a brilliant career to be remembered for, because dying on the john, trying to take a crap ranks right up there with the suckiest of all time.
Anyway, I digress. The Dying Game is fun and simple. Don't worry about tempting fate. Just be creative and go with it. Here, I'll help you. Which would you rather: be flayed alive or drown in your own puke? Have fun!